The fields echo with the sound of the beast's bellowing. In spite of myself I flinch from the sound. There is no shame in that. Khaows are fearsome creatures, large and shaggy, with horns that can gore a man.
But it is not impossible for a group of hunters to bring one down. This one is a fighter, a bull, snorting with eyes burning. We had been stalking this one's herd for a full day before he separated from the rest. The herd is far in the distance, they fled when they caught our scent. This one is alone.
Yannick takes the lead, plunging his spear into the khaow's flank. The creature moans and tries to skewer my son on his horn. Sunyuk is ready for him though and swings his club into the creature's head. The others run forward to throw nets over the khaow.
There is much blood but the beast still lives. It is time to strike the final blow.
Malyn moves in, levels his spear then thrusts forward. The flint point pierces skin, muscle and bone. It is precise, like a striking snake, the perfect kill. The bull shudders one final time before collapsing. I sigh with relief.
The meat from a khaow can feed the clan for a week. It was even a fairly easy kill. I have seen men trampled or ripped apart on khaow hunts but this day we all return home.
'Truly the goddess watches over us this day,' Yannick says. He is panting and sweating but smiling happily.
'We will make an offering to Her, as thanks for Her protection,' I answer.
My hunters work with speed and skill, cutting and slicing at the carcass with long, flint knives. In almost no time, their bags are filled with meat. I feel pride as I watch my clan work together. It was teamwork like this that let us survive the Bad Times.
I raise my hand to my forehead and give thanks to the goddess, as we all do when we think about that time, before memory, when the world was ravaged.
'Praise be to Say.'
Once we've gathered all we can, we journey back east to where my people make our home, beneath the shrine of the goddess. We have lived there, the ancients say, since the Bad Times. Before we leave, I use my axe to remove the khaow's head. This will be our offering.
It is not long before we hear the waves crashing on the shore and we see the outline of the goddess against the sky. Our home is in the base of the shrine, closed off from the wind and rain as it has been for as long as any can remember.
The shrine is magnificent. The goddess' likeness stretches three hundred feet high. Her face is stern, as a protector should be, framed by a crown of long spikes. In her right hand she holds a torch which the Elders say is the light that guided us through the Bad Times, when fire rained from the sky and scorched the earth. In her left she holds a book which my people say holds ancient and forbidden knowledge.
I sometimes wonder who made the shrine. It could not have been any mortal man for the shrine is made of metal, which no man knows how to make or work with. It must have been the same race of gods who made the giant bridges and lived in the great city of stone and steel that now lies in ruins and is now our hunting ground.
'Praise be to Say!' I call out to my hunters.
'Praise to the goddess,' they answer as they kneel. I plunge my spear into the dirt and skewer the khaow's head atop it. It is my duty, as chief, to perform this rite, and my honour to do so.
'We ask that you accept this offering, as thanks for all you have done for us. In your name we pray.' And then the fields echoed with the sound of the prayer of the goddess.
'Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light...'
