Of Joxters and Snufkins

Chapter 2

"You need to be as quiet as possible." The Joxter whispered into Snufkin's ear. The mumriks were crouched together behind a thicket of bushes, a slight gap in the foliage giving them a view of a fat hog drinking from a stream. Snufkin could feel his father's breath against his ear. It made him sweat. The pressure, the bowstring pulling hard on his fingers, the thought of killing the unsuspecting creature.

He gulped. Unable to look, he fired the arrow. He heard it whistle through the air before a jarring twang bounced back at him. The hog grunted and took off in the opposite direction. Joxter sighed and Snufkin heard him notch an arrow. Another whistle but this time it was followed by the pained squeal of the hog.

"C'mon." Joxter commanded. "And fetch that arrow." He felt sick as he took off his boots and rolled up his trousers, knowing that just behind him Joxter was delivering the killing blow to the creature. He waded into the stream, found the arrow and turned just in time to see his father pull his arrow from the hog's hind leg.

"We'll be able to use every part of this." Joxter said, tying the dead animal's feet to a pole for them to carry home. "Meat, obviously, pelt, bones. Just about all of it is useful."

"Mm-hm." Snufkin agreed. He didn't really know how to talk to his father. He never hunted before, nor did his mother. They scavenged if they needed to, but mostly bartered for their food in small settlements or bought from a farm. His mother had quite a way with textiles that few others could match so they made their living off of that.

Snufkin cringed through the Joxter's tutorial on skinning an animal, something that smelled and felt awful. He was happy to wash the blood away in the river, but he could feel his father's eyes burning into the back of his neck the entire time.

"It's gonna storm later." Joxter said suddenly, taking Snufkin out of his watery stupor.

Snufkin's gut churned. He hated storms with a blazing fury. He always had. The way the sky shrieked, the way lightning flashed, the way the wind made everything tremble and shake, it all made him want to bury himself in a hole and never leave. Something told him that it was best not to say that to the Joxter.

"Is that bad?" Snufkin inquired, not wanting to show himself a craven as well as a terrible hunter. Besides, he thought that the cabin might actually flood.

"Not for us. The cabin's on a hill, I was just hoping to go to the nearby village tomorrow." He shrugged. "I guess it'll have to wait."

Snufkin knew the village he spoke of, he had passed through it with his mother during their search for Joxter. The locals had been accommodating and sweet if not a little too curious when they mentioned the name "Joxter".

There was no sun to bask in, so the mumriks dried off and went straight home, Joxter immediately boarded up the door and windows. He stewed a choice cut of their day's kill with some carrots and potatoes and served it in a bowl with a glass of milk.

"Thank you!" Snufkin said, inhaling the mouth-watering scent. The Joxter was by no means an extravagant cook, but he knew how to cook a nice piece of meat, something the Mymble had never tried and rarely bought. Good meat was expensive after all.

Joxter grunted an acknowledgement and silently ate his food, the ears atop his head quirking and twitching in every direction. He could hear the storm getting closer. Without finishing his food, he went and lit a fire. The chimney went right by the bed on the upper level and there were metal pipes inside the walls that heated up whenever the fire was ablaze.

When he turned back to the kitchenette he saw Snufkin at the sink, washing and scrubbing the dirty wares. He almost faltered, not expecting his son to take up the chore without so much as a hint from him. Then he saw that his own bowl, which he had left half full, was not on the table. When he got closer he could see that both bowls had already been cleaned, Snufkin working on scrubbing the grime from the pot the food had been cooked in.