The Scouts

"Betrayal. Murder. Power. "

I laugh, "He may be bad, but he's not the Bear King!"

Tim raised an eyebrow, "You say that..."

I roll my eyes, my brother was lucky not to have been arrested. Some of things that came out his mouth.

"Dad Isn't the bear king!" Tim sighs at my response, "But he is a right ass."

He smiles.

The trees sway slightly, numbing us back into silence. Rain drops fall from the leaves, attempting to mimic last night's storm. I strain my ears listening for the kill. The horses footsteps, the creaking of both the leather and trees, the raindrops.

There.

A twitch in the leaves. A raindrop in a storm.

I hear Tim draw an arrow beside me, so I nudge my head in the direction of the noise.

Through the leaves, a nose, an eye. The twitch of an ear. Blissfully unaware of its fate. To unaware.

A strangled choke and a fall.

I nudge my horse towards the dear, knowing all too well Tim has aimed for its legs.

Its hard to get a clean kill with arrows.

The deer keeps struggling, trailing its useless leg behind, the arrow stick from its thigh. No point in struggling when the battles are already lost. The pain in its eyes, now too aware. Deep breathes, a fruitless struggle.

I dismount, drawing my knife, cupping its head between my elbow and ribs. It continues fighting hopelessly. But the movements grow more and more labored.

It stops struggling, eyes no longer animalistic, more human. Too human.

I shake my head.

A hunter can't see its prey, nor can he sympathize, he can only kill.

I press my knife to the side of its head, knowing all too well the blood beginning to pour from the wound.

Most of the time, once you know something, you wish you never knew it. Or hoped it was different or changed but the world doesn't work like that. It would never work like that.

You're either taken advantage of or you take advantage of others.

The deer grows heavier and still in my arms.

"We're not gonna be able to carry this, grab the ropes and we'll strap it to Dusty," I call my brother.

He dismounts his pony and begins searching for the rope. If he's forgotten it again, I'll tie it to his wrists.

Fortunately he pulls it from the saddle bag. Tim stands on his toes and begins attaching it to the saddle.

"For God's sake," I say seeing him struggle, "I'll do it, you can bring the deer over here."

He waddles over to me, stumbling slightly.

I begin to tie the rope to his ponies saddle.

We were lucky to find a pony as good natured as Dusty. If anyone else had to haul Tim's fat ass round all day, they'd have thrown a fit by now. Or dumped him in a hedge side.

"If Dusty's hauling the deer, that means I ride Tommy."

"Um no. Tommy's my horse, and you rode him back last week," I reply trying to fake being angry.

"You are so annoying," he says sticking out his tongue. I smile.

I tie the deer behind Dusty and nearly break my back helping Tim on Tommy.

"Remember don't go fast or he will run away and won't stop until you fall," I warn.

Tim laughs, "I know, I've seen it happen to you a hundred times."

I scowl at him and now he smiles.

I continue walking, holding Dusty, even though I probably don't have to. The little pony could find her way home from anywhere.

I hear the house before I see it. The laughing, the horses. Then the smell of hay and meat.

I walk onto the stone yard just in front of the house, noticing the four scouts. Two are sat by a fire in the center, eating a rabbit. One is switching horses, the other just leaving.

Our Father strides towards us, his eyes tracking the fallen deer behind Dusty. I bet Mum was working, not doing whatever the hell he called this.

"That'll be good, well done," he says with as much sincerity as a brick. I involuntarily scowl. "Timmy what are you doing? I thought you said you didn't like the horses."

"No," is all Tim says.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you did. You two can go clean out that dear, there'll be some more scouts arriving soon and they'll be hungry...I'll go check on your mother," he adds, causing a protective fire swell in my stomach.

"No, no," I laugh nervously. Like you checking on her would help anybody, I think. "I'll check on her. Tim why don't you put the horses away?"

Tim just nods but I'm just pleased Father didn't push it.

I walk past the concrete square, where the scouts are sitting, seemingly too hungry to acknowledge my presence. I reach in my pocket and pull out a few of the blackberries Tim and I found earlier. I give both of them a handful, they thank you. To my surprise I see they're old. Not really old, but old for scouts. Maybe 55, maybe 60 summers old.

Most scouts didn't make it that long. It was dangerous. You had to be loyal, and the loyal were the first to lose their heads in signs of trouble.

I walk away quickly, mostly because of shock. My first thought is they're probably traitors. Which is stupid because they'd have to be very good at being traitors to have lasted this long.

Likelihood is, they're probably just older scouts. Nothing strange about it. They're just older.

Something just felt off about it.

I continued walking through the stables looking for Mum. I passed Tim who was having to use a step to remove Tommy's tack.

I turned a corner and found my Mum sweeping.

"I'll do it," I say taking the brush off her, knowing if I didn't she'd keep going.

"It's alright, go find your Father. I'm sure he'll have something for you to do," she replies her voice weak and weary.

"He told me to help you," I say, stretching the truth slightly.

"You've got taller," she says looking me up and down.

"I guess," I shrug carelessly but smile slightly knowing that I'm catching up with Father.

"Soon the army'll be wanting you."

I laugh, "I doubt that, they didn't want you or Dad for that matter."

"They only want the best. I'm from a family of fat dumplings and horse trainers." She pauses and smiles. "Could you really imagine you're Father with a sword, listening to orders."

I laugh. "It wouldn't be him."

We pause and I notice how tired, how old, she looks. Her once sky blue eyes now clouded over to a dark stormy grey. Dark circles ring her eyes, her dark hair also turning grey.

"You went hunting, did you?"

"Yes, Tim and I got a deer today, Dad says it'll help feed the scouts. If need be, we can go out again."

"You shouldn't have to. I'll skin the deer."

I bite my lip, she's gotta stop working. Just take a break, women. "I saw some older scouts round the pit, maybe 60 summers."

Mum nods, "I heard they've been bringing in some older ones recently. Some that have been retired have been retired for 10 summers and a winter."

Now I'm curious. "Do y'know why?"

She shakes her head. "No, not yet; but you're Dad will, or should do next time that blonde haired scout comes," she attempts to joke.

"I doubt they do much talking," I mumble.