Happy Birthday Hainju!!
The turtle hunter made his way through the small town. His tomahawks hung loosely at his side, ready to be pulled free at a moment’s notice. He had heard that there was a turtle who was trying to make a life in this town. The large alligator was a firm believer that the natives of this land had no place among the settlers; the turtle should stick to their dwindling tribes and any who stepped out of line need to be put down.
The town’s people knew him for what he was and some nodded their approval to his presence. Leatherhead entered the small tavern and the few patrons cowered at the sight of him, hiding under tables or pulling away to press up against the walls. The door to the back opened and an olive colored turtle stepped out, holding a few bottles of native made liquor.
The sides of Leatherhead’s lips curled up in a sneer at the sight of the savage dressed as a civilized man. Pulling his tomahawk from his belt, the turtle hunter made his way across the room. People ran for the door as he passed them, grateful that he had no interest in the people who supported the business.
The commotion had the turtle looking out past the bar and up at the hunter. Panic filled the turtle and he dropped the bottle in his hand. It shattered on the floor as he turned to run, but the hunter was fast and cut the turtle off before he had the chance to make it to the back room.
“Please,” the turtle backed up. He trembled as he stepped back, his foot coming down on the broken glass. He called out as the glass pierced his foot and he fell to the ground crying.
Leatherhead didn’t let him stay down for long, lifting the turtle off the floor by the carapace. “I’ll leave town,” the turtle tried to bargain for his life. “I’ll never do this again. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Hearing his native language fall from the native’s lips prickled Leatherhead’s anger further. He hated how the natives failed to properly form their words. They spoke like they had their mouths full of cotton and it was hard to understand them.
“You’ve already defiled this town with you presence, turtle” Leatherhead snapped back. “Now you must pay.”
Leatherhead threw the turtle on to the bar, plastron down, then tied his hands behind his back. The turtle cried in fear and pain. Blood oozed from the wound on his foot, the piece of glass still embedded in the deep cut.
Using his tomahawk, Leatherhead cut the clothes off the native and let the tattered rags fall to the ground. “Please,” the turtle cried out. “Why are you doing this? What is so wrong with me trying to live a good life?”
“You have no place in civilized society,” Leatherhead rumbled in response.
“Why?” the turtle sobbed.
“You are savages,” Leatherhead turned the turtle so that he was carapace down. He lifted the turtle’s foot and removed the piece of glass then, opening a bottle of alcohol, dumped the contents on the wound before bandaging it up.
“If you are going to kill me, then why are to tending to my wound?”
Leatherhead pulled the tie on the bandage tight, causing the turtle to hiss in pain. “I’m not going to leave the mess of your dead body for the town’s people to clean.” Leatherhead pressed in close to the turtle and looked him in the eyes, “Your carapace will be added to my collection.”
“I’m not the savage one here,” the turtle blurted out. “I’ve never taken another’s life.”
The hunter rumbled deep in his chest and grabbed his captive by the neck. He dragged the limping native out of the tavern and led him out of town to where a horse hitched to a cart was waiting. Leatherhead threw the turtle into the cart and secured him by tying him to a hook before he mounted the horse.
They road for hours and the turtle was jostled while the cart bounced along the uneven road. Leatherhead heard the turtle shifting around behind him and turned to check just as he pulled free of his restraints. Leatherhead pulled the horse to a stop just as the turtle jumped down off the cart.
Despite his injured foot, the turtle ran fast but the hunter’s legs were longer and he caught the turtle with ease. The turtle cried out as Leatherhead wrestled him to the ground, desperation filling the native’s every move. Leatherhead lifted the turtle and threw him back into the cart.
As the sun set the night chill filled the air and the turtle trembled from more than just cold. “I don’t want to die,” he sobbed. “Please. Why do you do this?”
“Turtles killed my family,” Leatherhead answered.
“I was not one of them,” the turtle cried out. “I have never hurt anyone. I just want to make a good life and sell my drinks.”
Leatherhead looked down at his prey, unfazed by his words. A high pitched howl had the hunter and his captive looking around. Shadows stalking in the distance came closer as the light faded. Leatherhead was expecting a pack of lesser beast coyotes, but was surprised to see a gang of bandits led by a coyote man; his grizzled snout curled up in a snarl.
“What have we here” the bandit leader asked, “a hunter and his quarry? Take the prisoner, maybe we’ll get good coin from the natives for saving him. Kill the hunter. I’m sure the natives will pay for his hide too.”
Leatherhead stood ready to fight and the turtle sat in the cart and watched as the bandits overpowered him. The hunter put up a good fight, injuring a bandit or two but he was vastly outnumbered. “Stop,” the turtle shouted. “Don’t hurt him.”
By that time the bandits had Leatherhead pinned to the ground and were getting ready to deliver the fatal blow. “Why would you ask to spare him?” the leader asked.
“My people do not condone violence,” the turtle answered. “Please do not kill him. You will get no money from the tribes if you bring him in dead.” He got down from the cart and limped over to the bandit leader. “My name is Donatello. I will let you guide me back to my village and see to it that you are compensated for your actions tonight.”
“Alright,” the bandit leader nodded then indicated the cart. “Toss him in boys.” As his men hoisted Leatherhead into the cart, then the leader turned back to Donnie. “Get on the horse. We don’t need you walking on that hurt foot.”
Donatello bowed, “Thank you for your kindness.”
The bandits helped Donny up on to the horse and they walked behind the cart, keeping an eye on the hunter turned prisoner. By the time they got to the native village Donny called home, it was midnight and the waning moon was high in the sky.
Sentries greeted Donny and the bandits as they passed and Donny nodded in return, “Evening, Raphael.” A messenger must have been sent because Donny’s brother was there to meet them as soon as they passed the first hut.
“When I heard of what happened, I feared you have been lost.”
“Almost, brother,” Donny smiled as he dismounted. “I would have been gone if it weren’t for these men. See to it that they are compensated.”
Donny’s brother nodded then turned to another, giving orders in their native tongue. The young turtle bowed before rushing off. Donny’s brother bowed to the bandits, “I am Leonardo. I thank you for saving my brother from the hunter. That is a debt that I can never repay. You are welcome in our village whenever you are in need.”
“Thank you,” the bandit bowed in return. “I’ve always fancied you folk and your kind ways.” The young turtle returned with a small pouch and handed it to the bandit leader. “And you’re gold,” the bandit added under his breath opening the small pouch to have a look. He flashed a toothy grin, “We’ll be on our way then.”
“Safe travels,” Leo bowed as they left.
Donatello walked over to Leatherhead and unbound his hands. The turtle hunter looked around the village and grunted, “Why didn’t you let them kill me, savage?”
“My name is Donatello,” Don corrected. “I told you, I am not the savage.” He removed the ropes from the hunter’s arms and offered a hand to help him up. “You are injured. Let us tend to your wounds.”
Leatherhead swatted his hand away, “Don’t touch me.”
“If you do not wish for our help,” Donny stepped back. “You are free to leave.”
“Your sentries will kill me the second I leave,” Leatherhead accused.
“We do not do such things,” Donny assured him.
“Tell that to my family,” Leatherhead snapped. “Turtles killed them.”
“There are many tribes of turtle on this land,” Donny sat next to the hunter. “I promise you that the ones who killed your family did not come from this tribe.”
Leatherhead looked away as he considered his words.
“I cannot even think of any tribe in these parts who would commit such a crime,” Donny thought out loud. “Where are you from, stranger?”
“My name’s Leatherhead,” the hunter sighed. “I come from down south, beyond the mountains.”
“So far from home,” Donny placed a hand on Leatherhead’s arm. “I didn’t even know that there were tribes beyond the mountains. I am sorry for you loss.”
Leatherhead shrugged Donny’s hand off, “Stop it! What are you trying to pull?”
“My brother is not trying to pull anything,” Leo stepped in. “We are not like the tribes in the south. We do not kill without good reason. We do not even eat meat beyond fish.”
“You are bleeding,” Donny looked at the blood dripping from the hunter’s side. “Please. Let us help you.”
The hunter stayed silent for a while then nodded. The wound on his side was deep and needed medical attention or infection would set in. Donny helped Leatherhead up and guided him into a hut and laid him down on some mats.
Another turtle entered and bowed to the hunter, “My name is Michelangelo. I will be tending to your wounds.”
“Leatherhead,” the hunter replied while Mikey got ready.
The young turtle cleaned and sewed up the wound on Leatherhead’s side, talking the whole time he worked. “So what are the turtles in the south like?”
“They are ugly, savages,” Leatherhead answered. “Their features are sharper than yours.”
“That’s because the turtles to the south are snappers,” an old rat stated as he entered the hut. He sat next to Leatherhead. “My name is Splinter and I too come from the south. I am an explorer and became fascinated with the turtle tribes of the north. I met the peaceful people of this tribe only yesterday and have already learned a lot. They are vastly different from the turtles of the south.” He looked down at Leatherhead, “Why did you travel north to hunt?”
“My hatred for turtles has grown over the years and when I heard about how turtles in the north were trying to live with the settlers, I had to come here to stop it. All us turtle hunters come from the south.”
“The tribes here mean no harm,” a sad smile spread across Splinter’s face. “It is the natives who suffer at the hands of the settlers, not the other way around. The misdeeds of the southern turtles have those traveling north bring an unfounded prejudice. And the tribes here have suffered for it.”
“We welcome the settlers,” Mikey added as he cut the extra string of the last stich. “They just don’t welcome us. Never knew the reason before.” A smile spread across his beak. “Now that we know, we can work to help them understand.” He coated the wound with a salve before placing a bandage over it. Then the small turtle collected his things and left the hut, bowing before he left.
Splinter looked down at Leatherhead, “They are full of optimism but I fear for them. Tribes are being eradicated and they refuse to fight back. Their passivism will be their end, I fear.”
Leatherhead was invited to stay as he recovered from his wounds. Donatello showed him how they lived and how they brewed their liquor and wine to sell to the settlers. Leatherhead saw the beauty in the tribe’s simple ways.
As the days passed Leatherhead felt a certain peace that he had been missing for years. He stayed beyond the time it took for his wounds to heal and found himself growing closer to Donatello. In time he was made an honorary member of the tribe; a tribe that he swore to protect.
