The Day of Thanks

The Day of Thanks

The Morning...

A squirrel foraged for an elusive meal.

The Hunter heard the small animal from where he waited in silence; perched on the damp log of a fallen oak tree, the tangled branches reached out around him providing a natural blind in which he had concealed himself.

His gray cloak was pulled tightly around him, the hood concealing his facial features in deep shadows as he sat quietly listening to the sounds around him. In his calloused hands he held a finely crafted bow of T'Nanshi design, resting gently across his thighs. An arrow with an unusually wide, platinum broadhead was nocked while the Hunter continued to wait in silence, unmoving.

In this part of eastern Blandenberg, the woods of the T'Nanshi forest had yet to overtake the area. Sparsely populated trees dotted the countryside, but there was ample grassland still in control of the region. The Hunter knew his elusive prey favored this area, and had seen evidence in recent days of its presence. Wrapped in darkness and shadow, the Hunter had moved to this spot in the pre-dawn light. He now watched the sun begin its slow, fiery climb in the sky.

It was still early, only an hour since dawn when the man heard a different sound just off to his left and still out of his field of view. A soft clucking sound caught his ears. He dare not move his head as he knew the Prey had exceptional eyesight and any movement would jeopardize the success of this Hunt. He continued to remain motionless, waiting in absolute silence.

After several long minutes, the source of the sounds came into view. Before him, roughly 20 yards distance, two turkeys continued to walk from his left to his right, stopping occasionally to scratch the ground in search of a morsel of food. They were hens, smaller, less impressive birds. Covered in black and brown feathers, they moved with unconcerned grace, dipping their heads to the ground briefly before continuing their slow walk through the area. Within minutes they passed to his right out of sight into some thick, heavy overgrowth. Yet as they disappeared from view, his Prey came into sight from the left, following the same path as the young hens before it. Another turkey, though this one was a large male walking proudly behind the hens. His feathers were colored black with white markings while the head was white with splashes of red. Weighing nearly 25 pounds, this was one of the larger gobblers the Hunter had seen. The corners of his mouth lifted very slightly into a smile.

The Hunter had Hunted these birds while growing up in north western M'Chek, and was well aware of the bird's keen senses. He waited until the gobbler passed behind a tree before making his move. As he lost sight of the Prey, in one quick, fluid motion he pivoted on the log and drew back on the arrow, the silken bowstring pressed against his neatly trimmed goatee. The Prey must have sensed something; it may have been the rustle of the Hunters cloak as he drew back on the string or the leaves at his feet as he twisted on the log. Whatever it was had caused the bird to come abruptly to a halt and look in the direction of the fallen oak as it stepped back into view on the other side of the tree.

For several long moments, Hunter and Prey looked toward one another. Patience, thought the man to himself automatically. If he loosed his arrow now it was even odds that the Prey would move just enough to spoil the shot. He waited. The man peered along the length of the rockelm shaft of his arrow, motionless. The Prey, having sensed something out of the ordinary, held his ground trying to detect what had startled him. Several long moments passed and finally the bird continued his slow, cautious walk across the open ground. The Hunter gave a short low whistle, causing the gobbler draw up short one more, swinging his head around again toward the downed tree. Even before the bird had completed turning its head, the arrow was in flight.

The shot was true. Feathers and muscle, tendons and bone were cleanly sliced through on the Prey's neck, the severed head spinning to the leaf covered ground. The Hunter approached the fallen Prey, a silent prayer spoken to himself as he removed two broad wing feathers and tucked these under his leather belt at his waist. Hoisting the gobbler off the ground by its neck and slinging it over his shoulder, the Hunter headed west.

The late morning and afternoon...

Later that morning the Hunter presented the Prey to the Blandenberg Orphanage, amidst the grateful smiles and words of thanks from several of the staff members overseeing the well being of the children living there. He was invited to join in the planned celebration meal later that afternoon, and he hesitantly accepted the generous offer. He spent the remainder of the morning and a large portion of the afternoon speaking with the adults in idle conversation, watching the children play games, and helping set up numerous tables, benches, and chairs for the outdoor celebration. He had also been playfully yet forcibly removed from the kitchen by a red faced woman, threatening his well being with a large wooden spoon after he was caught sampling a side dish of mixed fruit covered in a heavy cream.

Late afternoon...

The children and adults were called to their places at the long tables, the Hunter finding himself seated between two boys around the age 8, the three of them grinning with anticipation. As heavy platters laden with food were brought out and placed along the stout wooden tables, Thaylis' stomach growled uncontrollably as he smelled the aroma of the coming meal. Several steaming turkeys and sliced smoked hams were placed on the tables, as were heaping dishes of potatoes mixed with butter and milk. Bowls of golden ears of corn and crisp green beans, fruit dishes with cream, and small loaves of fresh baked bread were presented as well. The children were given small glasses of juice, while the adults received a light red wine to wash down their meal.

When all was in place one of the adults stood and raised her hands, the excited chatter of the children falling off at once. In a quiet but firm voice she reminded everyone present that once a year, the children of the orphanage celebrate a day of Thanks. They give Thanks for the food before them, the shelter protecting them, and the friends surrounding their lives.

As her words faded on the late afternoon breeze, the Feast began in earnest.

• • Author's note: I've had the opportunity to speak with Brigadier Beign on several occasions, interviewing him on various aspects of the M'Chekian - Drotid War. During these talks he has spoken not only of his involvement and participation during that conflict, but at times lowered his guard and related several personal experiences. May the reader enjoy this small glimpse into one of M'Chek's gallant and capable officers.

~ Loriallis Sol, Sage of Vorin.