Who

Kultir

What

Kultir sets a long trapline before setting out on the trail of an elusive, seldom glimpsed creature.

When

It is late night of the twenty-second day of the tenth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
In Southern:
It is the eighty-second day of Spring and 86 degrees. The night is clear and humid.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the eighty-second day of Spring and 14 degrees. It's cold and dark out.

Where

Ice Fields, Around the New Hold in the Southern Barrier Range

OOC Date

 

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The Ice Fields

The air is fine and crisp and sharp and spare, threatening to vanish within the lungs of those who risk such altitude. Vast and sprawling lies the ice shelf of the Southern continent, bleak as far as the sharpest of eyes can see. Here there is meddling by mortal forces, a road ice-cut and gravel-trod from the mountain pass below to the looming caves ahead.


The base camp at the new Hold that is being built here in the icy cliffs of the Barrier Range is mostly quiet as the dozen or so men huddle in their furs as they try to keep warm as they sleep. The cold temperatures are brutal without some form of central heating and causes exhaustion to set in much quicker than it normally would. However, there is a little movement going on as Kultir struggles to pull thick socks and fur stockings on before donning his boots under the shelter of his piled fur bedding. Having slept fully clothed, he wants to retain as much warmth as possible before having to slip out into that clenching cold.

Glancing around the camp, there is no sign of his guide which makes the young hunter wonder if the man had been reassigned or had gone back to the Weyr. Shrugging, he slips from beneath his furs to roll to his feet and bundle the pile of furs up into a tight roll before tying them up and tucking them into a corner so they are out of the way. Moving to the brazier, he's pleased to see that the coals are still glowing and giving off enough warmth to keep the temperature of the small cavern deemed suitable for sleeping are for the work crew above freezing at least. Adding several more bricks of the coal brought for this purpose, he adjusts the vents so that the new additions will catch fire and be ready for the klah to be heated when the others wake.

Gear is next to be gathered as the hunter starts thinking about his tasks this day and wishes that he'd had the forethought to bring at least his bow and arrows. As it is, he'll have to be content with the boar-spear he'd brought and can only wish that he had a few more if he comes across that taller-than-a-man creature the other had said he'd seen. Lengths of sinew and leather cording, metal pins to hold the snares into the ice as he comes across places to set them, a few pre-made metal snares he usually only uses for tunnelsnake snares, a pair of spare ice cleats and several other odds and ends are tucked into various pockets in his outer coat so that he can get to them quickly as needed.

Wishing for a thermos of hot klah, the young hunter makes his way out to the perimeter of the camp just as the rising sun touches the horizon far to the northeast turning the sky above violet as it slowly lights. Nodding to the camp guard at this entry, he moves on out onto the ice fields beyond using his boar spear as a walking stick for now. The cleats on his boots keep him from slipping so the spear is only needed to keep his balance in the bare light given off by the rising sun.

As the sun crests the horizon, riding very low in the sky, Kultir is well out on the ice fields though he keeps close to the cliffs and keeps his eyes open for the subtle signs of the small creatures he's wanting to trap. His gaze roams toward the wastelands as he walks the shadowed cliff path to assure himself that nothing is sneaking up on him. As he turns back to scout the trapline, movement catches his eye and makes him pay closer attention. A small smile curls his lips as he bends to bend back some scrub at the base of the cliff exposing a small hole. Tugging his glove off, he reaches his bare hand down and chuckles softly at the slight warmth exuding from that hole.

Pulling off his other glove, he works bare-handed with the thin sinew cordage to fashion a snare that is placed a short distance from that hole though without enough room for the potential game to get past it until something is caught. Metal pins are driven into the ice on one side to hold the snare and keep the prey from running off with it and a bright flag positioned in the cliffwall above it to show where the line starts.

Now that he knows where a line can be run, all Kultir needs to do is find likely spots where the prey feeds or runs or dens up to set a new snare. When he stops finding signs, he posts another flag to signal the end of the line. Glancing along his track, he frowns at the straight line but it can't really be helped here since there is no other choice in this barren landscape.

Satisfied that he's set the trapline to help the folks taking over, he decides that it's safe enough to go looking for this elusive creature the young man had insisted he'd seen. Moving out onto the flatter ice fields, the young hunter keeps an eye out for movement as well as scans the ground for possible foot or hoofprints.

The pale sun reaches its zenith for the very short day before Kultir finds the first potential sign of the huge beast. Crouching on the ice, he leans down and squints at the vague outline. Hmm … could be a footprint, I guess. His gloved hand is splayed as he holds it above that outline, a frown creasing his brow, though he doesn't touch the ice. "Probably just an ice ridge but … it's still something I need to tell Renalde about." The young hunter sighs heavily as he glances up at the position of the sun and then his trace back toward the trapline and base camp.

One more sweep of his sharp gaze is given to the wasteland around him before Kultir turns to head back to camp. The trek out this far doesn't take nearly as long going back since he's not having to keep an eye out for vague and elusive signs of an unknown animal. Even though he hadn't found anything solid, the young hunter still feels like something is watching him and glances over his shoulder once in a while and sometimes catches a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye.

When Kultir finally reaches the base camp, he is a little jittery and more nervous than normal but otherwise still his usual stoic self. Glancing at the position of the sun, he nods and chooses to make a stab at setting a second trapline heading out the other entry to this new Hold. At least Renalde won't be able to say I shirked my duties.

By the time the sun sinks, Kultir is making his way back to the camp and longing for a dragon to take him back to the warmth of the southern sun at the Weyr. Young joints creak as if he's an ancient granther and the young hunter groans softly as he makes his way up the slight incline. Nodding at the guard, he enters the camp and practically collapses at the brazier as he soaks in the warmth that feels like a blazing fire against his cold skin. I have got to get back to the jungle.

As if in answer to his prayers, green Ryadranth and a fur-bundled Kalea arrive as he is warming himself by the brazier. A stern look from the green causes him to chuckle softly and struggle to his feet once more. It takes him a few tries but he finally manages to get himself settled behind his 'mate and clipped onto the harness.

Oh, thank Faranth! Warmth at last. With that last thought, they blink ::between:: and Kultir finds immediate sweat popping out beneath those heavy furs he's been wearing for the past two and a half days.

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