Huntress

The huntress prowled through the underbrush of her domain, slipping between tree and rock, her footsteps betraying no sound as she stalked her prey. They had entered into her territory, undefended and uninvited. They would pay for being so careless. The huntress held her hatchet close to her side, its head pressing against her intricately tattooed skin. A web of pale green patterns weaved across the entirety of the huntress' dusky toned canvas. She was a masterpiece. A product of a long since destroyed tribe. Casualties to the winds of change. But she was still here, and this was still home.

The huntress eyed her quarry as she retrieved the bolas from her belt. There were only two targets. This hunt would be easier than the last. She just needed to wait for the right time to pounce. She cast her mind back to her last hunt, four invaders: three bandits, one shackled female. The invaders would have taken pleasure in harming the huntress, they would have enjoyed caging her like a pet. She saw how they treated the one they kept in chains. Cruelty, violation. After the huntress had struck, she made sure that they were never able to hurt another that way again. She remembered the prisoner's gratitude when she had set her free. It felt good, but not as good as it had felt driving her hatchet into the bandits' flesh, cleansing her forest of their corruption.

However, she did not plan to kill her current quarry, they did not look dangerous, and they did not give off the scent of evil, but they still had to pay for trespassing on her land. The goods they carried with them would make for a worthy sacrifice to the forest. She continued to watch and wait as darkness fell. The pair set up their camp off to the side of the weed-infested dirt path that cut through her domain. Their leader seemed wholly unprepared for survival in the wild. The huntress watched as he spent two hours clumsily fumbling with flint and steel before finally managing to start a fire. The other trespasser spent those hours making the campsite comfortable, caring for their beast, and preparing food for them to eat. It would not be long now, soon they would be asleep, and she would strike, but certain intimate activities had caused her to wait longer than she would have liked.

The two engaged each other in intense and passionate mating. The leader taking the crimson one from behind. The moans and sounds of passion echoed through the trees. It had been quite some time since the huntress had felt the embrace of a lover. She thought back to her late chieftain and adoptive father, to whom she had been a willing and eager consort. The memory of his fury and vigour filled her with warmth. She remembered the pleasure she felt as her chieftain took her in the centre of the tribe's mating grounds for all to witness his dominance over her. She missed his form, his strength, the safety she felt from the glowing mark that shone from his chest; the symbol for all to see that he was chosen by the forest to be its protector. But all that was behind her now, invaders had made sure of that.

She remembered them coming with metal arms and metal armour, their number beyond counting. She remembered fighting them, descending upon them from the treetops. She remembered her chieftain and lover falling in battle, overwhelmed by the enemy leader's strength. She remembered the women and children being captured and carted-off to places unknown. She remembered hiding, surviving.

Her mind returned to the hunt.

They were still at it. There was a surprising amount of expertise in the leader's movements. What he lacked in survival instincts he was making up for in reproductive ones. Perhaps her hunt could take a new direction, one that was more energetic. She put the thought out of her mind. She had to be decisive, the forest still demanded it's sacrifice. The crimson one took her fill of the leader with a restrained moan. She squirmed with pleasure and collapsed on to her bedroll. She laid still and peaceful. The leader cleaned the other up before covering her with a blanket. He seemed kind. There was little room for kindness in the forest.

The huntress moved forward, carefully studying the layout of the camp. She had crept much closer than before, but the leader remained awake, gazing deeply into the flickering fire. His wistful gaze turned into resolve. He reached into his cloak and retrieved a leather tome. It looked familiar, like she had seen it somewhere before in a distant memory or dream. The leader opened the tome, and a mystical sprite flew forth from its pages. It was a wonder to behold, such magic was very old.

The sprite began to converse with the leader, the subjects of which the huntress could not discern from at her current distance. They both looked animated, almost combative. Their conversation must have been one of great importance. A few minutes later it was over, the sprite faded away into the night air. Did the leader banish her? Or did the sprite leave voluntarily? The huntress stepped closer. She could smell the smoke from the fire. It was almost time.

The leader moved over and extinguished the flames with a bucket of dirt. At least he had that much sense. She didn't intend to hurt him but if he carelessly allowed fire to spread through her lands, she would have. The leader returned to his resting place, he leaned back and allowed the gentleness of the night to carry him off to sleep.

She pounced.