I took my first step inside, pushing past a massive hedge of vines that seemed to be the best way in. Most other sections were sealed off with branches, guarding entrance like a speakeasy bouncer. Crossed and stern. There was a little light that could fight its way through the heavy foliage. It took me a moment to adjust, but there would be enough during the day for me to see. I'd worry about night fall when it actually came, maybe I could be in and out before then. Yea, if I kept telling myself that it might work.
There wasn't a noise or smell other than the creek of branches and the bouquet of oak and ash. Though, I did manage to spot a few animals. Birds that hung in the trees, eerily silent and watching my every move. As if I carried bits of food with me.
I stepped carefully over arching root and tangled heather. It was all that could conceivably have been called a path. It meant that I could actually walk every so often with a foot in front of the other. On occasion, I still had to stretch up over what may have been a fall tree, though it had become entirely covered in moss and looked more as the grassy floor of the forest.
I had probably walked for a good thirty minutes before I had to sit down and catch a breather. No luxury of cabs or carts out here. And all the sleep and booze certainly hadn't help maintain my stunning physique. The Old Man would have had my head for the shape I was in.
“Get up,” he'd say. And probably add a jabbing with the nearest sharp instrument. “How do you even get tired? Sore in the bones and muscles? You don't got any, almost certainly ain't got a heart about to give out.”
“I get hurt and weak just like anyone else,” I would say back.
He stroke his beard and laugh, “but you're not like anyone else. You're not like me. You're not like humans. You don't share one damn thing in common with any of us. So, how do you get tired like us?”
“Because,” I'd get a little angry, raise my voice maybe throw my arms in the air. Stupid teenage stuff. “My arms are worn down. I can't lift them. I can't catch my breath.”
“You've caught it enough to yell at me,” he'd hoist the axe and continue through the trees. “Now come on, if you've not scared the prey off from the shouting, he's most certainly fled during your nap. I'm not letting this one get away.”
I stood up and soldier on. I didn't need to hear anymore from my imagination. Certainly not if it was going to taunt me. I pushed through some brush and continued on.
“How are you expecting to hunt anything the way you tromp around? You sound like a thunderstorm, just warning everything in your path of the danger. I'm lucky I get a single meal with you around,” he'd keep taunting. Easily dodging branches that I'd miss and wind up with them in my face.
I spit and shove one aside, “then why do you bring me along?”
“Ho, why do you think everything is about you?” he'd turn and give me that look. His eyes would twinkle. If he had eyes. Not that layer of skin just shaped over where they should be. He'd waggle his eyebrows. And he'd look ridiculous.
“Well-”
“Shush boy, we're almost upon it.”
Through, the mighty branches of an oak tree, barring us entrance but enticing us enough with the sight of a beautiful white stag. It stood, radiant, beside a small creek and leaned down to take a delicate sip. As magnificent as Faery was it held one image after another. Each greater than the one previous. I'd have never thought I'd top this one. But it wouldn't be long.
Its ear twitched on occasion. It would lift its head and look over its shoulders. It knew we were out there, but for the moment it risked the cool drink of water.
The Old Man didn't make a sound. He held a single finger to his lips then began to stalk away, not yet drawing the mighty axe from his back. I did as he taught me. I kept still and low, matched my breathing to the stags to hide the sound of my breath. He took long, deep and filling breaths. At times that made my chest burn. If the Old Man knew that he'd certainly make a comment about me lacking lungs.
I'd sit. I'd wait. As he taught me, until I learned how to close the deal and end the hunt.
Then it came. It was like the wind as it flew through the clearing, the axe he bore cut through heavy branch as though it were strips of paper. It finally ended, imbedded in a trunk across the way. Had I blinked, I'd have missed it. But as my eyes returned from the axe, I found no sight of the fallen stag.
“You missed,” I shouted and stood. “Blaming me the whole time and in the end, you missed.”
“I didn't miss.” The voice stated, as he moved through the trees and into the clearing.
“The stag's run off.”
“The stag wasn't the point. The hunt in the end is never about the kill. It's about the hunt. One day you'll learn that.”
He wrenched the axe from the tree while I rounded the branches and found my way in to join him. Crows and ravens, carrion birds had encircled us. The Old Man lifted his nose into the air, “hunters who don't hunt. What a funny thing. Looks like they'll have to find someone else's meal to steal.”
A wave of his hands sent the birds scattering.
Birds.
Hunters.
Damn it, I missed it. My head turned upwards. No birds sat in the branches above me. But what would, there was no food out in these woods. Not a spider. Not a fly. In all this time, not one bit of anything other than plant life had appeared. Save those birds.
So, then, why were they here? They had found something to eat. More than seeds and fruits. They were waiting. Strategically. Something had fed them. The Lady of the Harvest? The children? It didn't matter. Iron John had said the other hunters. He meant the birds.
I silenced my thoughts, and shut my eyes. Allowing my ears to find the rustle of feathers. A call. They were not far. I turned around and hurried to follow my only clue.
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