The spring rains were heavy as Hota watched his son, the sun setting behind them. The boy had only been with them for a few moons and had spoken less than himself. The band they had formed to hunt obo was small, no more than five adults and three younglings.
The boy plopped down next to Hota as he pointed out and instructed him in making a shelter from the nearby brush. The band had used other, already-built shelters, but Hota had taken it upon himself to teach the boy skills boys would already have known at his age. Hota had noticed that the child was a scrapper; he knew the surrounding areas and could navigate, but outside of already knowing their languages, he was animalistic.
The boy asked if he should keep watch. Hota shook his head.
In the distance, the bleats of the Obo herd filled the silence in between the patter of rain on the shelter's leaves. Koa still didn't fall asleep, instead studying the shelter closely. Hota didn't protest, merely watching the boy. The boy rarely stayed with anyone to sleep, slinking off into the night. The boy never seemed to fatigue. He knew that other younger ones of the family thought the boy was some monster disguising itself as human.
Hota watched as the pale boy stretched an arm out to move aside one of the Pieces of leaves above him, only to yelp at the cold water that trickled down directly onto his face. Hota repeated his command to sleep. He needed the boy to be well-rested, not as distracted as he usually was.
Hesitantly, the boy closed his eyes. As his breathing slowed to a peaceful rhythm, Hota looked at the boy. As strange as he was, Hota was looking at a boy. Not a spirit, not a daemon. Just a boy.
He felt a pang in his chest. This boy was out here, without a band, learning how they hunted Obo. There was no real danger, yet that pang kicked at Hota, sharp and ringing. Hota had never been there when this boy first injured himself. Not when he first walked or spoke. He had never put the child to sleep when he was an infant, never spoken to him as a newborn. The pale child without a blessing, without a home or a family. He had heard the boy's tentative laugh, seen the boy's eyes when he asked for food or help, the pride when he accomplished something, the fire behind them when he learned. This pang was born from those looks, those timid conversations, their guard lowering.
꩜
The morning fog obscured the band well from the obo and Koa's accident from Hota.
He had risen early to show the boy where the pitfalls were and how to cover them up well enough to conceal them from the herd. He asked the band to step back and allow the two access to the meadow. They agreed to wait. The pair eventually circled back to a hollowed-out log directly on the other side, both just behind the treeline's edge. It was typical for Obo herds to frequent the nearby meadows, so the family tribes had set these traps around the areas, inconspicuous and well hidden. Hota had Koa prepare by finding nearby sticks sturdy enough to drum against the log. When he did, the Dee thunks resonated, and through the tree line, they saw the herd jump to attention. Hota joined in, increasing the volume and frequency until the herd was thoroughly spooked enough to begin trotting away. With a hooting call, Hota startled the herd sufficiently that they began to break into a stampede.
Hota called for Koa to stay close behind as he jogged a careful distance back, the boy getting eager and running further ahead. The herd would see him and run away, sticking together. Sure enough, they traveled over the pitfall, and Hota heard the commotion as the herd maneuvered around it. He rushed forward as the obo ran for the shelter of the forest. He made sure to keep an eye on the boy's form through the mist, starting to worry as a thought occurred.
As suddenly as the thought had arrived, Hota heard something that made his blood run cold. Koa yelped, far ahead of him, just where the pit would be. Terror gripped the man as his son cried out.
At the edge of the pitfall, Hota saw the pail-haired boy, having fallen next to an obo. The obo had panicked and gored the boy with his horns, from his hip to below his armpit. Hota could see the white of bone. Without thinking, Hota had jumped down, dispatched the obo swiftly, and used the rope to haul the boy out of the pit, making sure to avoid aggravating the injury.
Hota set the boy down against a tree.
"Why did you not listen?!" Hota screamed.
"It's ok!" He panted, sweating and paler than ever. "I-I'll be fine. I just… need to sleep it off."
Hota's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the boy. He kept his eye on the boy's chest, watching it rise and fall rhythmically. Others came to watch, whispering to each other behind him.
"Looks like the fool got more of his family killed."
"Did the child run ahead? What else was he supposed to do?"
"How fares the boy? Will he be alright?"
Hota couldn't hear them, eyes intent on the boy's injury. He'd seen others like it, ones people could not walk away from. To his surprise, the boy's bleeding slowed. Hota blinked, shaking his head, only to confirm that the boy's blood had stopped spilling.
Not only that, it seemed as if the bone was shrinking. Hota squinted; he was sure of it.
No, not shrinking. Receding, as new muscle grew to cover it, and eventually new skin. A shade paler, a scar that crossed the boy's side.
The wound had sealed, but Koa was still.
He gingerly took the boy back to the shelter, making sure to dress the boy's wounds, watching over him as he slept. Around him, the hunting party watched, and he pushed for them to continue their hunts.
Hota could do nothing but sit and watch. The boy's condition didn't change. It couldn't. If the boy could recover from such injuries…
Hota recalled the Elder's telling of a story of men so in tune with the world that they could change their bodies, just as others could change the land through farming. Grow an arm like growing a tree.
Perhaps Koa is the same. If so…
Hota breathed deeply, steeling himself. There was nothing he could do but wait. He would stay with his son.
My son, Hota, thought, I will protect and guide you until you are ready.