Running Deer - How legends are born - as requested by @extie-dasilva

Slipping through the long brown grass with the hot summer sun beating down on his back, Running Deer focused on the ground in front of him. His moccasined feet made barely a sound, and using the tip of his bow to part the grass in front of him, Running Deer was almost invisible to the great grey beasts he hunted.

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He could see their huge, hunched backs and shaggy heads, across the waving tips of the grass as they grazed. The stomp of heavy hooves mingled with their crunching and snorting as they grazed contentedly.

Every now and then one would raise his head, and beady eyes would scan the grasslands for danger, before dropping once more to continue the pattern of stomp, crunch and snort. The herd were not too concerned about predators. There were few animals capable of bringing down a buffalo, and with the herd all together in the shallow valley that followed a small river out onto the prairie, there was little chance of them trying their luck.

Running Deer edged closer as the buffalo grazed further along the river valley. He was careful not to snap a twig or make any misstep that would startle the great beasts. To do so would spoil the hunt, for everyone.

It had been more than a few years since Running Deer had hunted buffalo. It was a thing for young men to do, to demonstrate their skill, to impress the women and earn a bride. Buffalo were dangerous to hunt. They were unpredictable, aggressive, and almost impossible to stop once they started stampeding. To be caught in the middle of a stampede was to die, as surely as the sun rose each morning. Running Deer was very careful to not to stray too close to the herd.

As he matured and took a wife, Running Deer had moved on to smaller game. His hunting was to provide for his growing family, not to swell his pride. He would not even be on this hunt were it not for the challenge of a group of young bucks - young men, in their prime, seeking to challenge someone older, to make a name for themselves, and more.

One also had designs on his Dancing Eagle.

Bear with a Temper was a large young man, easily the biggest amongst the young bucks. He was their leader and always keen to show off his prowess. His challenge to Running Deer to hunt something more worthwhile than beaver seemed just another stunt for him to prove himself the better hunter.

But Running Deer knew there was more to it than that. The young man had given Dancing Eagle a gift. A small thing, just a bone handled knife with an eagle carved in it. He said he found it, and since it had an eagle on it, he thought she should have it.

His wife had smiled and thanked the polite young man for his gift and thought nothing more of it. But Running Deer knew. He saw the hungry look in the man’s eyes, the calculating glance at Running Deer as he left.

If Bear with a Temper could prove himself the better hunter, he might try to usurp Running Deer’s place at her side, and Running Deer knew how that would end.

Dancing Eagle had dismissed his concerns as an old man’s folly and kissed him fondly.

Thinking about her, even in the midst of the hunt, made Running Deer smile. The woman was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was as if the gods had sat down one day a decided to make someone so special, that all who met her fell instantly in love with her.

Running Deer had been smitten when he was young and he too had taken great risks with his life to impress her. He had tried everything he could think of to outdo all of the other braves. But the one thing that turned events in his favour was a chance meeting, one evening, down by the river.

He had been fishing, no so much for fish, but to have time to himself to plan and scheme how to win the heart of Dancing Eagle. Plans swirled around plans and intricate plots swelled and blossomed in his mind. He was so caught up in his scheming that he didn’t notice the stranger join him until she sat down beside him.

Looking up in annoyance, Running Deer’s heart stopped beating in his chest. Dancing Eagle sat next to him, smiling shyly. The soft light of the evening danced in her hair as it wisped in the breeze. Her brown eyes turned golden whenever she looked up, and the curve of her lips when she smiled, drove all thoughts of fishing from the young man’s mind.

When the breeze carried her scent to him, the young man thought he might die from overwhelming pleasure.

They had talked that evening, quietly by the river. Running Deer learned more than he ever thought he would about the woman that every young man lusted after. And he discovered a secret known to the women of the tribe, but not the young men who strutted and boasted in front of her.

She was not only beautiful, she was also very smart. She had a wicked sense of humour, and she did not suffer fools. Running Deer sensed in her the strong and powerful woman she would become, a born leader of people, and knew his heart was lost to her forever.

He also knew there was no chance of him impressing her. He was a skilled hunter and a good warrior. But he was only good, not great. He was in over his head and he knew it, and the only way out was to acknowledge his lack and leave the competition to those better than him.

Sadly he gathered up his fishing line and made to leave, telling Dancing Eagle that he knew now that he was not good enough for her, that he would never be good enough for her. He wished her a long life and happiness and strong sons.

She had looked up at him solemnly, waiting for him to look her in the face. When he did hesitantly, she asked him simply ”If I were to choose you, what would you do?”

Running Deer choked on his reply, his heart swelling so much he could barely speak. “I would spend my life, every day, striving to be worthy of you.” Tears formed in his eyes as he turned away, wanting to run to hide his shame and embarrassment. He almost missed her quiet, firm response, “Make sure you do, my Running Deer.”

Even now, fifteen years later, Running Deer could remember that evening as if it was last night. And every time he thought of it, his heart almost stopped again, thinking how he had nearly blown it.

Dancing Eagle had become the woman his vision had foretold. She was strong, powerful and well respected by all in the tribe. Her beauty had not dimmed in the years that passed, and the young bucks were almost constantly snapping at his heels.

Which led him back to why he was here in the first place. To demonstrate he still had what it took to deserve such a woman.

Brought back to the hunt, Running Deer looked ahead and spied the ideal target, a young bull. It was not a huge prize, but it would do, and it was straying nice and close, so he could get a clean kill shot.

All thoughts of his rivals and his wife faded into the back of his mid as he brought the bow up and tightened his back muscles to put tension on the string. Each move was slow and smooth so as not to startle the animal in front of him.
He drew the string back and aimed for the animal’s heart, waiting for the perfect shot. His breathing stilled as he focused on the point just behind the shoulder where the arrow would hit. He could see minute details with complete clarity. The midges dancing above the tips of the grass, the matted hair where the buffalo had waded through the stream and then up a muddy bank. All these things were crystal clear to him as Running Deer waited for the release of the arrow.

He did not consciously let the arrow loose. It jumped from the bow when it felt the time was right, and sped directly to its target, true to its purpose.

The razor sharp arrow head cut eagerly though the buffalo’s skin seeking the warm pumping organ buried deep in the animal’s chest. It tore through the heart, tasting the rich metallic tang of blood.

With barely a snort, the great beast fell to its knees, began wheezing and then toppled onto its side, as if sleeping. With a final gurgling sigh, it lay still.

The rest of the herd continued grazing as if nothing untoward had happened.

Running Deer let his breath out in a rush, and dropped a now trembling had to his side, the precious bow clutched tightly. He had done it. He had secured a good kill and shown those young bucks he was still a warrior and hunter of big game. He would not be pushed aside quite so easily.

Bear with a Temper would have to kill a beast of at least this size without disturbing the rest of the buffaloes if he wanted to show himself as a better hunter. All Running Deer had to do now was wait for the animals to graze past, leaving their dead comrade behind. Then the women would come down and butcher the kill and take it back to their village.

The familiar stomp, crunch and snort continued, but this time it happened behind him. Running Deer glanced back to see the herd had shifted direction slightly, and he was now in the middle of it. One wrong more now and he would be a dead man. All of his skill bringing down his prize would be for naught if the herd panicked now.

Carefully, crouching as low as he possibly could, Running Deer began inching towards the small hill he’d been sitting on before the hunt. If he could make that, he should be safe.

Suddenly a scream of pure pain and terror filled the air, and all around Running Deer heavily armoured heads the size of boulders jerked up. Their beady eyes scanned back and forth looking for danger.

The ominous rumble of hooves jolted the buffaloes nearest Running Deer into action. They put their heads down and charged in whatever direction they happened to be facing at the time.

In seconds the air was filled with choking dust and a deafening rumble as thousands of buffalo stampeded.

Caught in the middle, Running Deer tried to make for his small hill, but there were too many charging animals between him and safety. He jumped left, then right, as mighty horned heads loomed at him from out of the dust cloud. He knew he could not keep this up for long. Sooner or later those horns would find him, and Dancing Eagle would be left with no reason to dance. And Bear with a Temper would be primed to take his place at her side.

Desperately he sought for refuge. What he needed was an obstacle, a tree or hillock that the buffalo would go around. If he could hide in the lee, he might just make it. But his search found nothing to hide behind. The only thing that wasn’t moving was the body of the young bull, lying in the dust.

With a cry of desperation, Running Deer flung himself down beside the dead beast, curling himself around its great head. He could feel the earth trembling as the panicked herd thundered past. Every so often the dead buffalo would jerk, butting him, as another buffalo collided with it and bounced off.

The dust was now so thick that Running Deer could barely see his hand in front of his face. He tried to breathe through his nose to stop himself choking, but it was only marginally effective.

Another butt from the bull, and another buffalo stumbled as Running Deer looked up.

Time seemed to slow down, allowing his brain to take in the startling detail before him. Eyes wide in terror, shaggy mane flying, a large bull stamped hard on the flank of the dead buffalo. The corpse rolled slightly throwing the charging bull further off balance. Its hooves the size of a man’s head flashed out seeking stable ground.

Running Deer could only watch in horror as one hoof descended towards his precious bow.

How could he have been so careless?

He could see the dust and burrs on the leg of the animal, the shaggy mess that terminated in a hammer destined to crush Running Deer’s most prized possession. His own muscles refused to obey, as he desperately sought to save this one link to his father.

Cruel fate would not even allow him to close his eyes as the hoof smashed down in a thunderclap that nearly deafened Running Deer. The hoof caught the string of the bow, snapping it instantly. The limbs recoiled, causing the bow to jump, quivering into the air.

Then the beast was gone into the swirling cloud of dust.

Running Deer’s fist closed around the bow before it could fall back to the trampled earth, and he clutched the bow tightly to his chest as he begged forgiveness from the spirit of his father for his carelessness. He sought for courage to keep himself sane as the world descended into pounding thunder and dust.

His mind turned to a childhood hero, a legend of their tribe, who had battled greater odds than this and prevailed. Grey Hawk had battled a giant grizzly bear with nothing more than a tomahawk and a kerchief filled with blueberries. Listening to the tales of his adventures around the fire pit as a youngster, Running Deer had wondered what had made him so powerful. What had made him such a legend?

Many had questioned the truth of the tale, but the grandfathers who knew Grey Hawk personally were adamant that the stories were true.

Running Deer asked his spirit for strength as he lay curled around the horns of the dead buffalo, waiting for the terror to subside.

Just as he thought the stampede might be winding down, he was butted by the head of the dead buffalo so hard that it threw him several feet across the ground. New fear strangled his heart as he looked up at the mountain of sinew and muscle looming above the carcass.

A dreadful bellow filled the air as a huge buffalo stumbled across the corpse, his weight carrying him on despite all attempts to stop. A forefoot with splayed hoof missed connecting with anything solid and the charging beast began tumbling head first toward the prone figure coughing on a lungful of dust.

Once again Running Deer felt time slow, felt his mortality reach out to him, felt the call of his ancestors reach out from the spirit world. His eyes met those of the buffalo and in them he saw the reflection of his own fear.

Even as Running Deer flung himself towards the relative safety next to the head of his kill, the charging buffalo hit the ground, horns missing Running Deer’s legs by scant inches. The ground shuddered with the impact, and Running Deer stared in horror and amazement as the giant beast flipped over its own head, trapped by its horns in the hard soil.

It landed hard on its back with a concussion that smacked Running Deer in his back and forced the wind from his dust filled lungs. The loud crack of the beast’s neck breaking was like a lighting strike. Hard, abrupt and terminal.
The sound seemed to frighten the other beasts away, and before long Running Deer was able to sit and try to sort himself out.

He checked his bow, that precious gift from his father, and found it undamaged. For that he gave thanks.

With a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet, just in time to see the stout figure of Walking Tree, his chief, arrive with the other hunters hot on his heels. The relief on his face was obvious as he strode up to Running Deer.

A big calloused hand slapped him on the back as he loudly proclaimed his amazement to all those behind him.
“See here you young bucks who think you are great hunters. Running Deer has brought down two buffalo with just one arrow.” The big man smiled at Running Deer, who stood stiffly, trying not to vomit. He desperately needed to pee, and he clenched his butt cheeks to keep his bowels from betraying him.

The chief turned to Bear with a Temper and said, “Think on his skill as you track that animal you wounded and end its suffering. One day you too may grow to be a great hunter like Running Deer.

Bear with a Temper hung his head and nodded in shame. He had spoiled his shot and stampeded the herd. Now he and his friends would spend the next few days far from their village, while they hunted the poor beast down and killed it. Then they would have to butcher the animal and carry it all the way back to the village.

Running Deer nodded to them as he strode through their ranks, back straight, head held high. He forced the bile in his throat back down as his eyes scanned for a place where he could collapse out of sight.

The women and children filed past on their way to butcher the meat for the tribe. He heard their whispers as he strode past. “Running Deer rode the stampede and killed two buffalo with one arrow.”

He wanted to correct them, to tell them the truth. But he knew if he opened his mouth all that would come out would be the contents of his stomach.

He stumbled over the small hill he had been sitting on, what seemed like an age ago, and sagged to his knees finally out of sight. He coughed and drew in a series of ragged breaths as he carefully placed his bow on the ground next to him.

His heart eventually slowed and the pounding in his temples eased. He took a small sip from his water skin and then spat it out. He laughed as he did so, finding hilarity in the situation as he rocked back on his heels.

The young bucks would be gone from the village, and he would have a prize to show Dancing Eagle. As he picked up the bow and cradled it in his arms across his chest, running Deer thought to himself, “So this is how legends are born.”

Shaking his head at his own vanity, Running Deer took on the spirit of his namesake, and headed back to the village and Dancing Eagle’s arms as fast as his shaky legs would carry him.