Bayou Remedy

Part 28

Itzel sighed as the little swamp deer bounded away, setting up splashes along the marshy ground in its wake. That would have made a welcome addition to his food stores had he caught it. He looked up at the sun, craning his head back further than he thought he would to see the blazing disc. It hung directly over his head, a testament to the many hours he'd been hunting. It was time he returned to the two-legger.

With one last longing look after the fleeing deer, Itzel turned back the way he'd come. He slipped and slithered through the underbrush, the branches of several marshy shrubs impeding his travels as he sought the liquid freedom of the swamp proper. He reared up to his full height briefly, his tongue flicking out as he tasted the subtle differences that lingered on the breeze. Making a minor correction to his course he started out again, soon coming upon the cache where he'd stashed this mornings gleanings.

Reaching up into a small tree, he untied the bindings that secured a mesh bag to the branches above. He checked the contents almost absently, assuring himself that no other predator had come upon the two fish and small water lizard he'd already caught while he'd been tracking the deer. They were just as he'd left them with no other wounds save the ones he'd given as he ended their lives. He fastened the ties about his belt as he surveyed his surroundings.

Assuming the two-legger had stayed where he'd left it, he could cut through the more wooded area just ahead and come out relatively close to its campsite. It would be a risk, the land there was solid if damp and the tree cover left a lot to be desired. Should he come upon any two-leggers he'd be hard pressed to make it to the water before they spotted him. The alternative was to take the waterways back, that route would insure his safety but it would also add an additional hour to his travels.

Itzel's tongue flicked out in indecision, searching for some hint that would tell him which path to take. He cocked his head to the side, turning more directly towards the two-legger's camp. There was... Something. Something on the breeze that didn't belong. He flicked his tongue out again, moving forward as he sought the familiar astringent flavor that set his teeth on edge. What was that?

He paused as he reached the edge of the water. Whatever it was had passed over the water here and continued down the channel. The thought of the scent moving above the waterline finally made the connection with where he'd tasted that scent before and he changed direction immediately, launching himself into the wooded marsh. He cursed as he quickly leapt from tree to tree, slithering and sliding as he took the quickest route possible back to the shaman. Lightning sticks. That's where he'd smelled that scent before. Not particularly out of place where two-leggers were present excepting the fact that the shaman didn't carry one and this lightning stick had been accompanied with the scent of blood.

He froze as he reached the waterline on the other side of the marshland and caught sight of the two-legger's camp. Breath coming in quick pants, he searched the campsite as he clung to a tree. There were numerous changes since he'd last laid eyes on it that morning. The cocoon still hung where it was but all of the bedding had been pulled from its interior and tossed carelessly onto the muddy ground. The small pot had been overturned and its contents where leaking into the already saturated ground as the flames it had rested upon sputtered. A crashing sound drew his attention to the boat just as a bucket was hurled into the already sizable pile of supplies scattered across the marshland. A figure stood in the boat, smaller even than the shaman and practically radiating spite. Itzel flicked his gaze over the camp again, searching. Searching for clues as to what had happened, searching for clues as to where the shaman might have gone and who had replace him. That's when he heard the scream, a long keening sound full of pain and desperation that just caught at the edge of his hearing.

Itzel abandoned the camp, uncaring if the two-legger there saw him or not. He ripped the mesh bag from his belt and dropped it into the water, it would only impede him now and he needed all the speed he could get. He dove into the swamp as a shout from the camp told him the two-legger had spotted his rapid movement. He didn't care. He let the opaque waters aid his passage as he unerringly followed the sound of that scream.

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Fun Fact:

Western, predominately Christian, society is one of very few cultures in which snakes are viewed as sinister entities. To the rest of the world they are symbols of medicine and fertility, and often depicted as guardians.