The hide peeled back easily enough over the muscles and organs but needed a little extra tug to pull free of the bones. The skinning knife was sharp and the work went smooth.

His father stood above him as he worked, admiring the way the unpracticed boy took to skinning. The blade flashed as it sliced and freed the hide from the kill. The son had a slick coating of blood up to his elbows and was nearly done when the father spoke.

“You are a man, now, son.” The father said. “No longer boy, but a killer. A taker of life. A hunter. A member of our warrior tribe. You will serve the chief, our people, and your family. Ours is the way of the Skinner, and you are now welcome among us.”

The boy stopped skinning to smile at his father’s words. Pride beamed from the boy as it was reflected in his father’s face.

“Thank you, father.” The boy said, giving the dead man’s skin a final tug that tore it loose.

“Take his skin, his weapons, his valuables, and his place. What was his is now yours by rite of combat.”