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The Wild Hunt.

Striding along the cracked footpath his eyes shuttered for a moment, opening once more he glanced about, sterile glass flowing into curved lines, bowing over him as the city shimmered and shook. A forest appeared.

He stood at the precipice above the densely wooded forest, adjusting his quiver across his back and scanning the tree line. He listened to the sounds of the woods, the chirps and trills of nature drifting on the wind muted by the dense canopy and lush undergrowth.

He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, weighing the power of his body and finding his balance. Attuning himself to the surroundings to nature itself. The ritual of the hunt filling him simultaneously with thrill and utter concentration.

He climbed down the rocky ledge and slipped into the trees, striding with slow, deliberate purpose. He scanned the greenery, grasping his bow firmly, his other hand moving to draw an arrow down to his side. Preparing it for the moment he was destined to let it fly. He felt that urge, that anticipation. He was Ready.

He was unsure what he was hunting, but he was drawn to the woods that day. A pulling sense of urgency willing him into the earthy and green terrain with each cautious step.

He broke into a brisk and stealthy gait, his footfalls pounding the forest floor, muted by leaves and moss. the resounding shock of their impact beating perfectly in time with his heart.

A gentle rustle, snap of twig, he could almost smell it before awareness sharpened. Eyes scanning he found the target. A young deer foraging amongst roots and old growth. Seeking nourishment for the long winter just as he sought his own.

Notching an arrow silently, the movement perfectly fluid and all at once, he drew taught the string and released. The breath pausing in his lungs as the breeze held with him, vectors aligning as the shaft pierced flesh with a dull thunk.

Wait.. That wasn't right.

Attention pulling away from the lines he had drawn in his future-sight the hunter refocused on the here and now. That sound he heard, that was no arrow into tender flesh. That was wood against wood.

His eyes narrowed tracing over the scene, the deer had fled, and his arrow lay still upon the floor. Resting gently on a pillow of fresh clover, it looked.. glassy.. almost wet. It looked alive.

The flint tip buried itself into the earth as arrow stood erect, stretching its feathers, no. branches out it began to shiver. Unfolding, unfurling.

Before him stood the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He had witnessed its Birth.

He ached.. to Hunt.

He hungered for her Flesh.

To be Continued

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Me and my ghost writing companion had a great time creating this piece for you!

I hope you have a fantastic day and look forward to your feedback regarding the story we have lovingly crafted from idea to submission to the chain. I hope you find it worthy and again look forward to your comments in the section below.

Much love, @Sammosk and Co. <3

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