Master of Beasts
The morning had come and swept a warm hand over the forests of Witchwood, awakening the sleeping birds from nests, shaking all life awake and making the forest alive with movements.
Hidden amongst the trees was a small cabin, hidden with foliage taken from the area around it, to hide its presence from easily fooled eyes.
The door swung open and out stepped a large man, his brown boots thickly caked in dried mud, his black trousers torn in various places covered in dirt and red stains. He swung on a coat made of many dark animal furs and whipped up the hood. It flopped over his face and he peered through the eyes that once belonged to a large and dangerous beast.
The man walked with great confidence through the forest, an aura carried with him, a strange knowledge of safety, despite the dangers that were hiding all over. He knew the forest's secrets, the traps and beasts that it held within the shadows, and the forest well knew his secrets, it knew all to well who he was, and why he lived within its great reaches. He was no ordinary hunter, and his prey was just as unordinary. He hunted not for food, for safety, or even for fun. He hunted purely because he had to. In his mind there were no sounds, not a whisper or dull seeping trace of a thought or even a notion. There was silence and darkness, he kept blank, and watched the world around him. Every single falling leaf and shifting clump of dirt was noticed, was watched closely.
Walking around so early in the morning had become a monthly ritual, and he walked until night. All the way through the falling light all that stood in sight was the thin and fickle branches and dangling fingers and many clawing nails hidden in shadows and darkness, under the glaring eye of the moon, full and watching.
Pounding was heard and felt on the ground, the sound circled him and he knew exactly what it was. The wild had come as it always did, every night. He would meet with it, and stare into the eyes of fear itself. A task once perceived as risk, now seen as mundane.
The thumping slowed, slid and stopped. From ahead slumbered out a figure, tall and strongly built, arms dangling and wide grin dripping with thick, oozing saliva. The beasts breath puffed out in clouds quickly, as it approached the man. Its dangerous eyes met with his and man and beast met face to face.
The gigantic, hulking creature reached for the fur which cloaked the man and then whipped away the coat, revealling the old flesh beneath it. The mans face sparked emotion, and a smile spread through his mouth.
The beast barked and spun, speeding off into the dark forest, with it a chorus of shouts and raging claims of strength and vocal brutality blared into the thicket of trees and silhouettes. The man looked back to the way he had walked, and paused. He could only barely make out his foot prints, and then he nodded. He turned and ran the same way the sounds and barks had gone, the same direction as the beast had fled.
As bark and branches wished and wooshed past, some scraping his arms and chest, his breathing went from a panting, to a grunting, to a deep, hoarse rumble. His steps grew faster, his body bigger, and the sounds of tearing cloth shreiked through his sounds of exhaustion. His arms fell forward and moved like legs, in motion with the hind. Faster and faster he moved, catching up with the beast.
The ground vanished, and he was in the air. He had run off a cliff edge and fell against the ground with a huge bang. The earth shattering under his weight. His body raised itself and eyes pointed to the moon. The wind stroked white fur, and a great howl pierced the air.
He ran and ran, his brothers following closely behind. They reached the familiar wooden wall, the gate that barred them entry. But that night would be theirs, and sweet crimson juices would be tasted in vast quantities. They all wanted the same thing. And as their heavy bodies smashed against the gate and began climbing up, a realisation dawned over them: It was finally time. They would wet their lips with the life of weaker animals, and a victory would be held in their name, remembered forever in the minds of many. If they could laugh, they would, and loudly. Proudly.
The morning had come and swept a warm hand over the forests of Witchwood, awakening the sleeping birds from nests, shaking all life awake and making the forest alive with movements.
Hidden amongst the trees was a small cabin, hidden with foliage taken from the area around it, to hide its presence from easily fooled eyes.
The door swung open and out stepped a large man, his brown boots thickly caked in dried mud, his black trousers torn in various places covered in dirt and red stains. He swung on a coat made of many dark animal furs and whipped up the hood. It flopped over his face and he peered through the eyes that once belonged to a large and dangerous beast.
The man walked with great confidence through the forest, an aura carried with him, a strange knowledge of safety, despite the dangers that were hiding all over. He knew the forest's secrets, the traps and beasts that it held within the shadows, and the forest well knew his secrets, it knew all to well who he was, and why he lived within its great reaches. He was no ordinary hunter, and his prey was just as unordinary. He hunted not for food, for safety, or even for fun. He hunted purely because he had to. In his mind there were no sounds, not a whisper or dull seeping trace of a thought or even a notion. There was silence and darkness, he kept blank, and watched the world around him. Every single falling leaf and shifting clump of dirt was noticed, was watched closely.
Walking around so early in the morning had become a monthly ritual, and he walked until night. All the way through the falling light all that stood in sight was the thin and fickle branches and dangling fingers and many clawing nails hidden in shadows and darkness, under the glaring eye of the moon, full and watching.
Pounding was heard and felt on the ground, the sound circled him and he knew exactly what it was. The wild had come as it always did, every night. He would meet with it, and stare into the eyes of fear itself. A task once perceived as risk, now seen as mundane.
The thumping slowed, slid and stopped. From ahead slumbered out a figure, tall and strongly built, arms dangling and wide grin dripping with thick, oozing saliva. The beasts breath puffed out in clouds quickly, as it approached the man. Its dangerous eyes met with his and man and beast met face to face.
The gigantic, hulking creature reached for the fur which cloaked the man and then whipped away the coat, revealling the old flesh beneath it. The mans face sparked emotion, and a smile spread through his mouth.
The beast barked and spun, speeding off into the dark forest, with it a chorus of shouts and raging claims of strength and vocal brutality blared into the thicket of trees and silhouettes. The man looked back to the way he had walked, and paused. He could only barely make out his foot prints, and then he nodded. He turned and ran the same way the sounds and barks had gone, the same direction as the beast had fled.
As bark and branches wished and wooshed past, some scraping his arms and chest, his breathing went from a panting, to a grunting, to a deep, hoarse rumble. His steps grew faster, his body bigger, and the sounds of tearing cloth shreiked through his sounds of exhaustion. His arms fell forward and moved like legs, in motion with the hind. Faster and faster he moved, catching up with the beast.
The ground vanished, and he was in the air. He had run off a cliff edge and fell against the ground with a huge bang. The earth shattering under his weight. His body raised itself and eyes pointed to the moon. The wind stroked white fur, and a great howl pierced the air.
He ran and ran, his brothers following closely behind. They reached the familiar wooden wall, the gate that barred them entry. But that night would be theirs, and sweet crimson juices would be tasted in vast quantities. They all wanted the same thing. And as their heavy bodies smashed against the gate and began climbing up, a realisation dawned over them: It was finally time. They would wet their lips with the life of weaker animals, and a victory would be held in their name, remembered forever in the minds of many. If they could laugh, they would, and loudly. Proudly.
