“Aaron, I haven’t seen you in three months, and this is how we spent the afternoon,” said Gavin, sinking to his ankles in thick, sloppy mud.
“I wanted to show off my tracking skills. Now pipe down, if they’re close by you’ll scare them off with your whining,” said Aaron as he trudged forward, sinking his walking stick into the mud, looking for solid ground.
“You could have tracked a deer in Angster’s Forest. Anik makes a mean venison stew. And it’s you know, dry ground,” Gavin followed his ranger friend to a giant ash tree, with its roots giving solid footing to the hunters.
“I’m hoping to spot some tracks, or droppings,” said Aaron, bending down to the wet ground in hopes of finding, something.
“I see why they call you guys “dungsniffers,” Aaron.” Aaron shot his friend a look. He resumed his investigation of the terrain as Gavin scraped the mud off his worn leather boots. Gavin cared little for tracking, or hunting in general, but he was a crack shot with a bow. While Aaron rooted around in the mud, he pulled his bow from his back and tested the string. Knocking an arrow, he took aim at a knot in an old maple and fired a shot. Bullseye.
“What the heck, Gavin,” Aaron cried, “are you trying to scare everything away?”
“You find any droppings yet?” Gavin prodded.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Just a possum though. Doesn’t look like there’s been any boars around here in while,” he said as the giant fern behind him began to stir. And then it stirred more violently, then a huge boar that hadn’t been around in a while snorted loudly and looked ready to charge at the very not ready half-elf.
“Uh, Aaron, try not to move ok?” Gavin stretched out his hand in a gesture to the boar, begging it to calm down. “Easy big fella…”
Aaron tried to get to his feet, and ended up falling backwards, propping himself up with his hand, which was slowly sinking into the muck. He could feel the hot breath of the hog, who began stomping his hoof on the fern, kicking up slime and mud. The ranger reached for the dagger he kept strapped to his calf, knowing it wouldn’t be of much use if the animal charged.
Gavin knew the beast would pounce at any moment, so he acted to save his friend. He leaped into the air screaming like a banshee, in hope of distracting the boar. It was a fine plan, and worked perfectly, as the boar ignored the half-elf and set his gaze toward the wildly flailing Gavin. It charged at him, trampling through the mud, gleefully imagining a mighty gore. Gavin’s distraction succeeded, but his quick thinking did not account for a less than graceful landing in the muck of the swamp. He foot hit awkwardly and slipped, bringing him crashing into deep mud.
The boar fared worse, planting a front hoof into the mire, and tumbling head first mere inches in front of Gavin. Flipping over onto its back, the startled boar struggled to regain its footing. In his attempt at recovery, Gavin was more successful, finding a more solid footing near a maple tree. He somehow managed to keep a grip on the bow, and reached into his quiver for another arrow.
Aaron for his part, regained his footing, and drew his sword from his mud caked scabbard. The companions readied their weapons, and kept a keen eye on the mighty boar as it regained its composure. It snorted loud and wet, painting the mud with thick mucus.
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, Aaron?”
“Venison stew sounds really good about now.”
“I wanted to show off my tracking skills. Now pipe down, if they’re close by you’ll scare them off with your whining,” said Aaron as he trudged forward, sinking his walking stick into the mud, looking for solid ground.
“You could have tracked a deer in Angster’s Forest. Anik makes a mean venison stew. And it’s you know, dry ground,” Gavin followed his ranger friend to a giant ash tree, with its roots giving solid footing to the hunters.
“I’m hoping to spot some tracks, or droppings,” said Aaron, bending down to the wet ground in hopes of finding, something.
“I see why they call you guys “dungsniffers,” Aaron.” Aaron shot his friend a look. He resumed his investigation of the terrain as Gavin scraped the mud off his worn leather boots. Gavin cared little for tracking, or hunting in general, but he was a crack shot with a bow. While Aaron rooted around in the mud, he pulled his bow from his back and tested the string. Knocking an arrow, he took aim at a knot in an old maple and fired a shot. Bullseye.
“What the heck, Gavin,” Aaron cried, “are you trying to scare everything away?”
“You find any droppings yet?” Gavin prodded.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Just a possum though. Doesn’t look like there’s been any boars around here in while,” he said as the giant fern behind him began to stir. And then it stirred more violently, then a huge boar that hadn’t been around in a while snorted loudly and looked ready to charge at the very not ready half-elf.
“Uh, Aaron, try not to move ok?” Gavin stretched out his hand in a gesture to the boar, begging it to calm down. “Easy big fella…”
Aaron tried to get to his feet, and ended up falling backwards, propping himself up with his hand, which was slowly sinking into the muck. He could feel the hot breath of the hog, who began stomping his hoof on the fern, kicking up slime and mud. The ranger reached for the dagger he kept strapped to his calf, knowing it wouldn’t be of much use if the animal charged.
Gavin knew the beast would pounce at any moment, so he acted to save his friend. He leaped into the air screaming like a banshee, in hope of distracting the boar. It was a fine plan, and worked perfectly, as the boar ignored the half-elf and set his gaze toward the wildly flailing Gavin. It charged at him, trampling through the mud, gleefully imagining a mighty gore. Gavin’s distraction succeeded, but his quick thinking did not account for a less than graceful landing in the muck of the swamp. He foot hit awkwardly and slipped, bringing him crashing into deep mud.
The boar fared worse, planting a front hoof into the mire, and tumbling head first mere inches in front of Gavin. Flipping over onto its back, the startled boar struggled to regain its footing. In his attempt at recovery, Gavin was more successful, finding a more solid footing near a maple tree. He somehow managed to keep a grip on the bow, and reached into his quiver for another arrow.
Aaron for his part, regained his footing, and drew his sword from his mud caked scabbard. The companions readied their weapons, and kept a keen eye on the mighty boar as it regained its composure. It snorted loud and wet, painting the mud with thick mucus.
“Gavin?”
“Yeah, Aaron?”
“Venison stew sounds really good about now.”