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Deep in an unnamed stretch of humid woods, in a valley far from any road, a single man once lived as a hunter. He mostly hunted the wild boar in the area, fearsome creatures that could grow as tall at the shoulder as he, and three times as stout. He slayed them with traps, arrows, and the spear, and from their hides he crafted leathers to better protect himself, and from their tusks he crafted spearheads and cutting tools. He risked his life often among these creatures, but none were so threatening as the Beast.

The Beast also preyed on the boars, leaving little but a grisly spread of bones and winding trails of blood. The hunter rarely glimpsed the Beast, and at the merest hint of its presence, he would turn away and hide. Let the Beast pick his traps clean if it got to them first, so long as it was not him being eaten. There were always more boars, but he had no desire to tangle with such a monster. One morning in early spring, however, he was presented with an unexpected opportunity.

The sun is just barely clear of the distant mountains as the hunter reaches the first of his traps. Small animals occasionally manage to trip them, and if his need is not too great, he'll release those that still live. He resets his traps and moves on. He moves quietly, as ever, and especially so when he hears heavy breathing ahead, where one of his largest traps lies. He moves to one side, to approach under the cover of heavy foliage, and when he finally eases aside a branch to peek in, he freezes on the spot.

His rope is thick and well-made enough to hold even the largest boar easily, no matter how long it struggles. Even so, nearly half of his net is torn to shreds. Hanging from a towering tree's branch by a double line of rope, tangled in net and half-hanging out, is the Beast. This is the first time the hunter has seen it full on in the light of day, and he stares quietly.

Rugged, green scales coat heavy bands of muscle and ridges of bone forming thick, rigid, angry plates often terminating in fearsome claws or horns. He has to stare several moments to make out its shape properly... it looks like it would prowl upright on two powerful hindlegs, a massive, rather stiff tail giving it balance. Its forelegs are perhaps closer to arms, ending in wicked claws and topped with both massive, dual plates and singular talons. Surely, the beast could block almost any attack with one stout arm, and strike out with a talon as long as the hunter's leg to skewer its attacker. The head is similarly plated, splitting into a maw of jagged fangs in front and two twisting, black horns at the back. Upright, it would likely stand two to three times as tall as the hunter, depending on its natural gait. To such a creature, boars are little more than walking meals waiting to be run through.

The rope creaks quietly as it twists, the Beast slowly turning one way, pausing, then turning the other. The man stares in breathless silence for several slow turns before finally deciding that the creature must be asleep. Its talons fall just barely short of the ground, hanging over a small patch of gouges where it might have just grazed the earth stretching well out. The net is a shambles, but it still binds the creature's legs and tail, and it must have eventually tired of trying to cut itself free. When it wakes, it will likely finish the job and rise in an unstoppable fury. He has no desire to linger and see that come to pass. But... those talons are enormous. And surely much stronger than boar tusks.

His eyes roam the creature. That hide and plating has to be strong enough to stop a full charge from a wild boar, horns and all. And just imagine the bones in such a creature, so massive. What could its flesh taste like? The hunter shifts on his feet slowly. This is surely a fine way to get killed, but when would he get such a chance again? If he could kill the Beast, he would be the true master of this valley, unchallenged, unthreatened. None would steal from his traps, as would often nearly kill him in the winter, and no animal could stand against him.

But... with such thick hide and heavy plating, how could he even kill such a creature? He frowns for a long moment, and pulls a small fold of treated leather from his pouch. A dark liquid glistens within. A coating for his arrows, when he is in most desperate need. Very difficult to extract from very rare roots, but certainly effective. He draws a tusk dagger and draws it through the viscous poison until it is coated completely, and he discards the leather.

Skin prickling, he steps out of the brush, placing every step with utmost care. His eyes barely flick away from the Beast. It still slumbers, its breathing deep and rumbling subtly, seeming to weigh down on his chest. He pauses where he reckons the edge of its reach lies, staring a long moment further. Not a twitch. He sighs silently and steps into that invisible circle, the realm of slicing, stabbing talons. He pauses again as one swings slowly by, staring at the thick, smooth pillar of bone with a mixture of fear and avarice. It passes, and he steels himself, stepping in. The ground under his feet is turned up by criss-crossing slash marks.

The head of the Beast looms before him, itself nearly as large as his torso from bristling fang to twisted horn. One eye is turned his way. He readies his dagger, ignoring the sweat on his brow. A small indent he hadn't noticed twitches-- a nostril. It sniffs. The eye snaps open, dread black staring at him through a golden-green reptilian slit. He shouts and drives the dagger into that hateful eye, right to the handle, jelly splashing across his wrist. He leaps back, a shriek stabbing through his ears to fill his skull before a wall of bony flesh flies unseeing through where he's standing, throwing him off his feet and into the brush.

For a long time, the hunter lies aching and listening as the Beast roars and keens, scrabbling about violently, but the rustling and scraping soon slows, and its terrible voice weakens. The hunter listens silently, solemnly. Perhaps in wonder, perhaps in relief, perhaps in respect, he listens as the Beast dies. The valley is silent, the last echoes of that terrifying voice long faded, and the sun climbs halfway to the center of the sky before the hunter finally rises, testing his limbs. The beast hangs still, though it seems to have shredded the net more-- it had gotten one hindleg free, and its arms just touch to the ground, talons rooted deep into the soil as though to drag itself free of its final fate.

The hunter watches a while, and tries throwing small stones at the beast, then prodding it with a branch. It doesn't stir. Dark green trickles from its eye socket, down its maw to pool in the furrows it had cut in the ground. The hunter sighs. Now, the real work begins.

He returns to his home, a shack of fair size poised on a small, rocky hill. The hill is sheer on all but one side, and that side he has ornamented with spikes and traps to fend off any unwelcome creatures that aren't smart enough to work out the route. He has to clear some of this out, however, to bring out the cart. It is noon before he finds the slain Beast again, well supplied with tools and supplies to work through the night. The creature is already beginning to attract flies.

Work with carving knife and saw goes slowly, and his muscles begin to ache just trying to work through even the weakest creases in the scaly hide. But as the day wears on, his cart piles high with bone, thick plating, and horns. The sun is flirting with the mountains on the other side of the valley when he finally prepares to pry the skull free. These horns and fangs look less useful than the claws and talons, and he's tempted to take the whole thing intact for a truly majestic trophy. His legs are weakening under him, and he knows he should cut the beast down soon if he's going to keep working. Grunting heavily, the hunter slices a few more tendons and tests it. The skull shifts. He grins and braces himself well, his strength renewed for a moment as he hugs to the massive head and slowly, carefully pulls it free. A good deal of offal slurps free as he steps back, and he begins to turn away, glancing up-- and stops.

Slowly, he puts the head down. He turns away and grabs the torch he'd driven into the soil nearby, bringing it to hold high and squint. Wiping a hand on his tunic, he reaches up and scrubs the green gore off smooth hide. With his thumb, he traces out familiar shapes: Brow. Nose. Lip. Cheek. It is the same green as the thick scales he's spent such effort on, yet thin-- soft. The hunter stares at a face, hidden deep in the remains of the Beast. Its eyes are closed, but one is bleeding. As he watches, dark green blood pushes from under the lid in dull pulses. He peels up the other eyelid. A slitted eye regards him, unseeing, but in the light of the torch, it narrows to a dark sliver in a golden disc. Life remains in this... thing.

The hunter takes up his carving knife, panting softly, his knees shaking.

Before he is done, he has to go back for the saw, and he has to pull that enormous head over to stand on its thick-ridged brow and reach higher. Ribs open with an echoing crack, and he is coated in green viscera before soft tearing sounds from somewhere out of sight announce two calves finally coming free, and the hunter bowls over, falling to the ground as the Beast's chest gapes open, guts pouring out over its own head as the hunter lies panting under a... he doesn't know what it is, but it's shaped like a person, and it's breathing, ever so slowly.

He checks over its --her-- form, a glistening mess of smooth hide, jagged ridges, and stumpy bones. He can't find anywhere she's bleeding besides the eye, so he wraps the socket and hauls her to the cart. He shoves most of the load off onto the ground and throws her onto it with an annoyed growl before going to take up the handle. He's already on the verge of falling over, but so long as he only falls forward, he can keep pulling the cart.

The stars are twinkling down on him when he finally hauls the cart up the hill and brings her in. He starts a fire to fight off the coming chill and uses up most of his water trying to clean her off. He's tempted to take up the knife and try to carve off some more of the bone and hide plating hugging her form, as there are many places where it seems to be simply attached to her, but he runs into many spots where it seems to grow straight from her own hide. He doesn't know where he can cut safely without hurting her further, so he does what he can to wash her up, and wraps her up in furs to lie by the fire. He dribbles a little water into her mouth, and when her breathing seems a little more even, he takes the chance to collapse on the floor himself and sleep.

Daylight comes, and though he curses it, he rises. She is where he left her, but she seems to have rolled on her side and spat a great, greenish-black mess across his furs and floor. He can see her breathing now, though. He waters her for another day and night, and finishes his work on the great corpse in the wood, before she finally stirs.

It is her voice that wakes him on the second morning, and she sounds weak and fearful, stirring in her sleep. He rekindles the fire for her, and rests a firm hand on her shoulder, settling down at her side. In his other hand, he holds a curved dagger behind his back. She seems to ease, and for a few moments, is silent. He cannot see her eye crack open, but he can feel the subtle tension enter her form.

Her head shifts slightly. And in a flurry, she launches to her feet-- or tries to, and immediately falls to the floor again. The hunter rises, and points his blade at her in warning. She struggles, like a newborn animal, to put her feet under her, but the blind fury written on her face seems to propel her upward all the same. She barely glances at his dagger before slapping it away and lunging to plant her fist in his belly, and the hunter grunts thickly-- she is strong! But he grabs her arm all the same and throws her to the ground, and she is too clumsy to stop him.

She tries to spring up again, but he kicks her over. She tries to lash out at him with her hands, but her reach falls well short, and he simply stands over her, knocking her over every time she tries to rise. Finally, her fury begins to break under exhaustion, and she lies shaking on the ground, one eye glaring hatred at him. He stands over her a moment longer, to be sure she does not rise, then moves slowly to put the dagger aside and gather his water and a few leaves for bandages.

She's nursing her hand now, as she has finally noticed she'd cut herself on the hunter's dagger. She growls and hisses at him when he tries to take her arm, but his grip is sure, and he drags her hand up into the light. He washes the wound and dresses it as she writhes slowly at his knees, encasing the hand in leaves and tying it close.

When that is done, and he is sure she will not try to undo or chew off the bandage, for she seems tempted at first, he goes on to gather two wooden bowls he had prepared. One is filled with roots, leaves, and berries, and the other with mashed boar meat, lightly cooked. He lays the two bowls beside her and leaves her to return to his work. There is a great deal of hide and flesh that must yet be treated properly if it will last to be useful, but for the moment, he takes up a handful of arrows he had been working on before. He puts his back firmly to her and focuses on his work.

When his quiver is full, he turns back again. The cabin is empty, as are both bowls, though the plantstuff has been scattered across his floor. He looks around outside, and there is no sign of her. So he takes up his work with the green leather and flesh again, and though his instincts tell him to set in the traps and spikes down the hill again, he focuses on the work before him until he is once again aching and in need of sleep.

In the cabin, the fur lies where she'd thrown it aside. He stoops to clean up the vegetables, putting them aside for later, and lights a small fire. He goes to bed with a great sigh and lies in silence, well into the night, staring at the shadows in the rafters.

By the light of day, he finds the furs on the floor are swollen, wrapped tightly around a bundle that slowly swells and eases. He looks at it for a time before rising and mashing another bowl of meat to leave on the floor, and he goes out to check his traps. He has fallen well behind, after all.

He returns at midday with a light load. Much of the meat had spoiled, and he will have to repair many of the traps, but he has fresh rabbit, plump with spring fat, and he looks forward to the treat. When he enters his cabin, though, he finds she is still here-- tearing into a great haunch of boar meat he had left hung up to dry. Or she is trying to, as her teeth don't seem to work as well as she expects. She disentangles her mouth to hiss at him as he enters, though it's a feeble threat compared to her half-screeching the other day. He frowns and goes to take the haunch from her, but she shrieks and tries to claw at him with the dull tips of her fingers, leaving angry red marks on his arm without breaking the skin. He growls softly in answer, and she readies to fight over it --she seems much more agile today-- but he is twice her weight nonetheless, and he tosses her to the ground, haunch and all. She goes down with a yowl, but clings still to that meat, and he scoffs and goes on with preparing his rabbit.

Soon, the shack is fragrant with cooking meat, and she is peering into the skillet, her haunch forgotten on the floor. She reaches to pluck some out twice, but he slaps her clawed hand away each time, grumbling in his human tongue. She scowls. When he turns away, a shriek rises behind him, and he turns to see her trying to grip her good --formerly good-- hand with the bandaged one, the tips darkened. He growls and takes the water, seizing her hand and wetting it until her squirming eases. He fixes her with a heavy look, and she shrinks and scoots back across the floor.

Finally, he pulls the skillet from the fire and begins to eat. She draws in close at his side, staring intently, but she doesn't try to take any. He glances at her once, and gestures to the great haunch lying abandoned on the floor with a low grumble. She hisses softly and moves away.

For a moment, the hunter almost enjoys his delicacy in peace, but soon he hears her whining, a strange sound indeed from such a fierce creature. He turns impatiently, but he sees that she is not begging but struggling. She is trying to hang up the haunch where he'd left it earlier, but with one hand bandaged and the other burned, she almost drops the great hunk every time it's nearly looped again. He sighs slowly and rises.

Together, they tie the haunch up again, and as soon as the task is done, she brightens, staring expectantly up at him. He huffs, and returns to his plate, the strange girl following close behind him. A moment, and he plucks out a seared flank to hold in the air over his shoulder. It's snatched up in a blink.

When the rabbit is gone, the hunter goes on with his work, expecting the strange girl to leave again. But she follows him and watches as he tends to his weapons and armor, and when he sits out in the sun weaving rope, she lies down in the golden warmth and dozes. The hunter rises quietly then and goes to the shed in back, where he has stored the remains of the Beast, but he's barely begun when he hears a scratching at the door. He tries to fend her off with a growl and a gentle push as she cranes her head to try and see inside, and he finally shoves her away, cursing at her and slamming the door.

The hunter sits down to work, but he gets little done before his hands lie still before him, and he stares quietly at the broad, stout hides. He leaves the shed, grumbling softly, and returns to find that his shack has been thrown into disarray-- the ashes and charred logs in the fireplace have been kicked across the floor, his shelves have had their trinkets scattered across the bed, and the fur he'd wrapped her in is torn and ragged. In the corner, she lies huddled in on herself, refusing to meet his gaze.

For a moment, he is enraged, but only a moment. He lets the furious breath wind slowly from his chest, and he simply stares down at her. She begins to fidget and squirm. He turns away, and goes to get a full bucket of water. He sets it down by the smeared mess of ash with a rag, and he quietly goes to take her arm. She makes a tiny sound when he draws close, but she does not resist as he pulls her across the shack to the mess. He shows her how to clean with the rag, and thrusts it into her hand. She looks to the rag, and turns a small sneer up at him, but he gives her a small kick in the rump, nudging her into the mess, and she gets to work, hissing softly.

The hunter rearranges his shelves, glad that most of his possessions don't seem to be damaged, and takes up the ruined furs. She pauses at her work to look up at that briefly, then turns to her scrubbing with vigor. He puts it aside to be cut up and used for other things.

By the time she has cleaned the floor to the hunter's satisfaction, he has finished a deal more of his own work and prepared a cold meal for both of them. She eats quietly, eyes cast to the floor she has labored upon, and the hunter watches her. He chews slowly. When he is done with his meal he rises and, in passing her, he squeezes her shoulder. Her eyes follow him as he lights the fire for the night, and when he goes to the bed, she rises to linger by him.

He looks up as he settles in, and she glances to the ruined furs, then back to him, shifting as she did when she wanted his rabbit, her hips rocking from side to side. He puffs a breath, considering a moment, and slowly draws the bedding open for her. She slithers in beside him with a pleased hiss, though the rough edges of her form scrape at him and make him grunt low in his belly. She doesn't seem to notice, and shifts quietly closer to him to get fully under the blankets. The hunter is left wincing and panting softly against her back as she settles in.

But she grows still, and he sighs, trying to relax himself. It has been a long time, however, since he knew the touch of another, let alone the warmth of a body pressed snug to his, and as much as he wills his heart to slow, it only seems to beat faster. He shifts some, trying to get comfortable, and she only wiggles closer to steal what space might open between them. His arm falls restlessly, and he finally casts it over her form, and she clasps his hand in her clawed fingers. He might find solace in this, but part of him is growing more restless than ever.

She finally seems to notice a prod at her backside, and gives a low growl, a warning. He grumbles softly and holds his ground, trying to relax. For a moment, she is quiet. Then one of her hands slips from his, reaching down and back. The hunter holds still, his very breath taking pause.

The strange girl shoves him over and yanks the furs from his form to wrap herself up.

Cold and very exposed, the hunter is shocked, but he quickly pulls at his covers again, growling some low curse. She meets him snarl for snarl, and hands, arms, and legs meet and tangle as he tries to wrestle his blanket free from the greedy intruder in his home. She fights all the fiercer as his frustration grows, though, and finally, the cover falls forgotten as he wrestles with the jagged, wily creature, struggling to overcome her formidable strength without bloodying himself on her rough plating.

At last, with a roar, he pins her violently to the bed under his full weight, panting, sweat beading in the cool air. She struggles a moment more under him with a throaty gurgle, and finally stills. Her eye rises to his, taking a hint of golden shine in the low firelight. She pants tightly under him, her body slowly relaxing, taut muscles turning soft under his hands.

A sound kindles in her throat, a peculiar rumble and a chirrup, and she holds his gaze intently. He stares into that single, strange drop of bright green stained yellow, and he feels he is still aroused, his flesh pressed dangerously against hers. A single shiver runs through him.

He moves slowly, still holding her pinned in place, and he brings their bodies into alignment. Her eye slips shut. He draws a deep breath, and presses to penetrate her.

A high hiss, almost a screech, rises from the girl as she tenses, and he grits his teeth as she crushes around him. His fingers dig in tight round her arms, and he works to enter her fully with low, tight breaths as she groans and rumbles restlessly, her messy bandages finally falling apart as she claws at the air. He groans aloud himself as he presses to her, and their bodies meet fully at last. He rests a moment, shocked at both the close grip of her depths and, as ever, her strength.

His hands fall from her arms to grasp her more gently, and she barely hesitates before clawing at him with a hiss. The hunter grunts and finds himself wrestling with her again, growling in frustration as he manages to pin her once more. Her teeth are bared in a grin as she wriggles under him.

So it is that the hunter finds he must wrench her arms behind her to hold her close, and even then she snaps playfully at his neck when it draws too near. He hold her in domination and he claims her core, panting out over her smooth scales and jagged plates, bruising himself on her rough patches yet unable to slow in his labor.

Her depths do not relent in the slightest, and he must conquer them just as he must conquer her, plunging every stroke home with the full force of his hips just to fight her punishing grip. His memories of women are distant and hazy, but she feels surely different from any he has known. Her texture is harsh, latching tight to him when he gives even the slightest pause, yet she welcomes him with such juices of arousal that he can endure, and indeed every stroke is intense, bringing him lurching to full, panting, painful arousal.

He struggles to hold back, but he has gone without much too long, and though he would endure a hundred wounds taken on her jagged flanks to know the incredible pleasure of her core a moment more, his body cannot withstand her. He grunts tightly and heaves his body rough to hers once more, and she hisses in his ear as he submits to her depths.

His body sags, his grip loosening on her arms, and she moves slowly. He tenses when he realises her aim, and seizes at her as her teeth close around his throat, but she simply gives him a gentle bite, perhaps leaving a dozen marks in his skin. The hunter shudders softly, and only relaxes when she lies back again, smirking softly. He eyes her, grumbling softly, and settles. They sleep in a tangle together.

The dull glow of morning brings him back to a body bruised and sore. He drags himself from the strange girl's sleepy, clinging hands and goes to wash. He finds half his body covered in angry red marks, some smeared lightly with blood. Even his maleness is battered and sore. He cleans himself tenderly with cold water, and when the girl finally rises, he offers her the cloth as well, though when she isn't very interested, he must thrust it into her hand.

The sun is climbing slowly when the hunter sets down to work, gathering many of his tools. She comes to join him, looking around curiously for the materials he will be working, and he seizes her in his hands. She growls and struggles, but he pushes her flat across a broad stump and readies his saw. She squirms, and he gives her a smack across the rear and pushes her head down. She rumbles sullenly, but remains still as the grating teeth of the saw begin working into her plating.

Golden sunlight bathes the both of them as he works on through the day, his hands firm yet tender as they trace across her body, feeling out the lines, the flowing transitions of bone, delicate hide, and thick leather. He rumbles softly in query as he feels here and there, and she murmurs in answer, and he comes to understand what she can feel and what she cannot. After the saw comes the carving knife, whittling and peeling away thick shards of tough material. She finds herself relaxing under his heavy-pressing hands, warmed both by the sun and his constant attention.

She does not flinch when his blade passes over her silken scales, and he does not cut into her flesh once. A variety of knives work over her, growing steadily smaller and more specific in shape, and finally, he puts the blades aside in favor of patches of bark. She grunts softly as he scrubs over her with the rough material, but she does not object. At last, he puts the bark aside and feels over her with his hands alone. She feels lighter, and strange somehow, his hands reaching new, tingling parts of her that set her shivering lightly. When he has wiped away the last scraps, he rises and pulls her to stand. He is smiling.

The reptilian girl stands a bit wobbly, but she hisses in wonder as she inspects herself. Her soft, olive green hide takes just the subtlest sheen in the sunlight, smooth and delicate, stretched taut around the gentle curves of her form. She stands and walks as a human does, her feet tipped with small, dark green claws but otherwise quite familiar to the hunter's sensibilities. Her knees each bear a broad stud of dark bone much like her claws, the material smoothed to a polish like a dark river stone. A few tiny pebbles of dark green run up the outsides of her thighs where thick hide had eventually come free, and over her rear, a broad plate of bone rests where she had once had just the bare suggestion of a tail. Many polished stones run up her spine, and around her ribs. The last of her plating hugs under her breasts: thick, leathery material running from her spine, down the curvature of her ribcage and thinning to a band around her front. He sanded the material down until it was smooth, yet still durable, and her hide seems to run directly into the plating at every edge. Her breasts just barely fill his hands, as he was glad to demonstrate several times while he worked, earning a soft rumble from the girl. Her hipbones bear two small studs as well, narrow and pointing down her smooth mound to the dark fold of her sex. Her collar bone, shoulder blades, and elbows bear dark studs, and her fingers are clawed, though he took the time to file them down, despite her displeasure.

Her head is human in shape, her lips plump and soft, though they hide a carnivore's sharp, needle-like teeth. She is bald except for three small, dark horns, two at her temples and one high on her forehead. He's filed them down, though at her rather impatient growling, he did not dull them too much, leaving three small, hooked stubs sweeping back over the gentle ridges of her head.

Not only is she lighter, but she proves much more flexible now that he's peeled off several plates of heavy leather, and she twists and stretches exuberantly, feeling out her new form. The hunter watches, partly in admiration of both her and his work, partly in wonder. He still does not know what she is, or how she came to be. But for the moment, he has tamed her somewhat, and he may well come to enjoy her company. And for him, that is all that really matters.

And that is how the hunter found his woman in the woods, far from the world of words and laws. This is how the legend of the hunter began. Many are the troubles that follow after.