‘Sante,’ the young man grinned in delight, whetting his lips as he stared at the roasting shank.
Idan paused his knife strokes for a moment, inclined his ear, and detected a vibration in the wind.
There’s a lost ewe on the north cliff; she’s entangled in brambles and panicking, so take a rope to guide her, then return in time to eat.
Lago nodded and pulled his cloak around him and disappeared into the gust, feet slipping on the packed turf.
Far off, a clamor rose that did not belong to the whistling zephyr or sheep.
A bellow tore across the cliffs.
Idan’s head lifted at once. His hand stilled on the cleaver.
The sound came again, closer now, roars thick with testosterone-charged fury.
Basilisk bulls in musth.
Idan sighed as he sensed the tremor of their pounding hooves through the soles of his feet.
Then came a shout; Lago’s voice broke against the rock, raw and terrified, carried upward on the draft.
Idan shot to his feet.
He cleared the hut in a single stride and sprinted toward the cliff edge, boots striking stone, racing into the descent.
Below, the terrain churned as massive shapes thundered through scrub and shale, horns to the ground, eyes burning as they made their annual musth charge.
Lago stood in their path, his face stricken as he attempted to ward them off with nothing but his shepherd’s staff.
A juvenile bull struck him on the shoulder, flinging him to the ground.
The young man fell sprawling in an ugly angle, his leg distorted at an impossible slant, blood darkening the grass beneath him.
Idan hit the slope at speed, sliding, leaping, clutching at jutting stones as he tore downward.
Hooves clashed as the bulls circled Lago, snorting steam into the cold air.
Idan reached the clamor just as the largest steer reared back, pawing the earth, nostrils flaring, head swinging down, ready to trample and destroy.
Woah!
The beast paused, then rotated, its eyes fixing on Idan.
With a loud harrumph, the tusked creature charged him.
Idan planted his feet solidly on the rocks below, met the animal’s gaze, and raised a hand.
Shuaqagec enough!Your young bull attacked first; you have no recourse to harm my farmhand again. This is not your territory to mark, so go before I flay you and dine on your bone marrow along with the giant deer I just slaughtered.
The giant basilisk skidded to a halt, hooves gouging furrows into the soil.
Its eyes widened, a flicker of confusion rippling through its rage.
You also stink, and I won’t have you lurking around downwind from my farm.
It shook its head and roared once more in irritated belligerence, the piercing bellow echoing off the cliff walls.
If you know what’s best for you and your strutting bull-mates, fokk off now.
