After a while with no sign of anything but songbirds flying south, Tiern glanced at Paxton from the corner of his eye. Pax was eyeing the forest in earnest.
Paxton’s brown hair was wild with waves, and almost long enough to tie back with a strip of leather. Tiern didn’t know how he could stand to have it in his face like that. His own hair was the same dark brown shade, but straight. He kept it pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck. More rugged. More muscular. More mysterious. That was Pax.
Tiern could make girls laugh, and flattered them with compliments. They felt comfortable in his presence. Ironically, they flocked to Paxton for just the opposite reason. His abrasiveness was a challenge that kept girls on edge. Paxton never took the time to notice anything, but a single moment of eye contact with a girl could make her cheeks flush. No words necessary. Tiern wanted to laugh at the backwardness, at how blushing lasses gravitated toward his older brother who couldn’t be arsed to give them a lick of his attention.
Tiern saw movement and tore his gaze from his brother. His eyes met the trees just in time. A brown blur moved twenty yards away. All of Tiern’s fidgeting and boredom dissolved. For one shade of a second he wondered if it might be the great beast, but he knew it never came out during daylight hours. No, the animal’s form materialized into a gentle beast, nothing to fear.
Never taking his eyes from the deer, he gently nudged Paxton before ever so slowly nocking his arrow to his bow and lifting it. Aiming. Waiting for the perfect shot.
He could feel his brother’s silent anticipation next to him.
They were different in so many ways, but in these moments they were the same—joined by the thrill of the hunt.
Tiern’s heart pumped hard and the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh through his ears became a soothing mantra. This feeling. This rush made the boredom of waiting worthwhile.
Just as the doe stepped into the clearing, making for a perfect shot, Paxton’s fingers tightened on Tiern’s shoulder and his eyes flicked to the side.
Tiern’s heart sank.
An older fawn, still sporting its fading spots, came bounding out beside its mother.
“Bucking seas,” Tiern cursed. The brothers had a rule about not killing does while they were raising babes. Once the fawns were older, losing their spots, their mothers were fair game.
Tiern lowered his bow, disappointment washing through him. Seconds later Paxton’s fingers gripped him again. He followed his brother’s gaze, and was hit with elation at the sight before them.
A giant buck with an eight-point rack stood between the trees, gazing toward the doe. A deer of that size could feed half their village this week.
“Take it,” Paxton said, so low Tiern almost couldn’t hear.
Technically the buck was on Paxton’s side, but he must have felt bad about the doe, so he was giving his little brother the go. Tiern turned himself, achingly slow, and nocked his arrow to the bow once again, pulling it rigid.
Come on, big lad, he thought. Give me a good shot.
He didn’t have to wait long. The unsuspecting buck, focused solely on the doe, stepped out.
Tiern didn’t hesitate. He let his arrow fly and it found its mark beneath the ribs. He released a huge breath of relief as the beautiful animal faltered and fell. The doe and fawn dashed away.
Paxton leaped to his feet and ran to their prey. Tiern always let him take care of this part. His brother unsheathed a dagger from his waist and squatted at the animal’s side.
“There now,” Paxton soothed. He reached out slowly, with care, and pressed a hand to the buck’s head. The animal was still alive, breathing hard. “Go, be at peace. Your life will not be wasted.”
Those words, spoken at every kill, never ceased to bring a chill of awe to Tiern. He watched as his brother raised the dagger and ended the creature’s suffering. If only the lasses in town could see Paxton here in his element—see how capable their handsome brute was of gentleness, even as he killed. They’d likely be elbowing one another out of the way and racing to see who could lift their skirts for him the quickest.
Aside from their father, Tiern was the only person who knew this side of Paxton. He felt honored, as if witnessing something private and intimate.
When Paxton was ready, they got to work.
It was stew for dinner that night. Maryn Seabolt cooked a small portion of the fresh venison in a pot with potatoes, carrots, and the last of the thick-skinned tomatoes from their summer garden. She hummed a folk song as she bustled about. When everything was ready, she made heaping bowls for her two boys and brought their suppers to them in front of the fire. They ate like kings the night of a big kill.
If only it happened more often.
“Thank you, Mum,” Tiern said.
“No, thank you, laddie.” She kissed his forehead.
“Thanks,” Paxton said. Their mother rumpled his mess of hair before turning away, humming again.