There was little fanfare for the first hunt. Some men offered their sons last-minute hints, but most of them were raring to go. Rastaban gave his spear an experimental heft, a few practice jabs. He was ready to go.
There was only one moment of fanfare, and that was when Rami gave the signal. A single motion of the hand and the boys were vanishing into the tall grass, ready for prey.
Rastaban didn’t look back, simply crouched as he’d been taught and walked soundlessly, ready to spring. The men knew not every boy would return, but Rastaban would.
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