A variety of small tents are scattered through the clearing where the hunting party encamped the previous night. It's mid-morning. The smoke of a fire wafts through the cool spring air, as well as the lighter smells of breakfast lingering in breeze. Horses are tethered nearby, and occasionally a gentle whicker or snort can be heard. People are up and moving about the camp. Turail smoothes his black hair into a simply ponytail and walks from his tent towards the fire.

Lelldorin sits near the fire, eating a bowl of stew. His bow lays at his feet, already strung, perhaps after an early morning excursion. His eyes look around alertly, and he nods to Turail as he emerges.

Lelldorin sits near the fire, eating a bowl of stew. His bow lays at his feet, already strung, perhaps after an early morning excursion. His eyes look around alertly, and he nods to Turail as he emerges.

Deleamar sits accross from Lelldorin, arms crossed accross his chest. Not looking pleased, but does he ever?, he nods to Turail as he approaches, and throws another log into the fire.

Turail steps over the log Lelldorin is sitting on and sits down, shaking out his dark green cloak as he does so. "Good morning cousins." His raspy voice competes with the crackle of the newly disturbed fire for hearing as he sits.

Lelldorin smiles brightly at the Duke as he sits. "Good day, Duke Turail." He says, moving his bow to the side. "Would you care for a bowl of my famous stew? Deleamar seems to dislike it."

Deleamar raises an eyebrow at Turail's greeting. "Is it? I have seen nothing that makes it a good morning yet." Taking a long stick from lying near the log he sits on, he begins to poke it into the coals of the fire. "I don't dislike your stew, Lelldorin. I'm just not hungry."

Turail smiles faintly, that vague impression of amusement infiltrating his features though not much can be said to have physically moved. Perhaps the amusment is in the icy well springs of his eyes. "Yes, please Lelldorin." His glance moves back to Deleamar, and that hint of amusement is transfered to his remark "Perhaps your vision of the single tree is obstructed by the forest Deleamar."

Lelldorin nods, and retrieves a wooden bowl from the log next to him. He serves up a bowl of stew, handing it to Turail. He is not familiar with the duke's statement, so listens curiously.

The First Prince arrived late in the evening the night before, and lightly was the cause of a few being woken-up considering he brought a dozen Queen's Guard with him. The tent was arranged just off the campground. When he emerges from the tent, the usual stretch can be seen. He's currently dressed in rather un-princely clothing, the sort more durable and meant for hunting. Its a good thing he didn't wear his Warder's cloak. Spying out the fire, and food, he begins to head in that direction. The Queen's Guards are about, but leave those inside the camp-ground alone.

Deleamar humphs, and that small sound it punctuated by a harsh jab at the coals with his stick. "I think my vision of the forest is obstructed by a single tree, if you want to know the full truth, Turail."

the movement of the First Prince emerging from his tent and heading towards the fire catches Turail's eye, and he watches the Prince's progress across the camp towards them for a moment before turning his head back to Deleamar and smiling mildly. "Either way, you have missed the smell of pine, the feel of the cool morning against your face, and the music of the wild. The goodness of the day is in the small glories." In other words, loosen your corset Deleamar.. lighten up! He takes the bowl offered by Lelldorin and smells it, anticipating breakfast. "Thank you cousin. Smells good."

Lelldorin smiles, and also catches the movement of the prince. He rises, and fills another bowl, anticipating that he will be hungry.

Theowyn enters the surrounding campfire with that level of anticipation for the day of hunting, his well trained eyes seeming relaxed on this day. He nods in thanks, taking the bowl from Lelldorin before finding a seat for himself. "Morning gentlemen," he managaes, skipping over titles with a purpose of expecting the same in return. Having arrived late, he is surprised by those within the campfire, or specifically Deleamar, but he gives him no more of a gaze then any other seated.

Choosing not to respond back to Turail, for the man always argues in a way Deleamar finds hard to debate, he instead gives his full attention to the fire before him. Looking up at the Prince at his greeting, though, he fixes Theowyn with a brief, heated glance, before looking back at the fire. He mumbles something about just wanting to hunt, and to not just sit around fires.

Turail holds off on the bite of stew he was about to stick into his mouth and lowers the spoon. "Good morning old friend. Good to see you made it out here. I was somewhat doubtful wether your duties would allow a break at this time." He did hear that mumbled protest from Deleamar, but pays it no mind. They will hunt soon enough.

Lelldorin nods back to the prince in greeting, and looks up at Deleamar. "We are merely having a meal to keep our strength, cousin. We would not want a boar charging us as we were distracted thinking about something to eat." He grins, obviously hearing the muttering also.

Theowyn settles by the campfire, beginning on the steaming bowl of something or another. "I will admit to being most creative in cancelling a few appointments for today," he smirks a slight at that. "It has been some years since I've been on the hunt. It will do well to use the bow on moving targets, rather then wooden ones in the practise yard," Theowyn admits. The casual tone continues, even when he flakes off a bit of politics into the conversation. "Lord Daric is well?"

Deleamar doesn't seem to eat much, ever. Much can be told of his skinny form. But his head does whip up at the mention of Lord Daric. "He is well into scheming and backstabbing, naturally." What would seem to be an attempt at a joke from many people comes out much the oppisite from Deleamar.

Turail gives Deleamar a glance. Mild, but warning nonetheless. The man needs a Domani wife to relax him. Although if Janeva continues to school Kyleigh... perhaps that will be just as effective. His blue eyes must show some glimmer of that idly musing thought. "Yes, I fear what little skill I had in the bow is rusty. Perhaps Lelldorin could refresh me somewhat on technique." He's not really ready to discuss Daric just yet. A few facts here and there are trickling to his ears, and while Daric is a pain in the half-shienaran high seat's neck, some of the things he's heard about the manner of the way he recieved his wounds bothers him.

Lelldorin frowns suddenly as the conversation moves to the subject of his first cousin. He had hoped to escape all that by coming on this trip. He brings himself up short by scoffing as Daric's name is mentioned, and begins silently examining his stew as he chews. "Yes, I certainly could give a refresher to whomever desires it, cousin."

Deleamar meets Turail's glance with a shrug of his own, but funny enough he does swerve off the course of ranting on about his Child cousin. It seems the Duke of Roesone has some control over the Grumpy Lord of Roesone. "I'm sure Daric is fine," he states simply.

"Indeed," is Theowyn's brief response to Deleamar, glancing a touch more at the stew before gladly taking more in. After the next might, Theowyn scans the Roesone Lords with a slight level of curiousity, though not one that is mild in manner. "That is good to hear," he concludes, getting somewhat of the answer. Turning to Turail, he continues. "Dear friend, if you were skilled with the bow and have the herons on your sword, I would think worse of your herons. But we will insure all goes well, yes? I have trained with the bow since my early years, so it was a weapon I naturally picked up in the Tower. Aislynn is even a decent shot, if you could imagine that."

The the conversation has moved, Turail has managed to consume all but a few bites of the stew in hsi bowl, and yet without having seemed to shovel it in. He must be hungry. He lets his spoon rest and grins slightly at the younger First Prince. "Somehow, that does not surprise me. Aislynn always has been a determined soul, even what I recall of her as a young girl." He laughs raspingly, "Somehow, I do suspect the felling arrow shall not be mine this day, even so."

"Speaking of the Queen, I want to.." Deleamar snaps his mouth shut. He will not discuss politics here, no matter how bad he wants to gripe. "Is that so?" he corrects himself. "She is quite an amazing woman."

Lelldorin turns, and fixes the duke with a wry grin. "Not if I can help it. I feel my fingers itching for a hundred pound buck this day." He chuckles quietly, and finishes his stew as well.

Ever so smoothly, Theowyn turns to Deleamar as the Queen is mentioned. With Deleamar stopping short of his words, Theowyn simply nods to the last and disregards the first. "Indeed. Last year she surprised me with the desire to take-up the sword." Although Theowyn gives no verbal indication of how that went, that amusement in his tone would show that it was not all too successful. "We settled for hand-to-hand training. It took me some time to convince her that she could flip a man over her shoulders that was three times her weight, if she knew the proper technique."

Deleamar nods, knowing something of hand-to-hand combat himself. "It is not hard to do, once you have an idea of what you are doing. Novices can hurt themselves easily, though."

>> Darayn follows the road into the woods.

A soft chuckle can be heard from the Duke as Theowyn lets a few details of some humor concerning Aislynn slip. He finishes the rest of his stew, as lelldorin moves off on some other errand, leaving the three of them to finish breakfast. Or in Deleamar's case, to watch others eat breakfast. One of the Roesone guardsman accompanying the party on this trip steps up to the fire also, bringing two bows, and some other items. One bow he hands to Turail, and then he sits down on the log where Lelldorin was, and helps himself to some stew, glancing around the lords sitting here.

It seems that Theowyn has taken a liking to the stew, finishing the first bowl and then also helping himself to a second after the guardsman is done taking his. "Aislynn did well, though she still a better show with the bow," Theowyn manages what could almost appear to be a smirk. "The Green Ajah never faulter to surprise me. They have techniques that would surprise most, and yet still wish to insure they can battle with a dagger or bow." Leaning back once more, he begins on his secons. "The hunting in this area is good. Excellent choice, Turail."

Deleamar stands and moves away from the campfire to his tent. Dissapearing inside for a moment or two, he comes back out with a longbow in hand. Stringing it carefully and quickly, he gives it a test pull.

A Queen's Guardsman on the edge of the campfire notices the men gathering there weapons. Just in the way that he looks to Theowyn, one might gather that this is a man in good trust. He to heads into the Prince's tent to retrieve a bow.

Turail's bow has already been strung for him by the guardsman. Apparently he's not kidding about being out of practice, had he ever been in it much more than just taking a few shots at targets. He puts his bowl aside and plucks at the bow string. "This is one of my favorite areas for riding." He lifts his head and looks around at the surrounding trees. "We are not far from the path towards where the battle between the tower party and the renegade children took place some months ago."

>> A quiet 'clink' sounds as Darayn sets his bowl aside, taking a moment to stretch his legs from his seat upon one of the large boulders scattered about the fire, glancing upwards at the foilage he spares the pattering rain a wry grimace. "I would hope the weather will not encourage our quarry to go to ground," he notes idly, although the sincereity behinds his words seems lacking. Nodding at Turail's comment, Darayn passes a lazy eye across their surroundings.

>> Reynard follows the road into the woods.

Reynard walks toward the campfire.

Reynard has arrived.

The Guardsman comes back with the bow for Theowyn. "Indeed. I do not have the opportunity to ride often away from the Palace," he admits quietly. Finishing most of the stew, he places the bowl down before standing to retrieve the long-bow. Much as expected, the Warder would seem a natural with the way he takes the weapon and tests the tension of it. Now that he stands, he looks through the escort of Guardsman that are visible, and takes note of Reynard. "Reynard," he calls from a short distance. "Would you care to join us in the hunt?" he asks simply. A few of the other Guards stiffen a touch, not having been asked, they simply go about their duty in insuring for the safety of those within.

Going back into his tent, Deleamar emerges again with a quiver full of arrows. Running a hand along all their fletchings, he nods in approval before securing it behind his back. Hoisting his bow in his right hand, he walks back towards the fire.

Reynard blinks, caught a bit off guard. The Prince is asking him to hunt with him? "I would be honored, Your Highness. Though I must warn you, I haven't used a bow very many times."

Darayn walks toward the campfire.

Darayn has arrived.

Turail stands up himself, and stretches out his lanky form, the increased activity of those in the camp indicating the hunt is soon to start. He glances around, "Who among us can track? I have some skill in that area, but are there others here as well?"

"I can track some," Deleamar says softly. Putting the bottom tip of his bow, which is covered in a protective bone case, he leans on it slightly. "But not as good as I may like."

The Hune Lordling chuckles quietly, "My nose for certain types of prey is exceedingly sharp, but I find it highly unlikely that we're hunting noblewomen in this weather."

Theowyn accepts the ammunition for the bow, slinging it over his shoulder and across his body. "Reynard, there are a few extra bows that I strung this morning." There is a touch of surprise as he watches Darayn make his approach, though he does nod. "Darayn, welcome. Had I known there would be two Blademasters in the hunting party..." There is an uncharacteristic teasing note in his voice, as certainly neither would have a good shot with the bow. Not stating whether he does or does not have good tracking skills, which is likely a not, he does further nod on Deleamar's point. "One tracker. I am certain the guardsman have better skills, but we would rather keep it to the hunting part, yes?"

Reynard shakes his head to the tracking question. Poor guy's a born and bred city boy.

Theowyn steps away from the fire to speak with a few Guardsman as he tests the string of the bow using an arrow.

The half shienaran of the two blademasters turns his head at Darayn's remark, grinning wryly. "No, Darayn, I fear this is not their native habitat. You will have to content yourself with beasts of the forest." He glances at Deleamar, nodding, "Very well, the pair of us will track. It should be sufficient." He slings his quiver over his shoulder.

"We should get the job done, yes," Deleamar confirms. Hefting his bow off the ground, he gestures towards the forest. "Let us be off, then."

"Common women, then." Darayn comments, nodding sagely before turning aside to grasp rather inexpertly at an unstrung bow, looking at the weapon with a rather bemused expression.

Reynard looks over the bows Theowyn mentioned, testing a few to find one appropriate to his strength and build, then takes a quiver and prepares to follow the nobles into the woods.

Turail slings his bow up into a comfortable carrying postiion and follows Deleamar towards the edge of the camp. "To the hunt then." A look of pleasure settles on his weathered features.

Turail slings his bow up into a comfortable carrying postiion and follows Deleamar towards the edge of the camp. "To the hunt then." A look of pleasure settles on his weathered features.

Turail says "Common women, then." Darayn comments, nodding sagely before turning aside to grasp rather inexpertly at an unstrung bow, looking at the weapon with a rather bemused expression."

Snagging the coatsleeve of a passing Guardsman Darayn bnds close to the man, murmurring quietly. After a short moment, the Guardsman produces a length of waxed bowstring from a small poch at his hip, which he hands to Darayn before turning smartly on his heel and resuming whatever errrand had rpeviously held his attention. Holding an end of the string between his fingers, Darayn allows the length of the string to fall freely towards the ground.

Theowyn arches his eyebrow at the exchange between Darayn and Turail, half amused and half distracted by his conversation with the Guardsman. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, Theowyn heads toward Turail and the others that are beginning on the hunt. He motions Reynard in encouragement once again, his eyes strangely settling on the Guardsman with that hint of contemplation. "

Deleamar stops and looks back towards the rest of their group with impatience. "We don't have all day," he says to Turail, but loudly enough that it carries.

Reynard nods at Theowyn's encouraging motion and follows the group away from the campsite.

Turail chuckles softly as he comes to stand near Deleamar, and lowers his voice a bit, "Surprisingly, cousin, we DO have all day. Several days." he seems rather amused by Deleamar's continued grumpiness. He casts his eyes onto the ground and moves forward, his attention focused in skimming for signs of prey.

Sparing the fire a reluctant glance Darayn sighs softly as he turns to follow the departing men, fingers moving to string his bow deftly... if inexpertly.

Deleamar's mouth quirks into a deeper frown then what was already there. Several days? With his family? It might just be the death of him yet. However, he begins to scan the ground himself to turn his thoughts from being so morbid.

Theowyn follows in behind Turail and the few others. He does insure that Reynard and himself fall into steps. The Warder may not be skilled in tracking, but he certainly knows how to take to quiet steps as they begin to move through the path of the forest. "Your duties holding well, Reynard?" he asks in a quiet whisper.

Reynard nods to the Prince, responding in a similar whisper, "Yes, Your Highness. Though I must admit, I think my father's a little disappointed I haven't been spending as much time at the forge as I used to."

Turail moves ahead a little, his own steps fairly silent in the forest. Like Theowyn, he has a certain amount of training in stealth, the result of his work towards his herons. He blends in somewhat, his dark green cloak serving to assist him from being too visible. Halting after a space, several yards ahead of the rest of the party he kneels down and examines a track, trying to judge how recently it was made, and which direction they lead.

Deleamar heads in the diagonally opposite direction Turail does, his own eyes now completely locked onto the ground before him. Moving some yards apart from not only Turail, but everyone else, he inspects a disturbed section of ground closely.

Darayntakes advantage of the momentary pause in motion to string the longbow, chuckling softly at the comments of a nearby pair of conversing Guardsmen.

As the party begins to split in hope of better taking on tracks, Theowyn too settles into a slow pace that has him spying out the ground. He does seem more intent on listening for the hint of something off in the distance in between words. "Indeed." He doesn't lead up to the real reason of inviting Reynard along. "You have new goals, yes?"

Reynard has a bit of training in stealth himself, though it was the totally informal training from his childhood on the streets. He thinks for a moment before answering Theowyn, "I get more satisfaction out of being a Guard than out of being a blacksmith. Don't get me wrong, Your Highness, I enjoy both, but I feel I can do more as a Guard."

Turail scans the brush and surrounding ground from where he is crouched, his eyes flicking towards Deleamar briefly. He's listening, to or for something. Were anyone close enough to notice the change, the Duke might be seem employing the void to sharpen his senses. The track he is examining is that of a wild boar. He can spot several other sets of tracks nearby also, as if several of the animals had gone this way recently. He can almost pick out some sounds.. possibly foraging or grunting sounds off to the east. He motions to Deleamar with his hand.

Deleamar catches Turail's gesture out of the corner of his eye, and moves swiftly yet quietly to approach his cousin. Squatting near the Duke, his own ears straining for sound, and his eyes for movment, he whispers softly to him. "Find something?"

Chatting quietly with a pair of Guardsmen, Darayn's attention seems more on converse than hunting. "I tell you," he says in the muted morning voice often associated with quiet times, "It's about a bloody relief to be outside the walls for a change."

Theowyn raises his hand as he notices the change in Turail, he too beginning to pick out the sounds of the boars with that Warder awareness. The nod to Reynard is brief, as he crouches closer to the ground and begins to set a position near the trackers of the group.

Turail points out the track he had been examining to Deleamar by tracing it with his finger, and then pointing to the other sets. "What do you make of that? I'd say recent, several animals.. possibly not too far away." He whispers back to Deleamar, and then turns his eyes back to the east, still trying to listen to those almost detectable sounds, just at the edge of his hearing.

Reynard hasn't been hunting before, but he seems to be good at copying what the other men are doing. He crouches a brief moment after Theowyn and sets a position near him.

Blining at the sudden quiet of the assemblage, Darayn twists slightly at the waist to spare an amused look at the antics of the noblemen.

Looking closely at the tracks Turail points to, Deleamar runs his finger around the edge of it to check its age. It is indeed fresh. "I believe you are right, Turail." He too looks towards the east. "That way, I believe. Perhaps veering slightly northward, even."

Theowyn slowly makes his approach to where Turail is, though he is still a few paces away when he stops. The Prince examines the tracks as though making a point for next time, seeing the hinting crunching of the dirt which would indicate an animal's passing. With the wave of his arm, he encourages Reynard closer as well. Theowyn's breath is well controlled, his body lose.

Reynard creeps closer to Theowyn. He does seem to be pretty good at this stealth thing. Hopefully his nervousness about being with so many nobles, one of them being the Prince no less, won't frighten off potential prey.

Turail scans the direction the tracks lead, looking for the best place for the party to pass without making too much noise, and testing the direction of the slight breeze which comes and goes. It seems to be blowing mostly westerly when it does blow. He leans to confer with Deleamar again in whispers. "I's say our best bet is through there, and then angle off a bit." He makes a face catching a whiff of something unpleasant smelling, "Do you smell that?" His eyes turn to Deleamar, one brow raising expectantly.

Deleamar takes a small whiff of the air, and nods. "I do. They are out there, all right." His hand tenses over the handle of his bow expectently. He motions for the Prince and Guardsmen to come join them . "One group can flush them toward the other, I think."

Setting one end of his bow on the ground, Darayn leans the weapon against his hip while making a show of studying his surroundings, although the hand moving to his face to stifle a yawn might pierce that impression validity/

Theowyn straightens to his complete height, taking in the path beyond briefly. "Good. One with a good shot, the other not, can flush them this way, hopefully getting a few in their attempts." Theowyn points to a hill just visible through the thickness of the forest. "We can set-up there. The boars sound to be near."

Reynard turns his head slowly to look to where Theowyn is pointing. He nods a bit to himself awaiting some indication of what he should do.

Turail peers off to where Theowyn had pointed and then remarks softly so that those who are right there can hear. "I'll go with the group flushing them out as I'm not likely to bag one."

"I will go with whomever wants to have them flushed to them, then," Deleamar says with a shrug. "That way both groups can have a tracker." Looking over their surroundings, Deleamar nods towards where Theowyn points. "Up there will do nicely. Will it be a problem to get them towards that hill, Turail?"

Sighing at these delays, Darayn's expression brightens considerably as some notions crosses his idle mind. His hand darts inside his shirt, withdrawing a small flask from some secreted place within. He gently shakes the small, silver-chased item, smiling slightly as he frees the flask of it's stopper, taking a short pull of it's contents.

Theowyn takes a step closer to Turail as the plans begin to form. That will keep him away from both Deleamar and Darayn, though poor Reynard will have to fend for himself. "I am certain we will bag a few before they cross this path. The hill should give some range to where they may scatter." Theowyn's words are still a whisper, and as he turns to face the group, he still ponders the other Lords. He nods to Reynard, that happy hunting sort of nod. "Well, though that leaves only Deleamar with a probable shot. Perhaps..." his voice trails, as he opens it up to debate.

Reynard takes one of his arrows and nocks it slowly, but doesn't draw. Looks like he's going to be with the ones taking adavantage of the soon to be flushed prey.

Turail casts an interesting, yet unreadable glance at Darayn as he has a morning drink. "So Theowyn and myself will flush them out, Deleamar, Reynard and Darayn will lay in wait to catch them as they pass?" His weathered features are almost impassive, and yet one might catch some sense that he anticipates what is about to go down deeply. "We'll give you a few minutes to get set up before we push them your way."

Deleamar looks too his two 'charges.' "Lets go. And be quiet." As he begins to move towards the hill, he looks back at Turail and the Prince, motioning them to be on their way. Even with these two, he will be ready before they are, he is sure.

Darayn winces at the bitter taste of the flask, raising a brow in amusement as he catches a vaguely disapproving glance from a nearby Guardsmen. Always the friendly sort, Darayn extends the flask to the man in silent offering, chuckling when he recieves a short nod of refusal. "In about twenty minutes you might be wishing you took me up on that, sirrah." he murmurrs good-naturedly, sipping again from the flask before replacing it in it's hiding place with practiced ease.

Reynard starts to move quietly after Deleamar towards the hill.

Theowyn shakes the flask away, muttering something about having a need for a clear mind. "Maybe later..." he notes and likely means it before he turns in the direction of the path. "Shall we?" he offers, before quietly moving ahead along the path looking for a good breaking point.

Turail grins briefly, a departure from his ordinary stone face that is brief and telling. "Let's get some boars. May the arrows fly straight and true, to find their marks, gentlemen." He whispers and then follows Theowyn off through the trees quietly, the back of his black ponytail the last thing to vanish utterly from view.

Deleamar strides towards the hill quickly, but despite his pace making very little noise. Only stopping to make sure the other members of his group are still behind him, once that is confirmed he is off again. Getting to the base of the hill, he stops with a thoughtful stroke of the chin as he looks up it. "Looks like we have some brush...ahh, those rocks!" he exlaims quietly. "That is where we will shoot from." He points towards a small out-cropping of rocks jutting out from the side of the hill.

Darayn seems content enough to traipse along with Deleamar and Reynard, his expression more one of a man enjoying a walk out of doors than one of concentration upon the task at hand. His passing is, understandably, less than what one would name 'soundless,' as an occasional branch snaps uder his stride, a boot scuffling off a hidden rock now and then.

Theowyn has some idea of the tracks, though encourages Turail to lead ahead as the source of boarish noises becomes clearer in their approach. "A route around those trees?" he suggests, pointing to the small clump of trees that are growing tighter together as comparison to the rest. The motions of his feet are quiet enough, the bow now his intended weapon, though his sword still hangs comfortably off the belt.

Reynard nods briefly to Deleamar, then moves over to the rocks to take up a proper firing position.

Deleamar joins Reynard behind the cover of the boulders. Propping his feet on a rock in front of him, he leans back to get the right angle down the hill. Pulling out an arrow, he knocks it and pulls the string half-way back, ready to fire.

Glancing at the other two as they prepare stoically for this amazing event, Darayn's shake of the head infers a more relaxed approach to the situation at hand. Seeing Deleamar's preparations it occurs to the Hune that he is without quiver. "Light," he mutters wryly, reaching over with the intent of snagging a bolt from the aforementioned man's ready quiver.

Turail peers around the suggested route, judging it silently and then nodding. "Yes, that will do well, and keep us out of the upwind position till the last.." His own heronmark remains with him of course. He's rarely willing to part from it. It seems to belong there, a huge part of past, present and future for the Duke. He draws and knocks an arrow of his own, loosely and then takes the lead in circumventing the small clump of trees indicated.

The Prince and the Duke continue on the path that will have them around to the other side of the boar. Their path is by no means rushed, the ground well watched for careful footing, avoiding twigs and such that might announce their approach. As they come around the other side of the boar, Theowyn crouches. Removing an arrow, he arms the bow, and then lifts forward in their approach. "I suggest shots that will insure their path straight toward the others." For the whispers, his arm touches on Turail's shoulder, the other holding both arrow and the bow. Standing straighter, he sets the approach.

Spotting the intruding man's hand about to invade his personal property, Deleamar remains surpisingly quiet. Must be the anticipation of the kill, or rare generosity that keeps his otherwise barking mouth shut.

"Too kind," Darayn murmurs appreciatively as he pinches a quarrel at random from the man's collection, setting the thing in the ground...point first... while switching the bow to his other hand, which knocks the arrow over, causing Darayn to bend over facing away from Deleamar to recover the bolt, bringing the end of his long bow up behind him...

Turail nods to the prince, choosing not to even voice a whisper more as they prepare to startle the boars into flight at just the right time. The sounds of foraging and pig communications are clear now, small rustling, snorts and grunts... just... over... there..

Reynard tests the draw of his bow once more, this time with a nocked arrow. He loosens the tension slowly as he glances towards Darayn and Deleamar. Hmm...

As the point of the bow catches Deleamar in the eye, Deleamar mutters a few curses. "Light man!," he hisses quietly as possible. "Get the flaming bow out of my flaming face!" He looks at Reynard, and considers asking the man to trade him places.

Theowyn catches a more clear sight of them as he moves beyond a few trees. Boar are not the smartest, not until the reason for flee becomes obvious. So as he steps away from the tree and more into vision, the string of the bow stretches as he pulls on it, the bow itself bending under the pressure... the boar grunt. They turn, look, stop grunting, and then grunt a few more times. Theowyn waits for Turail, of course. Only the few have noticed, out of the several there.

Turail is right behind Theowyn in stepping out of the brush for a clear shot, and arcing the bow under the influence of the bowstring drawn backwards. Since Theowyn is the one of the two of them who actually has sizeable training in the bow, he waits for Theowyn's signal to let those arrows fly in concert.

Dropping the bow in surprise at Deleamar's exclaimation, the fine oak clatters sharply against the exposed stone surrounding the three men. A long moment passes before Darayn is able to move, blinking owlishly at this turn of events. "Apologies," he says in a strangled voice, clearly fighting a guffaw which might very well ring all the way to Arad Doman as he moves to recover his bow and arrow with the too-careful movements of a man either severely in their cups or being very certain not to compound their actions with further depredations.

Reynard shakes his head bemusedly at Darayn and Deleamar. He must admit he wouldn't have had this much amusement sitting back around the campfire.

The sound of release is heard, the arrow swooshing through the air at the grunting boar. The Gaidin shows a good shot, one well set on the target that is not noticing of the immidiate danger until it cracks into the boar's side. Now that screaming in pain sort of noise does set the other boars into motion, Theowyn already sitting up another arrow, though this one a flopping shot to the side to insure they run the intended direction.

Turail releases the string right behind Theowyn, his shot not nearly as good, though it does graze another of the boars, possible simple luck in even doing that. Turail winces a bit. He knew he had not a chance under the light of actually felling one, but its still disappointing. He moves a ew running steps at an angle to make the direction the boars should be herded away from less attractive and reaches for another arrow, fitting it to the string not nearly so addeptly as Theowyn.

Reynard draws his bowstring to his cheek as the boar get closer. Once the first few get within range, he looses the arrow only to have it fall short of its mark, landing in the dirt. He quickly nocks another arrow and fires again. It looks like the arrow is about to miss again, but the boar seems to stumble and fall causing it to get hit. What luck!

Darayn seems on the verge of knocking an arrow, but his companions frenetic volley elicits a chuckle instead of an arrow, "Well shot," Darayn comments clinically, and he seems ready enough to walk out from his place of concealment.

Theowyn manages another two shots in the span of time, one taking out a boar's hip, though it falls from its body, and the boar continues on its panicked screaming and running toward the other party. Content as the area clears of animals, he watches the area ahead enough to insure no shots ring their way. "Well shot, Turail," he notes with a hinting surprise.

Turail allows himself a rare scowl as the animals flee straight into the sights of the waiting party on the hill, squealing and screaming. He takes another shot of his own in the time Theowyn takes two, and stays back from chasing the boars so as not to be taken for one and caught in the crossfire. "Pure luck to have even grazed him." Turail remarks, his rasping voice normal in loudness now that the need to whisper is gone.

Reynard nods to Darayn's comment, "Thank you, m'lord." He moves out to join the others.

Darayn's eyes flicker across the rumbling horde...herd?...of boar, disinterested at best, "Well, what say we wander down there and see what providence and skill have declared fit for our dining enjoyment tonight?" he suggest brightly.

"Well, we are gauranteed one," Theowyn notes the squeeling boar that finally does die from a few punctured organs. The steps toward the boar are hesitant, as he continues to scan the forest for any missed shots. The Prince does open his cloak and reach for the rope looped through, beginning to remove it. "Shall we drag our claim? Maybe there will be opportunity enough to bring a few for our respected places of living."

Turail chuckles softly and retrieves his two spent arrows before joining the Prince next to the carcase of the boar the prince has bagged. He casts his eyes around however, and notes a stout branch fallen a few paces away, thick enough to support the weight of the boar hopefully. "Hey, what about that branch. Lets truss the pig up onto it and just shoulder the beast." He squints a little bit, marking the sun, realising it really has travelled. How long have they been hunting? Hours perhaps?

Sparing Reynard a glance, Darayn picks his way lightly down the hill towards the pair of hunters standing proud guard over their masterfully slain kill. "Nice pig." the Hune congratulates as he arrives just s the pair begin to discuss options for transporting the porcine package.

"It would be a more demonstrative showing our catch," Theowyn agrees with a slight chuckle, beginning to tie the boar legs together with part of the rope, then cutting the rest off so that it may be used about the branch.

Turail chuckles softly at Theowyn's assessment of a valid reason to haul the boar on the branch, rather than dragging it, and helps Theowyn get the boar ready for tranport. "It's getting rather late. We ought to get back to camp." he remarks.

Content to allow the two who shot it pack it, Darayn wanders a few steps away from the bloody, moderately smelly work.