Dragoncrest Cliffs Archerfish

Swordfish did not know how to approach his feelings surrounding his father’s reappearance. He had kept to himself, finding dark places where he could hide and nap. Hours passed while he kept away from his siblings and parents. He would keep to the shadows during the day and come out at night to hunt for small things, prowling the cliffs with some small interest as he went. It wouldn’t last for long, he thought. The strangeness that he felt – the sourness – would go away.

The boy had missed his dad. It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t be overjoyed at his return. It was complicated, he figured.

Swordfish slunk out from one of his dark hiding places and stepped into the chilly night air. The fur along his neck and shoulders ruffled. He shivered at the touch of crispness to the air. For the first time in a while, the young wolf found himself missing his brother. He wondered what Ray had been up to while Swordfish had been busy in hiding.

It was time to face things.

Swordfish’s distance did not go unnoticed by his father. Determined to let their relationship fester no further, Njord set out to find him. Yet, the day came and went, and still no sign of the young lad. He must be avoiding me on purpose, the retail thought sadly. It reminded him of Sobo.

When it grew dark the seafarer caught a whiff of his young counterpart. As the moon orbits the earth, Njord was pulled to him. “Swordfish,” the father called to him. By this time, the man was used to difficult and uncomfortable conversations – he would not shy from this one.

“I havena seen you much, I’ve missed ye,” he said, drawing nearer. He barely let the sentiment rest and asked, “would ye hunt with me tonight?” It would be better to put their bodies into action than to dwell on the odd feeling betwixt them.

Da, the boy’s voice croaked from his lips. A solemn expression had found its way to his face – an expression that did not suit his youth.

I missed you, he wanted to say. But there were other words inside of him that hadn’t surfaced yet. Swordfish had done what he could to keep his mom cheerful and his siblings occupied with things. Njord leaving had taken a toll on each of them. The boy could remember his mom’s face clearly in his mind. There had been heartbreak. Even his own heart had suffered in the man’s absence.

I’ll hunt with ya, aye. Sorry- bout not bein’ round.

It was a small shrug that followed his statement. Swordfish wasn’t sure if he should be the one apologizing. He didn’t really know what to say at all to his father. The young boy wished that he could erase the time when Njord had been gone. He wished they had never parted.

It seemed Sobo and Swordfish were cut from the same cloth – the father could sense his son’s sensitivities by the slow intonation of his voice. He blinked in understanding, the angle of his ears pitched low to soften his expression. Maybe they could have a heart-to-heart someday soon… but for now, he focused on slowly becoming reacquainted.

“There’s nothin’ tae be apologizin’ for, son,” Njord assured him. “Come, let’s head towards Mudwallow by tha river. I spotted a dam on patrol. Have ye hunted beaver before?” he asked in an optimistic voice.

It was a good thing that Njord offered his assurances, that no apologies were necessary. Swordfish was not sure if he had meant it. He knew that he only wanted to try to build a relationship with his father. The task seemed impossible. It felt like he had been gone for so long. Every time he thought about putting on an optimistic front, Swordfish saw his mom’s expression during Njord’s absence. It ached in the pit of his stomach.

Their suggested target was beaver. The young wolf had never hunted them, but he had seen them mulling around with their large tails and buck teeth. Swordfish thought they were peculiar in appearance. He imagined that Ray would find them interesting, maybe. The boy admired his brother’s creativity. He wished that he could see things the way Stingray saw them.

I’ve seen them. I didn’t think they looked all that appetizing, he said with a soft smirk. Can you eat their tails?

Njord made a gesture with his head for Swordfish to follow and began their journey toward the lowlands. Motion would help their conversation flow.

“You’d be surprised!” Njord explained in an upbeat tone. “Their meat is soft an’ fatty. Aye, ye can eat tha tails… but I prefer ‘em for a good chew.” Njord smelled the marsh in the distance.

“They’re canny wee critters,” the man explained. “They dinnae hibernate but oft stay holed up in their dam. Once tha water freezes over, they’re nigh impossible tae find.” Now, as autumn waned, it would be their final opportunity to catch one. “Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll bag one for yer mother,” Njord suggested, should Swordfish want to share their spoils. “I ken she’d find that bonny.”

Njord’s nose began twitching as the young forest closed around them. “What do ye smell, lad?” he asked, slipping into the role of teacher.

It seemed that beavers were a delicacy – soft and tender with tails that were perfect to chew on. Though he was not sure how much he trusted this information, Swordfish did not believe that he knew better than his father. He’d only watched the beavers carrying wood to their wet homes. He had never tried to hunt them or eat them.

There was a moment of hesitation in which Swordfish considered turning back and finding somewhere he could hide out. Hunting was fine. He didn’t have anything against it, but he could feel his body ache with tiredness. It was a feeling that overwhelmed him, coming out of nowhere and consuming him. If Njord had not suggested that they try to catch a beaver for Meerkat, he might have lost his son to a dark cave.

Y’think mom’ll like one?

Swordfish lifted his nose and sniffed at the wood.

Smells like wet and muck. Maybe beaver… He wasn’t sure. The boy glanced toward his father. His eyes were tired and his head slouched below his shoulders.

Njord’s face softened, pleased to see his son’s meek expression brighten up. “Aye, she would,” he assured Swordfish.

Then, the lad took a pass at airscenting the marsh around them, though his response lacked confidence. “I suppose yer right on both accounts,” the seafarer agreed with a chuckle. “Tha bog’s earthy scent can easily muddle t’nose,” he pointed out. Njord sniffed and took a few paces forward as if he followed an invisible trail. “C’mere,” he beckoned.

A small copse of birch and maple saplings huddled together. “When ye cannae find the prey ye look fer their food.” Njord took a deep breath near the base of the skinny shoots. “If ye ken the scent of each plant, ye will soon find yer quarry. Oh! look!”

Njord’s voice became hushed, but his tone signaled his excitement. Small teeth marks had freshly gnawed out the base of the young maple. There was definitely beaver activity in the area. Njord moved aside to let Swordfish have a better gander.

Swordfish didn’t have much to say on the scent of the bog. Njord seemed to think that the smells his son had picked up were accurate enough. He added that the terrain could make it more difficult. The young wolf wondered if it was even worth it to try hunting in that area. The benefits did not seem to outweigh the disadvantages. For the sake of giving his father the benefit of the doubt, he continued along.

Njord was well-versed, at least. He mentioned something that drew his son’s ears to a point. Swordfish hadn’t considered looking for his prey’s food. He merely assumed that if he could pick up on a scent, he should follow it until he caught up to something. The young wolf had followed tracks, too. This information shared by his father was different – it was new.

What do beavers eat? Buncha wood?

Swordfish flicked an ear sideways at his father. The tip of his red tail waved slightly as his lips curved into the softest of smirks. Based on the gnawing at the base of the tree, that's exactly what they ate.

Njord could see the light of Swordfish’s interest sprout like a summer wildflower. It excited the father to see his son grasp this lesson.

“Aye, Swordfish,” Njord affirmed. “In the summer months, beavers prefer richer fare, like riverweeds. But when tha greenery dies back an’ the frost comes… that’s when they be turnin’ to young, soft wood tae fill their bellies.” Njord looked around and spied more beaversign among the copse they stood in.

“Seems tae me they’ve been feedin’ heartily,” he observed. “Tis good we’re here afterdark… they be comin’ out at night.”

Njord put his nose to the ground and found a rutted-out path their quarry used to pull themselves from the water. “Let us hide close by an’ see if one will make an’ appearance,” he schemed devilishly. “Where do ye suppose a good place for us tae watch would be?” he asked, handing the reigns to the boy.

Riverweeds during summer, wood in the colder months. The young seafarer stored this information in his mind with a small nod at his dad. He liked to learn these things. It would give him the best chance of pursuing something that he enjoyed, something that didn’t task him to accomplish. While hunting was a great deal of effort with little promise of reward, Swordfish felt that if he understood his prey well enough, he would never fail.

Njord said that it was fortunate that they had ventured out after the sun had set. He said that beavers were fond of snacking in the night. Swordfish couldn’t help but sneer at this. He thought the image was a funny thing. Y’know I’m partial to a late night snack too, he joked quietly, deadpan voice sounding with a hint of a humorous tone on its tail.

After inspecting one of their trails, Njord said it would be smart to hide and wait for one to emerge. His son regarded him with a curious stare. When the reigns were passed to the young wolf, he blinked sleepily. The boy’s hooded eyes shifted to their surroundings with the intent of somewhere to hide.

There, he motioned with his snout toward a fixture of rocks. Can watch ‘em from on top of that boulder. Won’t even have to stand in the muck. It seemed perfect. The beavers shouldn’t look up for threats, right? Giving the two hunters a height advantage sounded like a good idea to the boy.

Swordfish deftly identified a good position for their blind. The young lad had a sharp wit and good humor, to boot. “Keen eye,” Njord praised. He climbed atop their fort and settled down sphinx-like, legs coiled beneath him like action-packed springs.

“Now, we must wait for ‘im tae make an appearance. Should we see one, I will hold ‘im down fer you tae make tha kill,” Njord explained. ‘“S’good we hunt together, two fangs r’always better than one.” The slippery beastie would not escape their duo!

—

Some time passed before faint splashing sounds could be heard along the bank. Njord nudged Swordfish (in case he had fallen asleep), ears cupped forward. Under the cover of darkness, Mr. Beaver waddled into their copse for a meal, unaware he was watched.

“Ready?” Njord whispered, muscles flexed taught.

A beat passed. The man lept from their post! The beaver squealed in fright and turned to make a dash for the safety of the bog. Slick mud made it difficult to give chase, but Njord made a long lunge and caught the beaver by the end of the tail. It turned and struggled. Would it escape?

It was nice to hear that he’d done right. The gentle praise from his father brought about a waving to the son’s matching red tail. They made their way to the rocks and settled atop their watch tower. For the first time since his return, Swordfish found himself staring at the scars on his dad’s face. He had been young when Njord had first gone away, but he did not remember so many horrible marks on his face.

The man seemed cheery, happy as ever. The trip couldn’t have gone that horribly, right? The boy thought to ask, thought about bringing forth all the strange feelings that stirred around in his belly. It was hard to do these things. Swordfish wanted to pretend like Njord’s disappearance had never happened. The more he tried to treat his dad with the same love and care that he did for his mom, he felt sour and strange.

Time would heal it… it had to.

-

There was the beaver. It’s plump behind looked a lot more appealing after hearing that they could be eaten. The tail did not look like much by the way of food. Swordfish thought that his dad could show him what made it worth chewing on. If nothing else, the young seafarer would know what his father enjoyed eating.

Aye, ready.

The young wolf stepped into a hunter’s prowl. His deep-sea eyes shifted toward his dad with an expectant nod. Njord moved quickly, without hesitation. 

Swordfish watched with an impassive stare. The older wolf darted, catching the beaver by the tail. The animal struggled. The boy rushed in, fearing that the teeth of their prey might catch his dad in the face. If the animal could chew through a tree, he could only imagine what it might do to his father's already disfigured features. 

A sharp snap of his teeth at the beaver's neck and it ceased its noisemaking.

Njord’s incisors pinched tight as they could despite their quarry’s struggle! One paw deftly batted at the beaver’s retaliation and within the next moment, Swordfish was at his father’s side.

How quick he was! Njord could not remember being nearly so swift at the same age. Even without a father present Swordfish had grown and blossomed the all same. It made Njord proud and, at the same time, melancholy.

Snap! With a shake, their prey went limp. The bog was quiet. Not even a frog croaked.

“Aha!” Njord’s bellow broke the silence. He laughed like father Christmas. “Guid work, lad! Ye did it!” He bumped shoulders with the teen, expression bright and animated. Maybe his son hadn’t needed any help at all.

“It’s clear tae me ye ‘av a knack for this,” Njord observed. Perhaps he could find ways to help Swordfish explore these talents. He thought of Haunt and the way she diligently observed the Broken Antler herd.

“Now,” he said as he caught a breath, “Let me show ye what yer efforts earned…” Njord made a small puncture in the beaver’s soft hide to reveal a thick lining of pale gelatinous fat.

Praise, and an amiable shoulder-bump. Njord seemed pleased that they had found their mark in the beaver and that Swordfish had landed the killing blow without scuttling around too much. The young wolf offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The tip of his auburn tail waved twice before falling back to a hanging position. It was nice to hear that he might have made a promising hunter. It would help him stay true to that path, when he grew tired of the work.

Njord moved in to show the young wolf what they had earned with their efforts. He expertly revealed a layer of fat on the animal. Swordfish gazed at it with a heavy tongue. It looked delicious. He couldn’t help himself from leaning in and sniffing at it, then taking a lick with his tongue. It tasted good, better than he would have ever expected. He wanted to tear into the fatty little beast, swallowing chunks of it.

Guess the tail is yer’s. Will ya make sure ma gets the rest?

Swordfish imagined that it would be a nice gift coming from her husband. He could picture the smile on Meerkat’s face – that was enough to curb the boy’s hunger. The things he had learned could be used again, for himself. He would have time to try on his own and would be allowed to take all of the spoils, when he did.

The boy looked at his father, waiting to see what he would say.

Last post from me!

Swordfish looked pleased by their success. Njord was content.

He half expected the boy to dig in – but that was not his son’s way. Swordfish was careful, observant, and selfless.

“That is mighty kind of ye,” Njord said. “But yer mother wouldnae want tae hear that ye didnae take a piece yerself.” Winter on the coast could be hard and the practicality of putting a good meal in his child’s belly overruled any niceties.

The man tore off a large piece of meat and set it aside for Swordfish. “I’ll make sure she gets the rest,” he assured.

Their kill in tow, Njord turned to leave. “Come, let’s find a place to dry our feet.” The wet muck of the bog would soon let the cold bite at their toes.

The young wolf wanted to protest, to say that she deserved the entirety of their catch. Instead, he offered a heavy-lidded stare to Njord before lowering his head to the beaver and pulling one of its hind legs from its body. The limb made a popping noise as it was removed. Swordfish held the drumstick in his teeth, salivating at the flavor that danced across his tongue. The temptation to dig in was swallowed.

The rest fer her.

Then he nodded his head and the two figures set out to find a place where they could dry and rest their paws. Swordfish thought about the hunting trip with mixed feelings. He did not want to hold it against his dad, but the time apart had created a rift between them. This hunting trip would have meant the world to Swordfish when he had been a bit younger… a bit more hopeful.

There were many things for him to think on.