In the words of Kaiju -
Ten years old. I was merely a child, but along with every other child that had turned ten in the past year, it was time to learn the way of the spear. I was born just at the border of the cut. But a week sooner, and I would have had had this training a year earlier. My sister on the other hand, was born exactly eleven months after me, so we both managed to end up in the same cut of the cloth.
There were - I want to say fifteen of us, give or take a few. All of us roughly the same age, of course myself I was the eldest if you count down to the week. The village chieftain knew us all by name, a father to all of us (Some of us more literally than others). He, and his second wife (I believe the first was with child at the time) handed each and every one of us perhaps the simplest of all weapons, no more than a very sturdy, very pointy wooden stick, longer than our entire bodies, and that is where we all started. He trained us, him and other soldiers, to throw, and wield the weapons we were given. Some of the less talented were leaned towards crafting them, rather than using them, and within weeks they had weeded us down to seven. The other half, or so, couldn't handle using the weapons we were given, and focused more on crafting - no shame in that, we need crafters just as much as, if not more than soldiers. Though, we did need soldiers, being at war with another tribe.
Us seven, me and my sister included, were brought out into the wilderness for more training.. Live training, hunting one of the most cunning of game. Bear, of course. (Did you think they'd make us kill people at ten? We aren't animals you know) It was our first real hunt with the village chief - we had all went hunting before, but never against something so large, and ornery, it'd usually been Elk, or Deer.
We rode out on the back of a Mammoth, all of us, as well as the chief and a few of his men, for protection against attacking rivals. Along the way, he told me the one speech that I always think back to even now,
"My Sons, my Daughters. My kin. I say this every year around this time, and yet it never loses its value. Within every one of you, the few who have survived the trials of the harsh cold, the same training regiment of men and women twice your age - those who have proven themselves strong, stronger than many of your peers. Those who Oromë smiles upon, for your strength, your will, and your honor. No matter the result of this outing, this hunt for a mighty beast, you will always be warriors, at heart. No matter the obstacle, you will overcome. No matter the opponent, you will triumph. No matter the day, you will stand tall, and no matter the cold, your heart will keep you from freezing. You bring me nothing less, than pride, in you, and myself."
I never really understood the value of what he said until I was older..
Without incident, we made it out to the thick of the woods, just at the base of a large mountain not too far from our village. We left the soldiers with the mammoth, and headed through a nonexistent trail. The chief was a skilled tracker, and lead us to a cave following faint tracks from what he claimed to be a large bear. And he was right. He was, right. He had stumbled upon a tiny cub, nestled coldly in the throat of the cave, curled in a nest of it's own fur. It had to be less than a few months old, so where was it's mother?
Obviously we didn't want to kill a cub, that would prove nothing, and we didn't want to leave one orphaned. We were not hesitant about leaving the cave, so the mother could return to her young, but sadly she found us before we found her. Specifically the chief.
It was without warning, she attacked. Most of us, despite being 'warriors' were still just frightened children, and watched rather helplessly as the bear tore a gash across the Chief's face, from temple, to chin.. It's strength was incredible, far more than the chief could handle, and he was pinned down within seconds. The rest of us tried to get the bear off of him, with little success. Our rugged, lesser spears flew threw the air in all directions; most of us far too afraid to get too close to it. a couple of them simply, bounced off of its pre-hybernation fat, the rest didn't go deep enough to do any significant damage. The Chief's fate was sealed, and nothing would change that. We were fighting a hopeless battle against a superior adversary.
In a final effort to spare his life, I simply picked up a stone, the only thing left in my arsenal, and I rushed the bear, hoisting it above my head and bringing it down as hard as I could manage. It was hard enough to crack it's thick skull. The beast crumpled into a heap, atop the chief. The only thing I could see, were those bear claws across his face - that tragic sight, the first blow of his last battle.
Frightened, and alone, me and the others collected our weapons and began to head back to the mammoth, waiting to bring us to safety. Despite my scorn, I couldn't forget the cub. The innocent cub, that would die without protection, without guidance. I fell behind to collect him - he was still small enough to be carried like a common puppy. My return to the ride home, was not a pleasant one.
The only escape, the only way back to safety was gone - and I don't mean missing. In between my leaving, and returning, a rivaling tribe attacked our men, Their spears much longer than mine, deep enough to kill the largest beast at our disposal from horseback. They had no sympathy, no remorse. They left no one in their sight alive. Four of the children I left with, were dead on the ground, just along the edge of the woods. My sister, and one of my cousins, were missing.
A rush of guilt befell me. I knew I could not have changed anything, I knew it. I would have fallen just like me brothers and sisters in arms. But I felt guilty for not dying with them. It was at that moment - that very moment, my childhood ended. Nothing would be the same. I set down the cub and kneeled down aside my fallen friends, staring helplessly at the snow below, the village an hour walk away. I had it in my head, they would be destroyed. I dipped three fingers in the blood, pooled up and nearly frozen in the snow below me, and ran it down along my face, from temple to chin, in resemblance to the horrid sight I had seen just before this... I still needed to find my sister, and my cousin, and I could only do that if I became a warrior, just like the chief said. And that, I did not hesitate to do.
I took up the spear of a fallen warrior.. I was also compelled to take a trinket from him, one clasped in his fingers in his final moment.. An amulet of Oromë, represented with a silver horn. With that, I began the long, treacherous march back to my village. For the honor of those fallen, I had to return..
