Nothing Goes to Waste
Posted: Sun Apr 26, 2020 7:38 pm
"Nothing goes to waste on the savanna."
One of the lessons Father taught me during my first kodo hunt, and likely the most important one. Everything has a use, and everything will be used. Everything eventually returns to the Earthmother, one way or another.
I remember that hunt, so vividly. The warmth of An'she as he first gazed upon us just as Mu'sha settled into her slumber. The smell of the rolling grasslands with a hint of rain on the wind, perhaps a storm coming in the next day or two. Our silent march through the plains as we sought our quarry.
The kodo traveled in herds slowly across the land, grazing on what vegetation they could find before moving on. A natural cycle of regrowth following them as their dung fertilized the ground and allowed seeds to sprout and grow. Everything was tied together, and nothing ever went to waste.
Ritual hunts such as this were uncommon. The tribe had tame kodos, but they were not harvested for their meat and leather. They were pack animals and, well, companions for some. The wild kodos would supply us with such needs. Easier prey did exist, such as the zhevra, tallstriders, and gazelle. But, there comes a time in every young Shu'halo's life that they must learn the ways of the hunt. And this was my hunt.
"We will not take a mother and calf, nor will we take a young bull. We will take the elder bull, one who is beyond his prime."
I can remember watching the herd from the crest of a nearby hill. Mothers tended to their calves while young bachelor bulls fought for the attention of a mate. They were strong and lively. They will produce healthy calves. But as I watched them, I also saw an older bull charge them. One who had earned many scars from countless battles. He was larger and stronger, but also slow. A wound on one leg had not healed well and he struggled. The young bulls, not wishing to challenge this alpha, scattered. The old bull would remain chieftain for another day.
"He can no longer produce healthy offspring, assuming he can even mate at all. He may yet live for another few seasons, but his time draws to a close. That is why we take him. Not for honor or strength, but to encourage the cycle of the herd. He will not go down easily."
No, he didn't.
I faced the bull down, my father and other Braves corralling the beast towards me. My spear struck true, and yet he kept moving. Diving to the sides would leave one vulnerable to a kodo's stomp, and so I gripped the horn and slid onto the neck. I hacked at the bull's neck with a hatchet while the other Braves harassed and confused him with small strikes on his flanks. Had he been younger and healthier, he could have flung me from his neck and gored me or stomped me, but he was old and tiring. Once he had settled, I struck once more against the side of the neck. He collapsed, and he was my kill.
The fresh blood was smeared on my face and snout, and within my hair. We pulled the jawbone and could determine the age of the bull by the wear and tear on the teeth. He was older than we expected. I kept one of the teeth.
I ate from the heart and liver of the bull, still warm and fresh with lingering life. Strength, vigor, longevity, and many calves were blessed upon me, as well as some teasing about a satisfied mate. The bull was quartered and each brave carrying as much as he could made the trek back to the village. A single bull could supply our tribe with many necessities: meat, bones for armor and medicine, sinew and leather, organs for water containers, substances for the Shaman to use. All that and more. Yes, this will be a good year for us.
I approached the village, no longer a calf but not quite an adult either. But I was becoming one, with Father and Mother to teach me. There was talk of me traveling to a neighboring tribe to learn new things, and potentially find a mate. I inwardly hoped it would be the Runetotem. Their Druidic magics fascinated me.
But for now, the Stonespire welcome a new young Brave back into the tribe. I can still smell the searing flesh and burning wood from that night.
One of the lessons Father taught me during my first kodo hunt, and likely the most important one. Everything has a use, and everything will be used. Everything eventually returns to the Earthmother, one way or another.
I remember that hunt, so vividly. The warmth of An'she as he first gazed upon us just as Mu'sha settled into her slumber. The smell of the rolling grasslands with a hint of rain on the wind, perhaps a storm coming in the next day or two. Our silent march through the plains as we sought our quarry.
The kodo traveled in herds slowly across the land, grazing on what vegetation they could find before moving on. A natural cycle of regrowth following them as their dung fertilized the ground and allowed seeds to sprout and grow. Everything was tied together, and nothing ever went to waste.
Ritual hunts such as this were uncommon. The tribe had tame kodos, but they were not harvested for their meat and leather. They were pack animals and, well, companions for some. The wild kodos would supply us with such needs. Easier prey did exist, such as the zhevra, tallstriders, and gazelle. But, there comes a time in every young Shu'halo's life that they must learn the ways of the hunt. And this was my hunt.
"We will not take a mother and calf, nor will we take a young bull. We will take the elder bull, one who is beyond his prime."
I can remember watching the herd from the crest of a nearby hill. Mothers tended to their calves while young bachelor bulls fought for the attention of a mate. They were strong and lively. They will produce healthy calves. But as I watched them, I also saw an older bull charge them. One who had earned many scars from countless battles. He was larger and stronger, but also slow. A wound on one leg had not healed well and he struggled. The young bulls, not wishing to challenge this alpha, scattered. The old bull would remain chieftain for another day.
"He can no longer produce healthy offspring, assuming he can even mate at all. He may yet live for another few seasons, but his time draws to a close. That is why we take him. Not for honor or strength, but to encourage the cycle of the herd. He will not go down easily."
No, he didn't.
I faced the bull down, my father and other Braves corralling the beast towards me. My spear struck true, and yet he kept moving. Diving to the sides would leave one vulnerable to a kodo's stomp, and so I gripped the horn and slid onto the neck. I hacked at the bull's neck with a hatchet while the other Braves harassed and confused him with small strikes on his flanks. Had he been younger and healthier, he could have flung me from his neck and gored me or stomped me, but he was old and tiring. Once he had settled, I struck once more against the side of the neck. He collapsed, and he was my kill.
The fresh blood was smeared on my face and snout, and within my hair. We pulled the jawbone and could determine the age of the bull by the wear and tear on the teeth. He was older than we expected. I kept one of the teeth.
I ate from the heart and liver of the bull, still warm and fresh with lingering life. Strength, vigor, longevity, and many calves were blessed upon me, as well as some teasing about a satisfied mate. The bull was quartered and each brave carrying as much as he could made the trek back to the village. A single bull could supply our tribe with many necessities: meat, bones for armor and medicine, sinew and leather, organs for water containers, substances for the Shaman to use. All that and more. Yes, this will be a good year for us.
I approached the village, no longer a calf but not quite an adult either. But I was becoming one, with Father and Mother to teach me. There was talk of me traveling to a neighboring tribe to learn new things, and potentially find a mate. I inwardly hoped it would be the Runetotem. Their Druidic magics fascinated me.
But for now, the Stonespire welcome a new young Brave back into the tribe. I can still smell the searing flesh and burning wood from that night.