The sun was rising, and Hroarr was shaking visibly with the shock of his young life. It had begun as an exciting venture... his first raid! He'd bounded out for his adventure, following his new Captain and jostling and joking with the over Reavers. Granted, they tended to treat him like the baby of the group, and he supposed he was. But he was able to ignore the veiled and not-so-veiled insults and proceed eagerly with traveling to wherever they were being led. It had been such a bright time for him... and now it had all come crashing down around his ears.
Night had fallen some days later, and they were sneaking up on a group they'd followed for some hours. It was a trio of lionesses, two cubs, and a few hares. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, to be honest. He knew they'd hunted at sunset, and that the meal was at the very least going to become theirs, and the mighty conquerors they were. Two of the lionesses had put up a fierce fight, but were no match for their raiding group. One was seriously injured, which he figured was only a logical consequence of trying to fight them off, and an honorable one at that. The other had backed down upon the threat of violence to the cubs, though she snarled and had murder in her eyes. Those two managed through the night safely enough.
But the third lioness, much younger and prettier, hadn't fared so well. In trade for the safety of the cubs that apparently were her own, she had willingly put up with the Captain's advances. They had disappeared into the darkness, and Hroarr's heightened hormones informed him very clearly what exactly was going on out there. The older Reavers chuckled and made ribald comments to the other two adults, who now hovered protectively over the frightened cubs. The Reavers feasted on the heavily muscled, if aged, water buffalo the females had managed to bring down at dusk. Hroarr was the last to eat, being the newest and least experienced.
Thus it was that he was able to see the look on the lioness' face when his Captain brought her back. The expression in her eyes pierced his heart and sank a stone into his belly. She looked miserable, broken, and self-despising. Pain and fear haunted her eyes, and her body language was of shame and horror. Willingly or no, his Captain's way with her had left her scarred in her soul. He stared into her eyes, unable to look away, watching with a claw in his heart as tears fell silently. She made her way gingerly to the other two lionesses and gathered her cubs close. The hares were already long dead, laying limply within sight of the entire family group. The air was of defeat and fury.
To his young heart, it was devestating.
Now the sun rose. Three of the Reavers scooped up the dead hares and carried them as they left. One other Reaver feinted at the huddled family, fangs bared, then laughed when they flinched away. Hroarr still said nothing, just as he had said nothing the night before. However, his ears were flat, his eyes hard, and his jaw flexed. Overnight he'd had time to consider how he truly felt about what he'd seen, what he'd known had happened. it might be acceptable to some, but he had firmly chosen that for him, it was wrong. And when he made captain... it would never happen under his command.
For now he'd hold his tongue. He was just a raw adolescent, a newbie among veterans. Even those close to his age had been on many vikings by now. Despite his being the son of the Warlord, or perhaps even more so because he was, they would see his protest as a weakness, a softness that he did not feel was present. Regardless of how he felt about it, that was how it would be percieved. He could not afford that, not now, on his first raid. So instead he wrapped a paw around the charm his sister had given him and gripped it hard. He could endure this, for now. But may the gods help anyone who tried it when he was in charge!
