He lie very still in the tall grass. How many hunts had he been on? How much time had he spent, lying in wait, patiently, ready to strike as the moment came clear. Enough. Enough to make him the leader of today's hunting party. Enough that tonight he would choose his spoils. Any woman in the village would be his, when they returned with this bounty, as was their custom. He'd never lacked for women, but tonight, he could choose rather than the other way around (as was their custom.) And he knew already which woman he would take, take back to his tepee, to his furs on the floor, take to her knees...this day was a long time coming. Perhaps ever since he began to learn how to hunt. As a boy he'd spent hours following small mammals, learning their habits, tracking their movements, finding the optimal moment to take their lives. Proudly he'd carry his prey home to his mother, who doted on her son as the champion he would become. Now he was old enough to join with the adult men, old enough to receive the award of choosing the woman of his choice. His mind began to wander to her curves, the gentle sway of her hips, the blush of her lips and he felt a stirring in his loins. Quickly he stopped his thoughts before they went any further, that was next, first he must bring down this beast.
He heard its footsteps drawing near, he could smell its stench. The moment was very close. Hunting was instinct to him, how he knew when to kill he could not say, but as if led by an invisible cue, he sprang into action, sending his dagger deep into the heart of the beast. It lie, dying, beneath him. Its large, black eyes looked deep into his own and as he brought a killing blow he prayed to the gods for its spirit. And he prayed to the gods for stamina. Tonight he would be a man.
He led the hunting party on their victorious march to the village. The beast held high above their heads. They were greeted by the women, children and the old men who could no longer partake in the hunting. The children sang the song of the hunt, the words and tune brought joy to his heart as he remembered singing it so many times before. The women, especially the young women, giggled excitedly and tried to catch his glance. Their people were no stranger to sex, sex was a part of everyone's lives as much as eating or sleeping, but the post-hunt sex of the hunt leader and his chosen mate is considered sacred.
The women went to work preparing the feast and, as women are so wont to do, making themselves attractive. It mattered not to him how pretty the women were tonight, he'd had his eye for a very long time on the woman he would choose tonight. She was the mate of another, but after the hunt, it mattered not. He was the hunter and she his spoils. If he were to impregnate her, it was custom for her to remain with him. He could only hope. The two had grown up as children together, but she was always out of his reach, preferring boys with bigger muscles and louder voices. He'd longed for her since the beginning of his longings for women, but as the custom dictated, women choose men and not the other way around, so he waited, patiently, as he did on the hunt, for his skill to bring her to him. Tonight she was his.
Darkness fell, there was feasting and fire and dancing and music. The children were sent to bed, only adults were allowed to view the hunter taking his spoils. He knew the moment was drawing near, there was a minor fear inside his head, as tradition had the hunter first engage with his spoils as part of the celebration. The tribe would watch and cheer as they consecrated the hunt and brought luck to future hunts. He saw her in the crowd, she was probably unaware she would be his choice, a silent girl she was, not the most shapely, nor the most attractive, but when she was around he could think of nothing but her. And tonight, she was his.