High Rhulain

“Hush now, matey, I’ll talk to ye in a moment. The Dipper’s about to throw. I don’t want to miss this!”

Brink whispered, “Which one’s the Dipper?”

Urfa pointed out a tall, sinewy shrew who was stepping up to the mark and selecting stones from his pouch. “That ’un there, Brink. Ole Dipper’s got an eye like a huntin’ eagle. Ain’t nobeast in all the land kin sling a stone like the Dipper can! You just watch an’ see.”

Banjon sized the shrew up keenly. “Yore Dipper must be a good ’un if ye say so, mate. Wot’s the target he’s slingin’ for?”

Urfa nodded to a figure suspended from a beech limb some distance off. It was a crude likeness of a weasel, with torso and limbs made from stuffed sacking. The head was carved from a turnip, with two hazelnuts for eyes.

Dobra explained the rules as Dipper began twirling his sling experimentally. “If ye hit the body, that’s two points. The paws are five points apiece, an’ the head scores a full ten. Each slinger gets three throws. There’s a rare barrel o’ best grog as a prize for the winner. But afore ye sling, y’must nominate wot ye plan on hittin’.”

Tiria made a polite enquiry. “What do the eyes score?”

Urfa shook his head, chuckling. “Nobeast ever nominated an eye an’ hit it, missy. Quiet now—the Dipper’s goin’ to sling.”

The tall, lean shrew twirled his loaded sling, calling out, “One head an’ two footpaws!”

A gasp of admiration arose from the spectators. Evidently it was something of a feat which the slinger had chosen. Dipper hurled off his first stone. It grazed the turnip on the left side of the face. There was a deathly silence as he loaded his sling again and tested the breeze with a licked paw. Dipper slung his second stone. It hit the right footpaw fair and square, causing the leg to flop about. The hush was intense now, as other Guosim crowded in to watch. Dipper loaded his final stone, crouching low as he whirled the sling. It thrummed in the hot noontide air, snapping back as he whipped off the missile. It barely skimmed the underside of the left paw, hardly causing the leg to stir.

A small fat shrew, acting as scorer, scurried out to inspect the target. After studying it a while, he called out officiously, “Theree ’its, thee Dippah scoharrs terwenty points!”

The Guosim cheered Dipper to the echo, clapping his back and shaking his paws as they roared, “Dipper’s scored a score!”

Urfa turned proudly to his guests. “Wot did I tell ye? The Dipper’s a champeen slinger alright!”

Banjon nodded. “Oh, he ain’t a bad ’un, mate. Did I tell ye my gel Tiria slings stones? D’ye think she could have a go?”

Urfa had a slightly condescending note to his tone. “A maid wot thinks she can sling, eh? Wot next! Aye, go on then, Tiria, give it a try.”

The scorer took Tiria’s name, announcing her as she stepped up to the mark. “Siiiilenza perleeeeze! H’a Misser, Tehiria, Werhildlock h’of Rehedwall H’abbey issa serlingin’ nehext. Thank yew!”

There was a light smatter of applause, plus a few sniggers from the onlookers. Evidently they did not rate slingmaids very highly.

Tiria waited for quiet, then called out her targets. Her sling, Wuppit, was already thrumming as she shouted, “Two eyes and a head!”

Splakk! The left hazelnut eye was driven deep into the turnip head. Reloading the sling swiftly, she whipped off her second shot. Crack! Pieces of shattered nutshell flew in the air as the stone drove through into the other turnip eye socket. The head was swinging from side to side with the impact as Tiria hopped three paces back from the mark. The sling was a blur, making a deep musical hum, owing to the extra large stone she had picked for her final shot. Whooosh! Whack! The force with which the stone struck the head sent it flying from the body into the bushes beyond.

The whole of the Guosim tribe went wild, cheering, yelling and rushing to congratulate the ottermaid. Tiria was completely overwhelmed by the crush of shrews and had to be rescued by Skipper, Brink, Urfa and Dobra, who escorted her out of the melee, off to a quiet spot on the tree-shaded bank. Log a Log Urfa detailed a group of his Guosim warriors to disperse the excited crowd of shrews.

Skipper winked at Urfa. “So then, matey, wot d’ye reckon to my Tiria, eh?”

The shrew chieftain wiggled his snout energetically (always a sign of admiration and wonderment among Guosim). “I tell ye, Banjon, if’n I didn’t see it with me own eyes, I never would’ve credited it. Yore Tiria made it look so easy, mate. I’d give me tail’n’ears to have a slinger like that in my tribe!”

Skipper threw a protective paw about his daughter. “Hah, there’s no chance of ye gettin’ my gel. She’s got a long journey t’make. That’s why we came to see ye, mate. She needs a boat.”

Log a Log Urfa refilled their tankards. “A boat, ye say? Wot sort o’ boat, Tiria? An’ where d’ye plan on goin’ in it?”