Dark shadows coursed around the sails of red light of the split blood from the hunts mans slaughtering axe as the gasped wheezing breath squeezed from the tall mans throat.
Before his eyes was the slain beast of his dreams, and the villages haunting fears that rapped upon their poorly made glass windows and scratched at their doors during the full moon on the Harvest months of the year.
Yet he could hear only silence; the wind rustled not one leaf despite the coldness of the month and the absent of the usually vicious winds, not an owl hooted nor a wolf called its pack song to the depth and growing darkness of the midnight.
“It is so eerie,” he thought. “So eerie and… by the hunts god, this is an omen. I have slain the beast of golden and black-stripped fur. The one with its golden eyes and black claws… yet, something sinister is about.”
Dropping the wooden shaft and its crude metal axe with blood streaked upon its blunt edge, the man turn to run, only to find himself looking into the eyes of another being.
Apart from yellow and black rimmed eyes and the large ears of a tiger twitching from a head of red flowing crimson hair like the silk of the garments the majesty lady’s wear to the gatherings, the being, no, the girl child could have been taken for a human; though not from his village, oh no, his village was a mountainous range with only crude blonde or black hair.
Tears leaked from her eyes as the hunts man backed away with rigged steps; her hands clenched and her shoulders quivered as fear gripped every part of the man’s body causing him to stumble and fall with a dull life less thud upon the damp earth broken ground next to the open and glow-less glass like weeping tiger eyes within the slain beast’s face.














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