Hunted Hunter Short Story
She slipped from the shadows between the towering trees, keeping her senses out on alert, her lavender eyes skimming her surroundings. The night had the taste of storms on the quiet wind as it blew her silver hair across her face. The pregnant moon was starting to dress in gauzy clouds as if for bed. It would not be long now before the thunders herald the rain.
Deeper into the woods she ran. She had no problems getting past the forest sentries that seem to snag even the deftest of hunters with their branches and thorns. She could afford to leave no trace; even her elfish tracks were light, too small for the most skilled of trackers to navigate. She had a mission to accomplish and she could afford no setbacks, but unless her kin were keeping watch, then no one would see her ebony skin or moonlit hair tracing betwixt the woods.
She quickly came upon a clearing with the obese moon still shining brightly through the oncoming storm's sentinels. With hunter's grace, she scaled a tree at the clearing's edge. Her onyx skin and dark hunting garb would help act as camouflage within the shadow of the tree, making her almost invisible to prying eyes. From her vantage point, the floor of the clearing looked to be an autumn mosaic. As she waited aloft, she closed her eyes and concentrated on all her senses, discerning from them information of all that was going on.
Slowly, she began to understand how one could feel like Goddess if done for too long. The crickets were buzzing a constant but lazy sound, indicative of the suppressive and humid heat. The wind could be heard sighing through the forest boughs as it warns of the coming storm, its speed slowly gaining as every few minutes passed. She could smell the slow rot of fallen logs, flowers late in season, the decay of fallen fruits and other forest debris. It permeated the air with the strong and rich scent of earth that always reminded her of the grave and its secrets. Not overly far away, she could discern the sounds of a family of squirrels readying themselves into a hole for safe-keeping from the storm. In fact, she could sense a quiet about the forest indicating that others were doing the same. The virtual stillness of the surrounding forest became almost tangible, almost deafening, even against the climbing wind and distant thunder.
A distant flash of lightening made her open her eyes. At the outlying edge of the clearing, she could spy a silhouette low to the ground. Two golden eyes peering from the shadows scanned the clearing. She was downwind from the beast, so she had no worries of discovery, but still she kept herself frozen on her perch. Patience was her guide as she watched what felt like hours in the tree's branches, watching as the beast made up its mind. Eventually, he padded through last cycle's fallen leaves to the middle of the clearing. He seemed not to notice the huntress as he scanned for possible attacks, before stopping just beneath her. She stopped breathing, hitched as it was in her throat.
She had never been so close to one of his kind whilst in his current state, so she tried to memorize his every detail. Circling once directly beneath her, the beast seemed content, before lowering his lupine head and closed his eyes. He was mottled brown and black in shaggy fur, with a dark stripe that ran from his nose to the tip of his tail. He was larger then any of his cousins. With the exception of his size, he looked to be like any other wolf. He shuddered, seemingly at her last thought, but no, wait. Her eyes widened and her grip tightened on the rough bark of the tree as she realized, he was changing, shifting.
The moon seemed to deem it the appropriate time at that moment to cast away most of the concealing clouds and to instead cast its light on the scene unfolding below. At first the change was slow and hardly notable; the fur seemed to grow shorter, receding into the skin, bones seemed to become plasma-like and softly snapped, molded, and reshaped themselves. Then the shift began to quicken and muscles could be seen reconstructing themselves to fit the bones' secondary shapes and purposes. His muzzle shortened and his head grew rounder, ears reformed and seemingly slid down to their appropriate position. In a matter of minutes, he was standing beneath her, leaning against the tree with one hand, naked, panting, pale, and looking almost human with the exception for his scruffy tail.
Reaching behind her for the dagger, she quickly assessed the ground below and leapt behind him, out of reach, weapon drawn and glinting silver in the moonlight. From her low stance she watched as he spun around to face her, mouth in a snarl, arms held at the ready. She knew when he realized who she was. The recognition lay plain on his face like a wounded friend, but it passed quickly as he launched himself at her and began the long awaited fight, dagger versus claws.
The wind picked up to a howl as they fought in the impromptu ring, but despite the keening whine of the wind, it held no sway over the clouds to cover the moon. The thunder grew angry and loud as the two combatants vied for the attention of the celestial observer. She had sparred with him before, understood how he thought when he went against another, she could even guess his moves as if it were a routine dance, but now that he was pitted against her, it was as if he was a complete stranger. When he would normally have gone right, he back-stepped, when he would normally have charged, he dodged left. He was not going easy on her, no, that was before tonight, she realized, his real fighting side had shown itself. She smiled wickedly at the thought of a challenge.
With a roar that rivaled thunder, he leapt for her, grabbed her arms and had her pinned to a tree. His body was pressed close to hers and rendered any further attacks against him useless. Enraged, she attempted a head butt, however, he moved his head accordingly and she wound up hurting instead, the skull crack resounding in her head causing her to wince in pain. As she tried to regain the ability to think, he maneuvered her arms to be held in his much larger hand above her head, and with his other equally large hand, proceeded to disarm her and threw the dagger back into the clearing. She noted numbly that it seemed to glint like a fallen star in the midst of the leaves. Frowning, she looked up into his face, but he was looking beyond her shoulder and into the forest, his face impassive.
The wind had died, the leaves were quiet in their boughs on high, not even the crickets chirrup disturbed the night air. It was not as if time had stopped, it was more like all were waiting on one colossal decision. Even the storm held its breath in anticipation to this final chapter. As if he came to some final resolution, he released her and turned around. After only taking a few steps, and before it registered in her mind what was happening, he turned around and struck.
Tradition warranted that, when done properly, the killing blow should be swift and painless. Right beneath the sternum, up and to the heart, claws go with practiced ease. She had never seen him do this, because it was meant to be done only for the most formidable of foes, a sort of acknowledgement to their skills, a way of giving an honorable death. A slow agonizing death was meant for the weak and unworthy. He smiled bemusedly as he gazed at her heart in his purpled hand; he had unknowingly given her his heart a long time ago. The lightning flash, quickly followed by thunder, and rain began to pour as if the moon wept for the loss of another life, but they were not celestial tears that fell to earth.