Talon sat cross-legged on the hillside surveying the wide plain spread-out before him as the small fire crackled and spat, warming his back. Trying to free his mind as he chewed slowly on the wild mushroom didn't come as easily as it would have done for his lover Flea as she was the shaman and he a mere hunter with no special status in the tribe.
Slowly the fog in his brain was clearing and the vision he hoped for began to form as he found himself flying above the plain in the light and agile body of a kestrel. Talon was grateful that his spirit animal was a hawk, rather than a deer, or a fox and such, as he would need to cover distance quickly if he was to discover any clues to the whereabouts of his poor, captive Flea.
The keen eyes of the kestrel could see many dust clouds formed by herds of mammoth and bison, but it was the pale smoke of a woodfire burning some leagues to the south that gave away the location of the human prey that he was tracking. The Jackals were clearly confident in their strength by making no attempt to disguise their presence.
Talon would have risked his life many times over to rescue Flea, as she was not just his woman, but possessed a magic that was the envy of all the tribes, whether plains, mountains or sea. Flea could commune with animals and command their spirits better than any shaman or witch that he knew or had ever heard of. It was these powers that must have saved her when their summer camp was raided by the Jackals, as they had killed everyone else, man, woman and child with their predictable barbarity. Talon had discovered the bodies and burned-out camp on returning alone from the flint pit, a broken man at the thought that he was the only survivor from his hunting band, friends and family. His relief at not finding Flea among the dead was some consolation, but tempered by the realisation that she was now a captive of the vicious Jackals.
On discovering the Jackals' tracks, it was a day of hard running before Talon came across the war-band, spying their distant campfires glowing in the darkness. Crawling silently through the long grass in his approach, Talon peered from behind a rock to observe the camp. Trussed-up in a little bundle at the edge of the fire-light was Flea, still in her buckskins and eagle feathers in her hair. Talon's heart leapt and his gut clenched in concern at the sight of his greatest love in such discomfort and peril.
The Jackals seemed to have a single, bored-looking sentry pacing in a circle on the edge of the camp near to where Flea was lying. They would pay for their arrogance, as Talon silently strung his bow, nocking an arrow. The hunter's aim was true and the flint arrowhead sliced through the man's jugular in a splash of red mist, the only sound being the dull thud of the corpse hitting the ground, then twitching in its death-throws.
In seconds, Talon was slicing through the vines securing Flea with his razor-sharp, obsidian knife. Picking-up her slender body, he flung her crudely over his shoulder, turned and ran as fast as he could into the darkness. Talon was expecting a commotion at any moment, but to his immense relief, no sound nor alarm was raised from the camp.
After they were clear by some distance, Talon placed Flea gently onto the sand to remove the remainder of her bindings and untie the grass gag from around her mouth. Flea coughed and spat, then squeaked a little as she stretched causing the blood to course painfully through her veins. She said nothing at first, but hugged and rained kisses on Talon, as he rubbed her down roughly to help with her circulation.
"Can you walk?" he asked. "Those Jackal scum could be on us any minute". A familiar fierce look appeared in Flea's sparkling eyes: "Yes, I can run if we need to" she replied, "but I have something I must do first!"
