Kerrick did as he was bid and the buck bellowed in agony as the red blood burst out, drenching Kerrick’s hands and arms. Blood to be proud of. He pushed the spear deeper into the wound until the creature shuddered and died.

“A good kill,” Amahast said proudly. The way that he spoke made Kerrick hope that the marag in the boat would not be talked about again.

The hunters laughed with pleasure as they opened and gutted the carcasses. Amahast pointed south towards the higher part of the island. “Take them to the trees where we can hang them to drain.”

“Will we hunt again?” Hastila asked. Amahast shook his head.

“Not if we are to return tomorrow. It will take the day and the night to butcher and smoke what we have here.”

“And to eat,” Ogatyr said, smacking his lips loudly. “Eat our fill. The more we put into our stomachs the less we will have to carry on our backs!”

Though it was cooler under the trees they were soon crawling with biting flies. They could only beat at them and plead with Amahast for the smoke to keep them at bay.

“Skin the carcasses,” he ordered, then kicked a fallen log with his toe: it fell to pieces. “Too damp. The wood here under the trees is too wet to burn. Ogatyr, bring the fire from the boat and feed it with dry grass until we return. I will take the boy and get some driftwood from the beach.”

He left his bow and arrows behind, but took up his spear and started off through the grove towards the ocean side of the island. Kerrick did the same and hurried after him.

The beach was wide, the fine sand almost as white as snow. Offshore the waves broke into a rumble of bubbling froth that surged far up the beach towards them. At the water’s edge were bits of wood and broken sponges, endless varicolored shells, violet snails, great green lengths of seaweed with tiny crabs clinging to them. The few small pieces of driftwood here were too tiny to bother with, so they walked on to the headland that pushed a rocky peninsula out into the sea. When they had climbed the easy slope they could look out between the trees to see that the headland curved out and around to make a sheltered bay. On the sand at the far side dark forms, they might be seals, basked in the sun.

At the same moment they became aware that someone was standing under a nearby tree, also looking out over the bay. Another hunter perhaps. Amahast had opened his mouth to call out when the figure stepped forward into the sunlight.

The words froze in his throat; every muscle in his body locked hard.

No hunter, no man, not this. Man-shaped but repellently different in every way.