Chief huntress was her title, but Dassine bore the cold, reserved gaze of one who had slain more than beasts and fowl in her day. Her right cheek showed the roaring lioness, the tattoo ink dark against her tan skin. A torc of gleaming copper cradled her throat, the only adornment of her garb—yellow tunic of wool and a wide leather sword belt. Her limbs showed only the ropey muscles and scars born of years of hard fighting. Dassine was not the leader of the Sisterhood—none questioned the righteous honor of Meriama—but she was every inch its war-chief.
Dassine regarded the gathered initiates with a stern gaze, studying each kill. When she spotted Sabit crouching over the ibex carcass, she said, “Partnerships were forbidden in this hunt. Which of you have defied my will?”
Sabit rose to her full height, half a head taller than Dassine. “I killed it. I brought it out of the hills myself. I had no partner.”
Dassine stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “No less than three parasangs separate us from the nearest grazing land of the ibex. You would have me believe you carried this carcass such a distant without help?”
Sabit held the Sister’s challenging gaze. “I would have you believe the truth.”
Dassine answered with a silence that stretched a long time. Finally, she spoke. “Welcome to the Pride, Sabit.”
—–
Wayfarings of Sabit: Sisterhood of the Lioness is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/