This will make you Happy. It is a THUMPIN' good read, by someone who knew her stuff.
… The wolf was dead. Its pack mates had fled into the brush, but since the picture remained, Ross decided that the show was not yet over. He could still hear a click of sound, and he waited for the next bit of action. But the reason for his viewing it still eluded him.
A man came into view, crossing before Ross. He stooped to examine the dead wolf, catching it by the tail and hoisting its hindquarters off the ground. Comparing the beast's size with the hunter's, Ross saw that he had not been wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually large dimensions. The man shouted over his shoulder, his words distinct enough, but unintelligible to Ross.
The stranger was oddly dressed — too lightly dressed if one judged the climate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. A strip of coarse cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above the knee, was wound about his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. The belt, far more ornate than the cumbersome wrapping, was made of many small chains linking metal plates and supported a long dagger which hung straight in front. The man also wore a round blue cloak, now swept back on his shoulders to free his bare arms, which was fastened by a large pin under his chin. His footgear, which extended above his calves, was made of animal hide, still bearing patches of shaggy hair. His face was beardless, though a shadowy line along his chin suggested that he had not shaved that particular day. A fur cap concealed most of his dark-brown hair.
Was he an Indian? No, for although his skin was tanned, it was as fair as Ross's under that weathering. And his clothing did not resemble any Indian apparel Ross had ever seen. Yet, in spite of his primitive trappings, the man had such an aura of authority, of self-confidence, and competence that it was clear he was top dog in his own section of the world.
Soon another man, dressed much like the first, but with a rust-brown cloak, came along, pulling behind him two very reluctant donkeys, whose eyes rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. Both animals wore packs lashed on their backs by ropes of twisted hide. Then another man came along, with another brace of donkeys. Finally, a fourth man, wearing skins for covering and with a mat of beard on his cheeks and chin, appeared. His uncovered head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shone whitish as he knelt beside the dead beast, a knife with a dull-gray blade in his hand, and set to work skinning the wolf with appreciable skill. Three more pairs of donkeys, all heavily laden, were led past the scene before he finished his task. Finally, he rolled the bloody skin into a bundle and gave the flayed body a kick before he ran lightly after the disappearing train of pack animals…
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Now, have a gander at THIS.
Date: 2015-03-01 10:38 am (UTC)This will make you Happy. It is a THUMPIN' good read, by someone who knew her stuff.
… The wolf was dead. Its pack mates had fled into the brush, but since the
picture remained, Ross decided that the show was not yet over. He could
still hear a click of sound, and he waited for the next bit of action. But
the reason for his viewing it still eluded him.
A man came into view, crossing before Ross. He stooped to examine the dead
wolf, catching it by the tail and hoisting its hindquarters off the ground.
Comparing the beast's size with the hunter's, Ross saw that he had not been
wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually large dimensions. The man
shouted over his shoulder, his words distinct enough, but unintelligible to
Ross.
The stranger was oddly dressed — too lightly dressed if one judged the
climate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. A strip of coarse
cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above the knee, was
wound about his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. The belt, far
more ornate than the cumbersome wrapping, was made of many small chains
linking metal plates and supported a long dagger which hung straight in
front. The man also wore a round blue cloak, now swept back on his
shoulders to free his bare arms, which was fastened by a large pin under
his chin. His footgear, which extended above his calves, was made of animal
hide, still bearing patches of shaggy hair. His face was beardless, though
a shadowy line along his chin suggested that he had not shaved that
particular day. A fur cap concealed most of his dark-brown hair.
Was he an Indian? No, for although his skin was tanned, it was as fair as
Ross's under that weathering. And his clothing did not resemble any Indian
apparel Ross had ever seen. Yet, in spite of his primitive trappings, the
man had such an aura of authority, of self-confidence, and competence that
it was clear he was top dog in his own section of the world.
Soon another man, dressed much like the first, but with a rust-brown cloak,
came along, pulling behind him two very reluctant donkeys, whose eyes
rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. Both animals wore packs lashed
on their backs by ropes of twisted hide. Then another man came along, with
another brace of donkeys. Finally, a fourth man, wearing skins for covering
and with a mat of beard on his cheeks and chin, appeared. His uncovered
head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shone whitish as he knelt beside the
dead beast, a knife with a dull-gray blade in his hand, and set to work
skinning the wolf with appreciable skill. Three more pairs of donkeys, all
heavily laden, were led past the scene before he finished his task.
Finally, he rolled the bloody skin into a bundle and gave the flayed body a
kick before he ran lightly after the disappearing train of pack animals…