The Hunter's Song

The Head Hunter
Two sharp taps on the shoulder awoke Konta one morning a few days after their Settling. His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t reach for the weapons that he always kept close by. He turned and saw a massive silhouette framed against the entrance to his tepee.
In most cases, that would be grounds enough to send him leaping from his bedding. He had seen this particular silhouette enough to know there was no need for alarm, though. Only one hunter of the tribe was so prodigiously large.
Zanzu reached down and offered a hand up. Konta, still trying to shake off the unexpected awakening, took it gratefully. It took no more effort for Zanzu to haul him up than it would’ve taken him to lift Kontaren.
Konta shook off the last of his grogginess as Zanzu watched him expectantly, arms crossed. The hunter was almost more beast than man, standing a couple heads taller than Konta and with wiry brown hair covering most of his body. Likewise, Zanzu’s face was almost completely obscured by the bush of a beard that dominated his jawline, leaving only a pair of hard eyes dark enough to be mistaken for black peering out from the depths.
The sight of Zanzu towering over them was enough to make most hunters uneasy, but Konta had been expecting this visit for a while. He took his time donning his tunic and pelt, then belting his weapons on one at a time. Zanzu waited patiently, unmoving. Kontala awoke briefly with a startled gasp, but calmed when she recognized the Head Hunter. She gave him a grumpy stare, but that only made the giant hunter’s beard quirk upwards in what might have been a smile.
Finally dressed, Konta favored his mate with a quick kiss, then hurried out the tent with Zanzu. She would be along shortly, anyway, to help get the rest of the tribe prepared for the day.
The Sun had just begun promising to rise, the skyline fading from the bruised black of night to a sleepy turquoise. Most of the other hunters were still in bed, with the exception of the scouts that stayed up through the night to forage and keep lookout for predators that might stumble across the camp. A few scouts were already trickling in from their excursions. Some looked simply tired, but a few sported fresh injuries doubtlessly earned from something they had come across. Even if Spring was safe compared to other seasons, Konta mused darkly, that didn’t mean it was truly safe.
Unlike the hunters, most of the tribeswomen were already up and about, tending to the needs of the camp at large. A pair of young girls, barely at the cusp of womanhood, were being taught how to clean a carcass by some of the older women with the aid of a fresh kill brought in by one of the scouts. Some of the elder women tended the communal fire, keeping it burning strong while others brought water to fill a stone basin resting above it. The smoke from the fire pit rose only long enough to stop abruptly at the heavy Sponge Whale tarp overhead, the unique hide absorbing it and preventing any unwanted eyes from noticing it.