WINTER, LGORI ISLAND

Snow, light as light, drifts between the branches of broken trees and settles softly on the forest floor. The breeze is sharp, and cold, and finds its way through my furs to chill the skin below. I ignore it and listen. My ears are burning with blood. As if carried by the spirits, I hear my quarry’s cry; my ancestors condone my actions and so I must continue. The hunt must go on.

Blood bubbles from my leg in protest of every step, but I mustn’t stop, I must go on. I imagine my children watching me, watching me climb Eb-Lgori Etova’avo -- the cloud mountain. I imagine their excited faces when I return, I imagine their hugs and kisses - and the love of my wives - yet as soon as I am there the wind whips me away, and I am here again, alone.

Perhaps I am too old for hunts like this, perhaps my son should be taking up my mantle. He is talented, yes, but I don’t dare think of him in a hunt like this. It is too much, even for him. No, I will be the hunter for now, and for now the hunt must go on.

A crimson blur ahead of me. My eyes follow the animal between the trees, and I follow my eyes. It’s close. Silently, I raise my bowstring to my cheek, feel the creak of the wood beneath my fingers.

Loose.

The creature collapses on all fours and screams. I run to it and drive an axe into its neck, killing it outright, and then I sit down to rest. Once I am calmed, I thank the flowers of courage - and the hunt - for escorting me and taking the fear away. I strip the animal of its furs, and its blackstone claws, and hoist it over my shoulder to carry home.

White meat is the tastiest, after all.

BONUS VOLCANIC ISLAND MAP THE BIG BOAT THEY MADE! (THE LITTLE BLACK THING ON THE BACK IS A PERSON)

TL;DR - Hunting the natives on the islands, yum yum.