Sandy drew his bow, aiming for the deer about fifty yards away. A gentle breeze beckoned his aim a bit to the left. A little up. That should do it.
He loosed the arrow. It arced and notched into a tree behind the deer, just inches away from its eye. Sandy sighed as his prey vanished through the shrubbery.
"Don't give up, we can follow it," Heather said before wincing and grabbing her stomach. "Damn Waste. Why do you even need me out here, Sandy?"
"Moral support," Sandy replied with a grin. Heather chuckled. "C,mon, let's go. The day isn't getting any younger."
Sandy unlodged the missed arrow and crept deeper into the woods, Heather following close behind. Hunting was much more fun for the two of them in their youth, before the first signs of the Waste appeared in Heather. It was nothing more than a black speck on her stomach, but over time it grew to the size of a fist. Judging by her condition, she had no more than five years left before she would succumb to it. But while she still had use of her legs, Sandy wanted to continue spending time with her as they had done since their childhood, even if she slowed him down a bit.
An hour into their silent pursuit, Heather grabbed Sandy's shoulder. "There," she whispered, pointing ahead of them where the same deer grazed the forest floor. If they had approached any further, they might have alerted it. Sandy took an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and drew the bow once again. He felt much more confident about scoring the kill. Missing a shot at this range was nearly impossible with his skill.
Just before he could fire, a spear whizzed by his head and impaled the deer in its side. The deer groaned in pain and stumbled away, trying its best to flee despite its fatal injury. Sandy loosed his arrow into the deer's skull to end its misery, causing to it to finally fall to the ground dead.
"You could've saved your shot," said a voice from behind them. Sandy turned his gaze to the woman who spoke, flanked by two men with bags full of game.
"You could've saved your spear if you weren't planning on killing it," Sandy retorted. "It's cruel to make the deer suffer like that."
"It'll end up in my stomach either way," the woman replied with a shrug.
"That was OUR kill!" Heather barked through gritted teeth. "We nearly fell it earlier, but he barely missed the shot. We just found it after tracking it for the past hour, and then you just appear and take it from us!"
"How could you even let it out of your sight?" the woman replied. "If you didn't try to be so merciful, you could've already been heading home with it. No wonder it took you guys so long."
Sandy went red.
"Wait..." she said, looking at Sandy as she drummed her fingers on her chin. "I know you from somewhere. You're Sandy, the chieftain of Isurvivor."
"I'm the chieftain's son," Sandy corrected. "My pa is still alive and well."
"I see," Roberta said. "I can't say the same for my father. He passed away recently leading a campaign against the Sequester tribe."
Suddenly, Sandy remembered where he knew the girl from. She looked wildly different from before. He noticed the timid girl that accompanied the chieftain of the Irell tribe that met with his father on occassion. Her hair, which was once long enough to sweep across the back of her ankles, was now cropped above her shoulders.
"I recognize you," Sandy said. "It's been so long that I didn't at first. You're Roberta. Uh, Chieftain Roberta, I'm assuming."
"That's right," Roberta grinned. "You can have the deer. Take it as my apology for my rudeness before."
Sandy could hear Heather opening her mouth to argue and kicked her ankle to quiet her.
"Thank you, Roberta," Sandy replied. He unsheathed the spear from the deer's carcass and handed it to her. "I think Heather and I should be getting back. But maybe we'll see more of each other in the future?"
"One can only hope," Roberta said with a smirk. She nodded them off and she and her lackeys tredged off into the woods.
...
Evening fell upon the tribe of Isurvivor, and the people began shuffling indoors to go to sleep. Sandy and Heather had not realized they ventured so far off into the woods that the journey back would be so long. Sandy saw his father Tony waiting at the campfront with an all too familiar grimace. Sandy's heart sank. He was certainly going to get another scolding.
"I see you've got game," Tony said as the two of them approached. "I'm sure Julie won't mind stay up to skin the animal by torchlight."
Of course he had a reprimand. Sandy began to think twice about even telling his father about who actually killed the deer.
"Heather, if you don't mind, could you take the deer to your sister?" Tony asked. "I need to discuss something with my son in private."
"As you wish, chieftain," Heather replied. She took the game bag from Sandy and groaned theatrically as she hauled it off to the butcher's tent. Tony silently beckoned his son to the longhouse at the center of the camp, the throne room of the Isurvivor tribe. As they entered, Sandy waited at the entrance as his father continued forward silently. His pace slowed to a halt, and Sandy pondered anxiously over what his father was going to say.
"You and I both know you are not ready to take my place," Tony remarked, still facing away from his son. "I don't think you ever will be. You are still just a boy, but soon you will be a man, and I'm afraid I didn't spend enough time grooming you for this position. I let you accompany your ailing mother as she lived out the last of her years because I couldn't be there for her myself. As a result you now share her meekness and womanly grace."
Sandy began to boil with anger. But he had learned by now to bite his tongue. Before, he had his mother's cutting stare to protect him from his father's wrath, and now that she was gone, he had no choice but to weather his father's remarks.
"I loved your mother, but I wish I had never married her. Granted, I didn't know the Waste was slowly eating away inside of her. We struggled to produce an heir because of it. And now if you fail, my son, there will be no one to replace you."
"I haven't even married yet!" Sandy shouted, his fury suddenly flooding out of him. He hated that his father could aggravate him so easily, that he could wear his patience so thin. Nonetheless he let the words on his lips escape him in a torrent. "I won't just hitch and fuck some girl to make you happy! I'm going to marry the woman I love!"
His father whipped around with a look that equaled his son's rage.
"AND WHOM DO YOU LOVE?!" the chieftain bellowed. "THAT WASTERIDDEN BITCH YOU TAKE ON YOUR HUNTS?!"
"SO WHAT IF I DO?" Sandy yelled.
Tony reached for his waist. Sandy's heart beat even faster, and the sweaty grip on his bow tightened. Certainly his father was going to kill him now. He only had a few moments to react if he was reaching for a weapon, only one shot to exploit the distance between them. His free hand reached for his quiver.
Though Tony merely lifted his tunic, the horrific sight petrified Sandy. His father's chest and stomach were completely bluish black, the skin warped and wrinkled like a bruise on the hand of one of the elder tribesmen. The Waste.
"I am a dead man walking!" Tony said shakily. "I will be a corpse in the ground before year's end. It's time for you to grow up and start thinking about the future of this tribe instead of being a lovesick child! If not...then you damn us all."
The guilt Sandy felt for thinking his father would kill his only son left him speechless, less so however than the shock of the Waste his father kept hidden from him. The way it had spread on him, he had probably suffered with it for many years. Maybe even for most of Sandy's sixteen years of life. His father's unfettered strength in spite of his ailment brought Sandy to shame.
"Now you know the truth," Tony exhaled. "That is all I needed to say. Now get out of my sight, my naive son. Your presence only worsens my pain."
Sandy fled the longhouse, choking back his tears until he was laying in the solitude of his own tent. He had always had ease with relieving the stress of his position, but the reality of his impending responsibility now crushed him. His father was right. He was not ready to be the chieftain of Isurvivor. And if he wasn't brave enough to put aside his love and break Heather's heart, the tribe itself would die with her.
.
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(You've reached the end of this episode. Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future episodes!)
