Author's preface:
While it has been common knowledge among paleontologists and paleoecologists for some years now, the truth of the Leptictidium civilisations has not yet been properly released to the public. Partly, I would guess, because much of the knowledge we have is a combination of guesswork and patched-together fragments of incomplete writings, that no scientist would bet his or her reputation by publishing. And partly, because of the untimely death of the forefront Leptictidium expert, the late professor AJ Stein.

As we all know, professor Stein perished last year while on vacation in the Caribbean, when an unexpected hurricane turned over his canoe. However, while the man is no longer with us, his work still lives on, and it is this author's ambition to gather his writings on the subject and make them publically known.

The following foreword for Hunter's Choice, one of many similar stories of Leptictidium life that he had set about to collect, was translated by Professor Stein in July 2009, then edited in August the following year after his discovery of the tomb in southern France (sadly, Professor Stein would not share the exact location, and the tomb has not been re-discovered).

* * * * * *

Foreword:
As mentioned elsewhere in this collection of stories, out of all the five currently known species of Leptictidium, only the auderiense have left writings that survived the test of time. Most are heavily fragmented, but still leave us with a general idea of what life would have been like during the Eocene, and even earlier if we judge by some of teh [sic] more recent datings. None more so, perhaps, than Hunter's Choice, the story of a young girl's quest to find her place among her tribe.

The word 'runner' has been chosen with some care, for as studies of numerous text fragments have shown, the Leptictidium auderiense usually referred to themselves as 'running hunters' or 'swiftrunners' or more formally 'fast runner-people of the lands'. To pick one word to describe them was not easy, but I decided eventually that 'runner' would show them proper respect while still fit well into a narrative.

* * * * * *

The Runners' Tales:
Hunter's Choice
by Winter
from translations made by professor Anton Joseph Stein, OBE

When Ia-te-Tea left the village, it was for the last time, for when she returned she would no longer be Ia-te-Tea.

During her last day as a child, she had gone through the rituals of her people. She had cut the tuft off her tail to mark the new beginning, and her mother had painted her forehead with the symbols of the clan, and of the Runners. At midday the old ones had told her of the choices that awaited her once outside, on the plains. At dusk, she had drunk the blood of a swiftclaw lizard, to symbolise her wish to become a hunter.

And as night fell and the treecaller birds began their moonsong, she left the village. It was a scary feeling for such a young girl, to leave the fires and torches behind, to step out of her safe hut and her parents' care. To say goodbye, perhaps forever, to her brothers and sisters.

She ran at trail-pace until the village was far behind, and only the stars and the crescent moon lit the plains around her. Then she stopped, unsure of which way to go next. To the north lay rocks and boulders, where she might find snakes and small lizards, but the big game were to the south. Swiftclaws and hoppers; and threehorns, though they were too large for a single hunter to bring down. Especially one who was still a child.

For she was Ia-te-Tea, for a few hours still. And she had a choice to make.

As the elders had told her, she could hunt and bring home prey, then she would be praised as a hunter and win herself a new name as such. If she chose to take home fruits and berries she would be praised and named as a bringer, lesser in rank but still valued highly. Only if she returned with nothing would she remain Ia-te-Tea, a child in name for the rest of her life.

That would not be her choice, because she was a brave girl. She would be an adult, or she would not be at all. Death did scare her, because as the elders said, only a fool does not fear the perishing. Ia-te-Tea was no fool, so she shivered as the nightsounds drew nearer.

North or south? She tugged at her tail while she pondered her decision, missing the child-tuft of fur at its tip. Ia-te-Tea was swift, even for a Runner, so the easiest choice for her would be to go north and hunt the small game. Back home, where the oldest children played and practiced by throwing and catching sticks, she had always been the best at grabbing the others' mock spears out of the air. Snakes were not that much different, as long as you avoided their bitey end.

But the lure of more dangerous prey tickled her pride, snared her by her vanity. She longed to be hailed as a chief hunter; as one of the tribe's finest. And then, maybe, one day she might be deemed worthy to hunt the threehorns, those enormous lizards who could kill a hunter with just a swipe of their heads. The temptation won her over.

Even the strongest hunters with spears and handblades, she knew, would have to work hard to battle a swiftclaw, and even the fastest Runners were not always fast enough to catch up with a hopper at full stride. And here was Ia-te-Tea, still mostly a child, sent out onto the plains with nothing. No weapons, no blades, not even clothes to protect her from the nightcold.

Yet she so longed to prove herself, that she set off towards the south. Her powerful legs kicked off into trail-pace, then into the leaps and bounds that could outrun almost any animal on the plains and in the forests. The dim landscape flew by. Birds and small animals fled before her, but she barely even saw them. Soon she had reached Spirits' Life, the mighty river that marked the edge of her village's territory.

Beyond that lay wilderness. The untamed land the Runners called the Perishing. It was a place where even a band of seasoned hunters would hesitate to go, and it was further than any child should venture on her growing-up night. Yet the one who had been Ia-te-Tea had made up her mind; she would come home with nothing less than an adult swiftclaw, or she would not come home. She braved the water and swam across the river.

With the moon high in the sky, and with the bright group of stars she knew as Mother Hunter running alongside her just barely touching the horizon, she heard them. Hoots and calls that could easily be mistaken for birds, but which she knew belonged to the fierce lizards. A couple of young ones played just ahead of her, but she would not hunt them. Too small, too easy. Where were their parents? Where was the male with his foot-sword that could open a hunter with one kick, that could even bring down a wolf?

The hunter stopped, catching her breath after the long run and forcing her heart to beat slower, quieter. Beyond the youths she spotted the female, who must have caught her scent already. She called the young to her, guarded them. But where was...?

Then she heard it, a faint rustling of grass, a near-silent intake of breath. The smell of lizard filled her nostrils while her mind blanked with fear and excitement.

And he struck!

From her left, a streak of grey-brown, a glimmering eye, sharp claws catching the faint moonlight. Pain shot through her as he slashed her! His deadly foot-sword missed, but his hand claws raked her bare chest, drawing furrows of blood and agony.

The hunter spun around, hissing and snarling as she leapt out of the way of yet another savage attack. She was smaller than him, but also quicker, and his third lunge left him off balance. In an instant she was on his back, clawing and biting at his neck while she wrapped her legs around his throat. His tail lashed at her, drawing blood from her temple, but the grip of her teeth was strong. She held true, biting deeper and deeper even as he rolled over and tried to squash her.

In the end, he sank to the ground, defeated. The taste of blood grew stronger in her mouth, and with a final snarl of rage she tore his neck open. A gush of red covered her face, went into her eyes, but she didn't care. Hunter had vanquished hunter, and she screamed out her victory to the moon!

From somewhere in the real world, far from her hunter-drunkenness, came the cries and snarls of the female swiftclaw, but the hunter knew that she could ignore her. The mother would not risk her young by seeking revenge. Maybe one day they would meet again, and both would remember the other as a blood-fight ensued. But not tonight.

Remembering the kill-ritual, Ia-te-Tea who would soon be someone else hurried to paint her fur with the blood patterns. One across her chest, where three scars would show off her bravery. Two down each side of her muzzle to the tip of her nose, then one between her legs where the touch lingered and allured. Already the adult in her was making its presence known.

It would not be long before she was expected to get a mate, unless she decided to stay wedded to the hunt. Such a position would be highly revered, though it would mean she never had any young. But that was a future decision to make. Right now, she cleaned her kill, leaving his inedible innards for the birds. His foot-swords would adorn the hut she lived in. His heart she ate raw, the hunter's privilege. It had a strong, almost sweet flavour, and she thought she could feel his strength adding to her own.

Once done, she braided a grass rope and hung the meat over her shoulders, then she headed back north. A thought entered her mind as she saw the fires of the village far to her left and the first red light of dawn to her right. Why settle for one? Already she had proven herself well, but she had the taste of blood in her mouth now, and she wanted more.

Instead of turning towards the fires and safety, she continued north.

The blackfang had just begun his day's hunt when he scented her, the little furry thing that moved into his territory. Blood was on her. Maybe she was hurt, and thus easy prey. His tongue took another taste of the air, while he sensed her tiny feet trotting closer. He would strike swiftly. One bite was all it took, then he could retreat while she died. The new dawn had started well.

Then he died.

Her last act as Ia-te-Tea was to leap out of the snake's way as it struck. The silvery grey body shot past her, and in the day's first light she saw a glimpse of the deadly nightblack mouth. A sight that few saw and lived to tell of. She spun around and struck, sinking her teeth into the back of his head while her claws tore his throat open. It was over almost before her heart had started beating faster.

With double blood patterns and double kills, the Hunter entered her village. Runners cheered and howled, jumped all around her and sang her praise, while other ran to and fro in sheer joy. She basked in her glory, especially in the pride of her parents and the admiration of her siblings.

Soon she would be clad in the garments of an adult, and soon she would get her new name. The name of a double-hunter. One who caught small game and big. But for now, she would feast with the rest of the tribe, to celebrate the passing of Ia-te-Tea, and the birth of a Hunter.