The Wild Hunt

Part 10 Istas

Once the bar was closed, we cleaned up, Kelly counted the takings, while scout swept, Bonnie took stock of what needed to be replaced, and I ran back and forth with whatever she asked for. Once we had finished we made our way to Michael, who was in typical fashion, sat outside of his trailer, with a low ball glass of whiskey and some old school country. Quietly coming from the small stereo he had in his trailer. The song was a classic George Jones track, he stopped loving her today. I remembered my grandfather listening to it in his old ford pick up when I was a kid. Four chairs were set out in front of him as he smiled to greet us. We took three of the seats and Kelly followed behind us filling the forth slot. There must have been a look on Scout's face because she smiled at him and said,

"Nobody tells the old legend better that Michael, there's no way I'm sitting this out."

Michael took a large mouthful from his glass, finishing off its contents and reached under his chair. He retrieved a bottle I didn't recognise, there was no label on the bottle, which itself was unusual, looking almost like a decanter. Seeing my interest Michael handed me an empty glass and poured a well measured single.

"That's a 1973 Midleton, the damn thing cost as much as my trailer, and its older than you, don't get too attached though, I don't share it often." he said and he handed Kelly a glass.

Scout and Bonnie's eyes followed the glass, as Kelly took it from him and then back to Michael hopefully. Michael chuckled.

"Sorry pups, you save my ass like Marcus did and I'll pour you a glass too."

Scout shoulders dropped and Bonnie turned to me with a grin.

I brought the glass up to my nose and breathed it in. It smelled like spices and dark fruit's, with a hint of worn leather that reminded me of my old bike jacket. The familiar feeling it gave me. made me smile to myself as I took a sip. The taste of the dark fruits hit me first with the spices creeping up behind them, burning my tongue and throat in a way that was both uncomfortable and wanted. As I swallowed, it was like the flavour faded out like an 80s ballad, first the fire, then the fruit, followed by an oak like finish that could only be leftover from the cask it had been distilled in.

I took another sip, enjoying it more than the first then looked at the empty glass.

"Damn, that even tasted expensive!" I said handing the glass back to Michael.

As I sat back in my chair Bonnie leaned across and kissed me deeply, pushing her tongue roughly against mine, and for a second I forgot about the whiskey entirely. She sat back in her chair and licked her lips.

"Not bad, but I'd prefer a bottle of Bud." she said grinning at me as I realised why she had stolen the kiss in the first place.

"I think there are a few in my fridge." Michael said as he sipped his own glass.

Bonnie nudged Scout, who rolled his eyes and got up to retrieve two bottles. When he returned Michael began.

"For you to understand our history, you need to know the Legend. Keep in mind these stories have been handed down for hundreds of years, before today I thought that they were mostly nonsense. There are things that we know to be true. We know that a Bite will force the change, we know that not everyone survives it.

The story goes that a few hundred years before the British discovered America, the native Navajo people roamed the great planes, a small tribe, somewhere near the south-west, lived peacefully. There was a young Brave named Mato.

Mato was well known for his hunting prowess, greater than all others, except for his best friend, Jacy.

Jacy himself was well-loved among his people, though the talk of him being talented, had gone to his head, and his ego often got him into trouble. One night while out hunting, the friends came across a cave that was the home of a wolf pack, knowing that the winter was approaching, the pair decided that the skins would be exactly the thing to see the tribe through the colder season.