Warrior’s Honor

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Smooth-browed in full flush of youth, Xenon, the mighty hunter, stood proud and tall before King Filander’s throne of mastodon tusks. Last moon, the Kronx had raided his Plune people. Now the Plune would have vengeance.

“You would join our raiding party?” asked King Filander. He shifted his gristly buttocks—mastodon tusks made a seat more impressive than comfortable.

“I will,” Xenon replied. His bow of mastodon-hide-wrapped yerry wood stood as tall as he and nearly as thick as his sinewy wrist. No one else could string that bow, let alone draw it.

“Very well,” said the king, broad chest still hard under skin a bit loose from forty years of weather. “You’ve proven yourself a hunter. We’ll see if you make a warrior.”

Xenon felt the mingled confidence and doubt of the other Plune warriors. He knew none was stronger than he. Most had hunted with him. Xenon it was who had taken the great beast, twice his height with legs thick as a mighty man’s chest, on whose tusks King Filander now sat. Surely the warriors and the king could not doubt Xenon’s courage.

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