Small story 11

Imagine gold. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Think of how it shines and gleams in the sun. Imagine a vast sheet of it, shining, gleaming, delicately placed upon the earth. Remember how ductile and malleable it is, and consider how such a sheet of gold would settle and conform to the earthen features underneath. On the top of the world lie the golden steppes of Amra, and the most ancient of folklore say that it was created when the Sun draped the world in gold.

In these golden lands live many peoples. They are different from one another, but they are all Amrans. These peoples were blessed and chosen to live here long before anyone, even the eldest, can remember. For this, the people of Amra are always grateful - even when the steppes of gold seem to conspire against them, and living is hard. The peoples are not unfriendly towards each other, at least not without reason, but they do keep to themselves. Some of the peoples have several tribes within them, others are a single group.

Near the centre of Amra there lived a people, who called themselves the Hunters, and they consisted of only one tribe. There were other people called Hunters in Amra but they were not the same people as these, and if individuals from different Hunters ran into each other, if they chose to speak at all, they named each other by the place they came from. The Hunters were nomadic however, so if you ran into a Hunter from the Pool by the Tree, he would most likely not be from the same Hunters from the Pool by the Tree as the one you met the year before.

The Hunters first mentioned, who would currently call themselves the Hunters from the Plateau on the Hill, was a small tribe, in the sense that they kept to themselves and did not get involved with the politics and inter-people interaction that some of the other Amrans did. This was not because they had chosen not to; it was simply because that was how it was.

The Hunters are always led by a single person. This person is chosen by the rest of the tribe to be leader, but once chosen holds the position for life. Only if a leader should lose favour of the tribe, be challenged by an individual with the tribe’s support, and lose the challenge – whether it is of mind, body or skill – will he lose his position.

 

There was a leader of the Hunters called Godo, and they called him “the Lion”. His stature was impressive, and his body was both strong and agile. His skin was bronzed and tanned, and gleamed in the Amran sun, much like the land itself. His facial features were hard and chiselled, and the bridge of his nose was broad, like many of the Hunters’. His eyes were radiant golden amber, and his gaze piercing. He sported a large mane of hair which ranged from light, sun-bleached blonde, to the darkest browns. And this is why they called him the Lion.

He excelled at hunting game, being able to run large distances to chase down prey, but was also skilled at weaving baskets, crafting spears or knives, preparing food and building shelter. Indeed, he performed any task laid before him with great skill and precision, and there was nothing the Hunters knew of that he was bad at. And this is why they called him the Lion.

He carried himself with a calm dignity, and even though he had been elected leader he was always humble, no matter whom he was meeting.  He would always listen to what everyone had to say, and never ignored or ostracised anyone. When he spoke, the other Hunters always listened. His mind was of great capacity, and there was seldom a problem he could not solve. Godo always kept his tribe safe, kept them supplied with food and resources, and facilitated prosperity. And this is why they called him the Lion.

For the Lion is the king of the beasts, the noblest of creatures, and this comparison was the greatest honour the Hunters could bestow upon him, short of likening him to the Sun itself.