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The Hunt Of Lord Herne

Chapter One

“A Great Hunt Begins"

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

27th April 2023

-Authors Notes- WARNING - This fictional tale contains literary fictional descriptive text of human death in an unusual and rather unpleasant way. If you're adverse to such then do not read this tale. It is not done for shock value, it is emphasise a point and only to serve the story's ultimate purpose, you have been warned...

In his domain, Lord Herne sat astride his oaken throne, his dark-furred head wreathed in consternation and unfathomable, unknown, deep thoughts – thoughts only an Ancient, powerful Deity like himself could know the depths of...and remain sane.

With a snort through his leathery nostrils, he stood upon dark, cloven hooves and began to pace. One furred arm tucked across his muscular chest, the thick mane rubbed and twisted – the other hand clenched with one finger lightly tapping the dark muzzle, the hooflet clicking against his jaw.

“Once," Lord Herne spoke to no one, his voice deep, masculine, powerful... “They venerated and worshipped me – gave me power! I was feared and respected in equal measure... Now – now I am a shadow of my former majesty. Their world has moved on, turned from the old ways paths – for this shall not stand, not now, and not ever! I will teach them the errors of their ways - They will remember me... for so I have spoken, so mote it be!"

His emerald eyes blazing, Lord Herne gestured and his powerful spear leaped from where it lay propped against his Oaken throne and into his paws. Raising it high, he closed his eyes and bowed his head – then slammed it down – a crack like a summer thunder reverberating as the very ground itself quivered – and with that – the Great Hunt began...

*

“I'm telling you, this is a waste of time, effort, and money – just what do you expect to get out of this? Some macho bullshit? Some primitive right of passage you men think is so...urgh!" Jasmine sighed, stirring the stew in the pot.

“It's not macho bullshit!" Frank grinned, nudging his friend John in the ribs. “Is it John? Outdoors, getting sunshine, fresh air – a trophy buck..."

“Macho bullshit – what'd that sweet, innocent child of nature ever do to either of you?"

Both the men looked at each other over the fire, then turned to look at Jasmine.

“It's...its..." John began, then gesticulated wildly.

“It's a masculine thing Jasmine, it's not really a right of passage, more a... a tradition as it were, right John?"

“What?" He asked, pouring himself a bowl of stew.

With a sigh, Frank rolled his eyes, accepting the bowl from John. “Nothing..."

*

Next morning, they set out from their campsite, All three wore bright orange vests, Frank and John with slung rifles over their back. They'd stalked out the local trails from front to back and back again, finding some Cervid hoof prints, but nothing to truly draw their attention. After a few hours, Jasmine called a halt and vanished behind a tree, both men exchanging grins and rolling their eyes, before dropping down their flies and urinating, standing side by side.

Jasmine blushed, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable – she knew predators lurked in these woods – and crouched over a fallen tree, her pale buttocks out in the majesty of nature – well – it'd have been a sight to see. A quiet snap of a twig made Jasmine instantly stop urinating, as her eyes went wide and she swallowed nervously. Turning her head as carefully as she could, Jasmine caught the briefest glimpse of a Whitetail doe, before the doe flinched sideways and vanished into the wood as suddenly as she'd come.

“I nearly shit myself..." Jasmine muttered; as she pulled some toilet paper out of her pack. “Scared me half to death young...never mind, you're probably halfway across the valley now..."

“What?" Frank called back.

“Nothing - “ Jasmine sighed and stood up, pulling her pants and trousers up again. “Just thinking out loud..."

*

Lord Herne raised his majestic, antlered head – his lips parting as he drew in a great breath – before his loud, dominant roar pealed forth. Across the wood, animals from the lowliest to the highest of soaring eagles screamed back – their voices the song of nature that echoed and peeled off the mountains and sent chills up the spines of the humans.

“What the hell was that - “ John asked, staring around. “Was that a...an Elk? What in hades is an Elk doing way down here?"

Frank grinned like a man possessed, un-slinging his rifle and racking the bolt, the nickel-plated round sliding into the firing chamber.

“Well, he's not going to make his way back up north – I can promise you that..."

“I don't know about either of you, but I don't think I want to see whatever made that noise..." Jasmine visibly quivered and pulled her vest closer around her body."

“It's an Elk.. stupid beast will probably run and the first snap of a twig or a leaf touching it..." Frank snorted.

“My hero – so big and brave with his rifle..." Jasmine snorted disdainfully. “I don't know an Elk call from a – well – a Whitetail..."

“These guns aren't just for hunting deer you know, there are much, much scarier things in these woods..."

*

Lord Herne, in his feral aspect, froze mid-step, hearing the heartbeat, and the voices of the humans, almost like he was right next to them. When the words

There are much scarier things in these woods...

Drifted on the wind to his leaf-like ears, Lord Herne tossed his antlered head and a grin spread from one side of his muzzle to the other.

“Yes," He whispered quietly, lifting his head and scenting the air. “I should know – I'm one of them..."

*

Frank and John grew pensive and nervous after that roar – it left them feeling chilled and confused, almost like instead of being the apex predator – something in turn – stalked them. Only Jasmine seemed unaffected, happily lifting her camera and taking photographs of trees, distant mountains, and other things.

“I'm telling you - “ John murmured side-mouthed, his rifle swinging from side to side as he scanned the far side of the clearing. “I got a - “

“Really?" Frank snorted. “Grow a fucking set, will you? It's an Elk! Do you have any idea the bragging rights we'll get – this late in the season – for his hide and head? We could almost write our own checks just off his dressed carcass weight..."

“I'll start...wait – what's that..."

Lifting his rifle, the barrel of which twitched slightly, John peered through the scope. “Steady...steady...breathe..."

Jasmine squealed, as the powerful rifle thundered, John grunting as the recoil kicked hard into his shoulder and in the distance, the deer flinched and dropped.

“Easy shot - “ Frank sneered. “What? A hundred and fifty yards? My grandmother who's blind, could have made that!"

Racking the bolt back and catching the expelled spent cartridge, John grinned. “First down to me! I'll go tag it..."

Handing his rifle over to Frank, John grinned like a child at Christmas and wandered across the clearing heading towards the felled deer.

*

Whistling a tune he'd heard on their way to the camp, John grinned from ear to ear. First blood to him, he felt giddy, almost euphoric, as he walked over and looked down at the fallen deer.

“Four tines – not a prime buck, but a buck nonetheless!"

A cold breeze suddenly swept the clearing, rustling the leaves on the trees and making John shiver, as he reached for his pouch – his fingers frozen for a heartbeat, before he laughed nervously and unfastened it – pulling out a tag with a number on it.

“No time to get all jumpy – winters not far off and..."

A chill ran up his spine, from tailbone to neck, hair on his nape and arms rising, as he heard a voice, low, barely a whisper...yet it carried such power and intensity, John felt his bladder release – the wetness spreading across the front of his hunting jeans.

I saw what you have done... I see into your dark, corrupted heart... A life will be taken as a sacrifice – for one taken too soon...

“Wha..." John squeaked, his eyes growing wide like the full moon, as something materialized like a wraith out of the shadows.

It walked on cloven hooves, the dark fur a rich woodland brown the shins like young trees, the thighs, like great redwoods...

Corded muscles rippling beneath that fur like they were made from iron...

Looking up – he took in the large, furred testicles and sheath – up the sculpted abdomen – with muscles that looked like they could turn coal into diamonds...

That chest, the pectoral muscles bunching and twisting, as a dark-furred paw swung over it, holding an ornate wooden spear thicker than John's forearm – the razor-sharp spikes sticking out just below the leaf-shaped head showed this spear wasn't decorative – it was meant to kill...

Finally, John looked up, tears sluicing down his cheeks, as he saw the face behind the voice...

Its dark lips curled back in a vicious snarl, dewlaps curled like a wolf growling, the emerald green eyes flashing straight over to a brilliant blood red as the large, leaf-like ears pinned backward – the massive rack of antlers glistening – the tips sparkling like they were made from silver – before that voice spoke again...

_Run, run like the forest child you killed for your own selfish, petty, and – arrogant – desires... Run, I will give you a chance – unlike you with my child...now.. run _...

John ran...he didn't run fast enough...

*

John tore out of the woods; like a pack of rabid wolves was biting at his ankles. His face showed pure, unimagined terror as he ran for all he was worth – and then some...

A loud piercing whistle tore through the air; before John was bodily flung forwards at least five feet – his feet lifted off the ground. With an explosion of blood from his mouth that misted the air and fell like rain droplets onto the ground, he staggered once more – staring incredulously down at his chest.

A wooden spear had impaled him through the back, almost exiting through his chest in a spray of blood and bone. Grasping it between his hands, he merely stared – before his life was snuffed out and he fell forwards, the spear sticking into the ground and protruding from his back like a bent flagpole – his limp hands falling to the ground.

TO BE CONTINUED...