Wild Berry Meadow Harmonies

AW to join, no posting order <3

Down in the grasslands ran herds of wild horse. He’d been scenting their movement for months, and now Semer-wati would study their trails. He assembled a hunt party to leave at dawn.

@Mayet and @Tadihor took up the lead, tasked with tracking while Rashepses moved beside his guardsman, @Akhenaten. At the rear of the assemblage and weighted down with meat and wine-filled receptacles, was little @Mòrag.

“Anything?” the king inquired of the woman Mayet, whose expertise had drawn his particular interest.

She was a gladiator woman, who fought and won with blood in her mouth and the screaming roar of a crowd in her ears. She’d killed men and women alike, old and young, in combat for glory and for money.

And now she hunted horses for a pharaoh’s consort. How the night changes.

Some. They run through here often enough to leave a trail, but not often enough for grass to not be growing back. She answered the inquiry, sighing internally. This was her life now.

hunting wasn't often his favored scene. but if it meant going even just to provide additional protection for the semer-wati, he wouldn't complain. 

he traveled close at his brother's side, eyes attending more to the distance, rather the herd they trailed.

She and another woman had been given a lead position in the ensemble, under the watchful eyes of Semer-Wati Rashepses and Akhenaten, to whom she gave a brief smile and a glance. She held her head to the ground, sniffing the many scents of the grasslands. Tadihor had the thought that this was a test, to see where her skills lie. Most of her skills didn’t lie in hunting, this was more a man’s job in her natal pack, their society. Some woman did, while others preference was to other prospects.

There were scents of creatures that she had not smelled before. She was used to camels, back home in Egypt where they were frequent. The scents she picked up were of herbivores. She was eager to find them, to see what they were.

During this time, she listened around her, waiting for commands.

Weeding through the embroidered scents of mud and prey, the riverking huffed and scored the earth with his own claw. The awn here was high, foxtails snagged at their summer coats, and if the herds had used these fields to wallow their impressions had grown over with tufts of prairie grass. His ears flicked to Mayet. The mazoi was proving a competent tracker, though her companion took up a more passive position.

“These horses are nomadic grazers. Driving the herds into an ambush at their water source would be quicker than moving with them,” he enjoined, training his hard gaze on the woman mazoi. “Take us Northeast towards the river. We shall break there.”