5
Nikolai bent and laid his fingers along the track in the ground.
The edges were crisp in the damp soil. It had rained in the night; the eland had passed through sometime in the last two hours.
“Bull,” Ngubi noted.
“Too big,” agreed Mosode. After bringing the unwelcome news that a white-haired woman had indeed visited the village, Ngubi’s nephew had stayed with them for a day of hunting.
Nikolai nodded. At close to a ton, the eland provided far more meat than what they needed for the three of them. They each had melons slung over their backs, and Ngubi also carried a few roasted wild potatoes for them to nibble on as they traveled. They had no need to hunt the giant antelope.
A winged termite landed near the eland track. Before Nikolai could move his hand away, a small, furry form leaped out from beneath where he’d gathered his hair into a loose knot. She jumped onto his forearm. He caught a glimpse of pale fur, and a long nose that quivered, before she pounced in a lightning move.
The termite vanished into her eager jaws with a distinct crunch.
“Yummy,” muttered Nikolai. “Was that good, Mai?”
Her long nose waved at him.
“That’s all for now,” he said, raising her to his neck. She used her long hind legs to bounce back onto her perch up beneath his hair, where she wound her toes into the strands to hold on.
While Mai washed her whiskers after her snack, Ngubi followed Mosode along the creek bed. Ngubi and the other Khomani hunter gossiped in low voices as they searched the wet soil for fresh tracks. The glottal stops and clicks blended with the bird sounds in the surrounding bushes. Ngubi’s eyes sparkled with lively intelligence as he discussed local village politics with Mosode, but he paused their progress to hand Nikolai a roasted potato.
“Here. Since your little thief stole the termite,” he teased.
Although termites did find their way on to the menu on occasion, Nikolai didn’t mind sharing with Mai. He took the time to retie his hair, making sure to form a loose pocket for the shrew to curl up within, before he accepted the potato and broke it open to nibble.
Mosode watched Nikolai wrestle with his hair. “Why don’t you just cut it off?”
He’d asked before, and Nikolai always offered his customary shrug. But this time he added, “It dulls my knife after two cuts, and it grows so fast—I get tired of trying.”
Mosode’s gaze trailed along Nikolai’s tall, muscular frame before he shook his head and resumed his tracking.
Munching on his potato, Nikolai watched the hunters bend to examine another set of tracks. Something in the men’s posture put him on the alert.
One glance at the ground, and he almost choked on his last bite of potato.
The first tracks were nothing remarkable—a small group of springbok, plentiful in this region and a common target for the nomadic hunters. But in the opposite direction to them paced the tracks of a lion.
Not just any lion—a big male. Most likely one that both Ngubi and he knew quite well. The king of the resident pride, close to five hundred pounds of black-maned predator.
They came across his tracks often, so that was not remarkable. But these paw prints didn’t stride normally. They swayed, as if the animal were drunk.
Or sick.
Mosode fixated on the springbok tracks. He glanced over to the tall man when Nikolai focused on the lion’s.
“The lion will not fill our bellies, but perhaps use us to fill his,” he pointed out.
Nikolai just shook his head at him, his focus on the ground. Ngubi looked from him, back to Mosode, and sighed. “Good hunting,” he said.
Mosode shrugged and followed the springbok tracks, disappearing into the scrub.
“You could go with him,” Nikolai said. “I can join up with you later.”
Ngubi shook his head. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Nikolai simply grunted, eyes to the ground. A little farther on, they found more tracks. Those of his three lionesses, and their half-grown cubs. Some appeared to be staggering as they walked.
