man running, veering up the side of the mountain, trying to
evade the Hunt. Over the thunder of the paws and hooves and claws pounding on
the ground, I could hear him screaming, begging for mercy, slowing as the slope
of the mountain became too steep. The small brown hat he wore flew off his
head, catching a current of air and sailing over the herd of the Hunt. One of
the three goblins that had teased me caught the hat with his pointy fingers and
cried out in triumph as if he had caught the catch of the day. The man fell to
all fours, clawing at the ground until he finally fell face down and slid back
a few yards.
He
rolled onto his back and screamed when he saw the Hunt bearing down on him. He
tried to crabwalk backward, but the loose dirt under his hands and feet made
him slide back two feet for every foot he gained. The hounds were howling and
the horses were screaming. The riders yelled and cheered, their arrows knocked
and bowstrings pulled. Swords and spears were gripped as they rode, every face
drawn in excitement and joy. Exhilaration crackled in the air. It was heady and
tempting. I leaned over the back of my horse, my face close to his neck and my
fingers gripping the mane eagerly, as we sped up, coming closer and closer to
the fallen man.
He
screamed again, inconsequential pleas for mercy falling from his mouth. Finally,
he dove to the side and rolled down the side of the mountain, rocks and pebbles
tearing at his skin, jacket, and trousers as he tumbled out of reach. Like a
flock of birds changing direction, the Hunt crested up the mountainside,
veering to the left and arcing back around. They came down the slope, expertly
dodging the same rocks and pebbles that had tripped him up. The air rushed
around me, flavored with the hollers and whistles of my fellow riders, until I
finally lifted my head and cried out with them when the first of the riders
came down upon the trapped man. He screamed again, but the sound was swallowed
by the thundering hooves and braying dogs.
The
Hunt rushed on, and I couldn’t help but look for the man as I passed over the
last spot I had seen him. But the place was empty, and the man was gone. Not
one arrow or spear littered the ground. The raised weapons I had noted were all
put away, swords in their scabbards, arrows in their quivers. Only the spears
remained in hand, out of convenience, but lowered, hanging parallel to the
horses’ backs.
With
a furrowed brow, I shook my head harshly, shaking off the intoxication of the
ride, trying to shake the echoes of the voices out of my mind. I sat up
straight in my saddle and took the reins again, dropping the tangled locks of
my ride’s mane. My fingers tingled painfully from gripping the horse’s mane,
and my legs and arms shook from the effort of clinging to its back during the
frantic ride. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed my muscles fatiguing while we
rode, but I imagined it was part of the magic of the Hunt.
“Enjoyed
that, did we?” a familiar voice asked. Gwyn had circled back and snuck up on
me. He sat much taller in his saddle than I did, and his overlong locks drifted
behind him. His horse was two hands taller than any other horse, putting Gwyn
even higher than anyone else.
“What
happened to the man?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“He
is there,” Gwyn answered with a lazy wave of his hand. I turned to look where
he indicated and saw the man on horseback, his jacket and trousers still
tattered. The goblin that had caught his hat now wore it and rode next to him,
talking with a large grin that showed his pointy teeth. They were too far away
from me to hear what was being said, but the man looked a little green in the
face, and his eyes were dark with sorrow as he looked resolutely forward.
“So
what? You hunted him down only to make him part of the Hunt?” I asked, turning
back to Gwyn.
“That
is how it has always been and how it will always be.” Gwyn swayed naturally in
his seat, his body moving with the
evade the Hunt. Over the thunder of the paws and hooves and claws pounding on
the ground, I could hear him screaming, begging for mercy, slowing as the slope
of the mountain became too steep. The small brown hat he wore flew off his
head, catching a current of air and sailing over the herd of the Hunt. One of
the three goblins that had teased me caught the hat with his pointy fingers and
cried out in triumph as if he had caught the catch of the day. The man fell to
all fours, clawing at the ground until he finally fell face down and slid back
a few yards.
He
rolled onto his back and screamed when he saw the Hunt bearing down on him. He
tried to crabwalk backward, but the loose dirt under his hands and feet made
him slide back two feet for every foot he gained. The hounds were howling and
the horses were screaming. The riders yelled and cheered, their arrows knocked
and bowstrings pulled. Swords and spears were gripped as they rode, every face
drawn in excitement and joy. Exhilaration crackled in the air. It was heady and
tempting. I leaned over the back of my horse, my face close to his neck and my
fingers gripping the mane eagerly, as we sped up, coming closer and closer to
the fallen man.
He
screamed again, inconsequential pleas for mercy falling from his mouth. Finally,
he dove to the side and rolled down the side of the mountain, rocks and pebbles
tearing at his skin, jacket, and trousers as he tumbled out of reach. Like a
flock of birds changing direction, the Hunt crested up the mountainside,
veering to the left and arcing back around. They came down the slope, expertly
dodging the same rocks and pebbles that had tripped him up. The air rushed
around me, flavored with the hollers and whistles of my fellow riders, until I
finally lifted my head and cried out with them when the first of the riders
came down upon the trapped man. He screamed again, but the sound was swallowed
by the thundering hooves and braying dogs.
The
Hunt rushed on, and I couldn’t help but look for the man as I passed over the
last spot I had seen him. But the place was empty, and the man was gone. Not
one arrow or spear littered the ground. The raised weapons I had noted were all
put away, swords in their scabbards, arrows in their quivers. Only the spears
remained in hand, out of convenience, but lowered, hanging parallel to the
horses’ backs.
With
a furrowed brow, I shook my head harshly, shaking off the intoxication of the
ride, trying to shake the echoes of the voices out of my mind. I sat up
straight in my saddle and took the reins again, dropping the tangled locks of
my ride’s mane. My fingers tingled painfully from gripping the horse’s mane,
and my legs and arms shook from the effort of clinging to its back during the
frantic ride. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed my muscles fatiguing while we
rode, but I imagined it was part of the magic of the Hunt.
“Enjoyed
that, did we?” a familiar voice asked. Gwyn had circled back and snuck up on
me. He sat much taller in his saddle than I did, and his overlong locks drifted
behind him. His horse was two hands taller than any other horse, putting Gwyn
even higher than anyone else.
“What
happened to the man?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“He
is there,” Gwyn answered with a lazy wave of his hand. I turned to look where
he indicated and saw the man on horseback, his jacket and trousers still
tattered. The goblin that had caught his hat now wore it and rode next to him,
talking with a large grin that showed his pointy teeth. They were too far away
from me to hear what was being said, but the man looked a little green in the
face, and his eyes were dark with sorrow as he looked resolutely forward.
“So
what? You hunted him down only to make him part of the Hunt?” I asked, turning
back to Gwyn.
“That
is how it has always been and how it will always be.” Gwyn swayed naturally in
his seat, his body moving with the
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