Prince of the Asad: chapter 1

Dawn was breaking, and already the Asad, the prowlers of the grassland, were on the hunt.

Chief Mother Kiane hid herself amongst the rough brush, crouched low to the earth. A small woman, only just over five feet when standing, she nevertheless looked the part of a predator. Every tendon, every spring and sinew inside of her was at a tenuous rest, ready for the call to action at less than a moment's notice. Dark brown eyes scanned the plains ahead of her as she rehearsed the ancient strategy of her people in her mind.

A sizable herd of crook-horned antelope stood grazing in the distance. They too were on a sort of half-watch, lazily filling themselves up on the rich grass of the plains while at the same time possessing an uncanny alertness; if one of them even smelled the hint of danger he'd be on his feet and the herd would not be far behind them, running as a unit from danger.

Unfortunately for them, there were always a few who, due to weakness, stupidity or just sheer panic, failed to keep up with the group or broke off from them. These were the ones Kiane was interested in, and after her initial charge scattered these poor invalids and imbeciles, she'd pursue them.

She wouldn't catch them, though; she didn't even entertain the thought of doing so. No, that was a job best left up to her allies. About a good stone's throw away on her right were her sisters, Soria and Anive, concealed in the scrub, spears clutched tightly in their hands. On her left was her niece, Andase, who was accompanied by her own son, Hassan, the lone male amongst the hunting party. These four would wait until Kiane isolated as many as she could from the greater herd, after which they would bolt out to flank the unfortunate beasts, blindsiding them with an assault from their light yet deadly spears.

It was a tactic which had served them for centuries, one which her mother taught to her, and on down through the generations. All of her party had been trained in the art of the hunt since they could walk. Well, all but one.

Hasan, a boy of about thirteen summers, had never been on a real hunt before. The women’s council, who presided over the matters of hunting, was wary of the idea of a male accompanying a party. It was the women who stalked the game, not the men; they were to stay with the tribe, protecting them from their enemies and themselves. To take a man on the hunt would fly in the face of untold summers of tradition. Yet Kiane had been teaching the boy herself, at twilight, how to stalk, to chase, and to kill. He'd proven himself against rats and boars, and even fought off a hyena, and had been begging his mother to take him on a hunt for ages. With a little bit of persuasion, she’d gotten them to approve of him coming with the main party. Rasam was delighted, which in turn delighted Kiane, though she had had another motive for bringing him on her hunt; she wanted to save his life.