“And that’s how Gryffin came to be proprietor of Gryffin’s Garrett?”

“Yep. He traveled with the Nemesis until he was hit in the knee with an arrow. They were near the western foothills of the Dragon’s Tail Range when they were ambushed by bandits.”

“‘An arrow to the knee,’ how original.”

Bert grins.

“Meegan told me another story,” says Sandra. “It’s about one of her first solo hunting forays. I hope you like it.”

###

Meegan tracked the buck north through the Wood, sniffing the air with one eye on the sky. The lightning building in the clouds brought the fine hairs away from her arm. Worse luck, the low dark clouds boiled in from the south. It would rain soon, and she would have to haul her kill all the way back to the den she shared with Mother, almost a league from here. She would have to give up the hunt and turn back soon or make her kill now.

She crept forward, an arrow set to her bowstring, but not drawn. The stag had stopped to forage. That familiar musky smell wafted from the trail ahead. She would have to work fast once she took him down. The air became heavy with the impending rainstorm.

Finally, the animal trail opened into a small clearing next to a babbling brook flowing west. Meegan stopped, obscured by the trees. She lifted her bow, sighted her target, and drew the projectile to her cheek. She took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to the forest goddess, then let the missile fly. It struck true; the animal fell on its side. Immediately, Meegan tossed a rope over a branch of the nearest tree. She tied the back legs of the beast together and strained to haul the carcass high enough to slit its throat. She gauged the stag weighed about five stone, close to her own weight.

While the blood drained onto the forest floor, Meegan used a small hand axe to cut down three long saplings about the size of her wrist that struggled for sunlight. She lashed the poles together to form a triangular frame she could use to haul her kill home. Mother had made a harness onto which she could secure the frame, making it easier for one of them to haul a beast.

She finished building the frame, then secured the remains to it—just as the mist rolled in. The moisture turned the leaves a bright, verdant green. With a sigh, she stepped into the point of the structure, squatting to attach the straps to her harness. She took another deep breath, then stood, leaning on her now unstrung bow. The entire process had taken less than a hand.

Meegan followed the deer trail back the way she had come. This time, though, the rain made the track slippery with wet leaves and branches.

She quickened her pace. Meegan knew if the rainstorm brought the usual spring deluge, that last furlong would be the most difficult to traverse with her burden. She did not want to get mired in the thick mud that almost always covered that section when the creek flooded. She wanted to be home before that happened.

Luck was not in her favor this day. Already weary from the hunt, the chill that accompanied the rain sapped her strength. The wind had ushered in cold air along with the fat droplets. And she had left her oiled leather cloak back at the den she shared with Mother.

Meegan stumbled along the trail, determined to show Mother that, at fourteen winters, she was not too young to bring in her own kill. She had watched Mother enough times that she could do this in her sleep—or so she thought. She had not, however, been prepared for the amount of physical effort it took to haul a carcass through the forest for almost a league.

The water overflowed the banks of the stream, almost covering the path. Meegan leaned into the harness, legs burning with the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. That was when her right boot slid off her foot, held fast in the sucking muck. On her next step, the mud oozed between her toes, chilling them to numbness. Almost losing her left boot, she slogged on, knowing that each step brought her closer to home; praying her steps would be clear of sharp stones. At last, she stumbled into the clearing, stubbing a toe on a hearth rock. The pain took her to her knees. She gave in to her weariness.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on her sleeping pallet, covered with the familiar wolf’s skin hide she’d used as a covering for most of her life. Her toe throbbed and her muscles ached.

“I retrieved your boot.” Mother’s quiet voice came from beyond the fur separating the sleeping chamber from the living chamber. “It dries by the fire.”

“Thank you.”

“I have prepared and stored the meat until we prepare the smoking hut. That, we will do on the morrow. I am proud of you, my daughter.”

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, too, Meegan.”

###

“And that,” says Sandra, “is how Meegan learned about sticky mud.”

“Ouch,” says Chuck, “my toes hurt just thinking about stubbing them.”

Everyone around the table nods their agreement.

Bert glances at the clock. “It’s getting late, we should probably let Stevie get home, yeah?”

The group packs their bags and takes their trash to the bins on the way out the door.

“Good night, Stevie.”

“Good night, Bert.” I send the Blessing of the Jaunty Mug with them as they head toward the subway.

(to be continued)