Michael started awake. There was shouting nearby. Human shouting. He used his perch in the tree to look around, but could see nothing.
He quickly climbed down out of the tree and across the riverbank. Nearby there was a grove of trees that opened up into a gorge that had several small natural caves sinking away and into the ground. He could see there was a group of four men armed with clubs and spears, and they were harassing a small pack of wolves.
One wolf lay dead already, blood leaking from his snout. Three more were backed up into one of the caves and were growling and snapping at the men.
'
Must be a hunting party. Which means there is a tribe nearby! Thank christ. Civilization at last.'
The hunters had the wolves cornered and began pelting them with rocks, attempting to drive them from their cave and into the open. They were laughing and jeering at the wolves as they hurled their impromptu projectiles. One of the wolves was hit in the head with a fist sized stone, and bolted. It snarled as it lunged for them, but the hunters were working as a team. While the wolf leapt for one, another hunter rounded the side and speared it. He held the snapping, biting animal at bay as the first hunter came up and began beating the wolf around the head with his club. The hunters cheered and high fived as the wolf finally lie still.
'Poachers?'
Michael thought
'It certainly seems like they are enjoying the hunt...a little too much.'
The two wolves in the cave ran to defend their packmate. They split up and each attacked one of the hunters. The man with the club went down with a cry after the wolf tore his hamstring out. Before his fellow hunters could assist, he stilled as his throat was torn open.
The hunters laughs and jeers, faded as they became snarls of rage. Michael was still some distance away, but he could still see their entire demeanor shift. They were pissed.
The second wolf was fast, but not so lucky. The hunter pulled his spear out of the downed wolf, and turned to his attacker. The hunter wasn't able to stab it, but did manage to get the spear between them as it bowled him over, and keep the fangs away from his more squishy body parts. He bellowed in pain and rage, when the wolf's nails tore at his hide clothing, shredding it to ribbons. He only had to last a few seconds though, until another hunter smashed the wolf off with his war club.
The wolf went tumbling, but spun around ready to fight, claws skidding and tearing at the earth for purchase. The two surviving wolves were hurt and up against a coordinated and superior force. Michael didn't think it would be long the wolves lost.
Michael quickly abandoned his viewpoint and ran to help the hunters. He was the only one with a bow, he was sure he could help end the fight quickly before anyone else got hurt. The hunter who been pinned rose shakily to his feet. He wobbled slightly as he held his spear, trying to help, but really just presenting less of a target. There were two mildly injured wolves, to two fresh humans.
It was game over.
The hunters began advancing towards the circling wolves. Two of the hunters caught a wolf between them and the wall of the cave, and began taking turns clubbing the animal to death. Michael's run began to falter.
He had seen hunters before in real life, though he had never been hunting himself. He knew that a true hunter takes from nature, but also takes pains to make sure that the animal doesn't suffer more than it needs to. It is still a living creature after all. After his short sprint Michael was close enough to see that the wolf in the cave was dying, and putting up no fight, but the men kept beating it over and over. They weren't even aiming for vital spots like the head or neck, but instead were smashing its legs, hips and shoulders. The most disturbing thing was that they were jeering.
Michael was disgusted. Out here in the wilderness, hunting was a necessary evil and sometimes it was dark and messy; but there was a difference between an ugly kill, and making a living creature suffer.
The hunters heavy clubs finally silenced the cries of the cornered and downed wolf, leaving one standing, and one bleeding out from a spear wound in the grass. The fresh wolf had circled until it reached its fallen packmate growling warning at the advancing hunters.
The hunter advanced slowly, spear at the ready and chest still bleeding from where he had been torn. He jabbed at the wolf, slicing part of its cheek open. Even from this distance Michael could see the teeth and jawbone poking through back side of its muzzle. It snapped at the offending spear but refused to move.
The hunter circled, jabbing the wolf about the head and shoulders to keep its attention, opening up several more wounds. Blood was pouring off the wolf now, bathing the one it was protecting who could do nothing but lay there and whine its agony.
The wolf's reaction time began to slow as blood pumped from its wounds. The hunter took his opening with a twisted smile, and lunged.
The wolf suddenly sprang out of the way of the stab and lunged forward, teeth closing over the hunters throat. With a strangled cry, the hunter died when his trachea was ripped from his body in a shower of gore and blood. He simply clutched at his mangled throat, and collapsed.
The other two hunters seemed to catch their breath from beating on the dead wolf in the cave, and turned at their brothers cry. Shouting and raising their clubs they ran to where the wolf was staggering back over its packmate.
Michael had seen enough. This wasn't hunting. This ... this was something else. These men had beaten a wolf to death slowly, and had laughed as it cried.
He suddenly didn't care about Sara's request to take care of her people. If these were the kind of people that she wanted him to protect, he'd rather check out the other goddesses. He was only a couple dozen feet away when he drew his bow and knocked his first arrow. He activated
Aimed Shot
