THE STONE ARROW
by
Richard Herley
THE STONE ARROW
Tagart came out of the woods and stood facing the broad
downhill sweep of the cereal field. The feeling of openness
seemed strange and sudden after the embrace of the trees; he
sniffed at the smell of the evening, almost cloudless now after the
storm, a soft wind coming off the sea, bending the stunted ears of
barley, fluttering the leaves of hazel and whitebeam.
A hundred yards away the labourer stood upright and leaned
on the handle of his mattock. He had only just become aware of
another’s presence; yet Tagart had heard the man at work
minutes ago, from the depths of the wood, whose floor he had
traversed without so much as the snap of a twig.
Tagart, or Tugart, or Tergart, was twenty-five years of age,
tall and fine in the face, with dark hair and watchful brown eyes
that knew the value of patience. His skin – for it was now the
height of summer – was well tanned, his frame hard-muscled and
long -limbed, with an economy of movement that seemed like
slowness to those who had never been with him in the woods an d
tried to keep up.
Chance had endowed him with a keen intelligence which the
teachings of his elders had turned into solid skill and a command
of the necessary knowledge. Of all the young men in his tribe, it
was Tagart who had been regarded as successor to the leader,
Tagart who had taken the most desirable bride, Tagart whose
small son would in turn one day be chief; and Tagart whom the
others were beginning to look upon with more and more respect
and affection as each season passed.
But now, in the course of a single night, all that had changed.
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