Winters of Songak are not the snowy white affairs they were in Shinju. Until the year crawls towards its death and probably towards the arrival of the new year only, the skies would grace them with sparkling flakes of snow.
Most of the trees retained their color, or had turned the most dazzling hues of fiery orange or polished brown. The sunlight that beamed through air thick with mist, had a crispy coolness about it. It made the woods surreal, touched by the gods as his mother would have said.
When the horns are blared Yong almost curses. It feels sinful to tear that reverent silence with something so insensitive as a blow of a horn.
The strandbarers ride into the woods first, followed by the arm bearers and horsemasters. These men, to whom a hunt was an event to showcase why their services were needed to the imperial palace, made such a pompous show of marching into corner some animals as if they were marching to a war.
