***
It was deep into autumn, and the forest was carpeted in a decaying layer of brown leaves. The trees still retained a few sparse leaves hanging precariously from their branches, but their figures were gaunt and skeletal, ready to proclaim the advent of winter.
Last night's rain meant the ground was soggy and soft, each footstep pressing silently into the mulch.
Perfect.
The sun had set, only crisp moonlight shone through the gaps in the trees. The stars were scattered against the violet backdrop like silver jewels embedded in velvet cloth.
But the hunter did not look up, nor did he pay the heavens any attention. He was wearing a tunic of indeterminate fur, covered in mud and grime as though it hadn't been washed in days. His face was similarly obscured, apart from his piercing grey eyes as clear and striking as a pond, they studied his surrounding with animalistic, darting movements.
His right hand shifted, gripping his wooden spear tightly. Noiselessly, he crouched down, studying a shrub at the base of the tree before him. He reached out with his free hand, caressing its broken branches. Beneath it, he pinched some of the mud between his fingers and brought it to his nose, sniffing.
Small and weak. Only a few hours old. Perfect.
Seemingly satisfied, he stood up, though the tautness of his legs and wariness of his eyes indicated he was ready to move at any moment. He scanned in a fan shape past the shrub, eyes darting back and forth until they focused with laser precision on a piece of broken bark on a tree on the other side.
The Hunter stalked forwards, each footstep silent on the wet leaves. A gust of wind picked up and he paused abruptly, snapping his head to one side and raising his nose. For a few seconds, he was completely still, like a lifeless statue. Then, satisfied that whatever caught his attention passed, he continued.
His pace was unhurried, each footstep calculated. Not thought out, but instinctually, the Hunter knew how to walk without making a sound. The mark on the tree was small, a mere scratch if it could be called that. Spotting that in the dark from so far away was a feat of almost superhuman intuition.
His clear eyes studied the mark as his thoughts raced.
Claw? Too clean. Weapon? Still, not deep. Caution.
The Hunter paused, weighing the risks in his mind. But the pang of hunger in his stomach was an everpresent driving force. He knew that this was his last chance. If he failed now, then he would be too weak to continue and be consigned to the fate of a slow death. Steeling his will, he came to a decision, cleansing the doubt from his mind.
It would only make him slower.
And so he pressed forwards, the unfeeling light of the moon watching silently every step of the way. Any other may have despaired in such a situation, but the Hunter was a patient one.
Each time his eagle-eyed sight caught something, he paused for a few seconds to study it before continuing. Several times, he doubled backwards, having reached a dead end or having missed a misplaced branch or snapped twig.
Once or twice, he stood alert, freezing in place as his muscles tightened under his skin like elastic bands. But those moments passed and he continued onwards, though his vigilance never went away.
At last, after almost two hours of perseverance, he saw something new. A discolouration on a leaf of a shrub near the ground. In the dark, even to his eyes, it would have been unnoticeable if not for the silvery shaft of moonlight illuminated that shrub like a divine inspiration.
Dried blood. Less than an hour. Dying soon.
He stood up and continued, his pace quickened. His steps were just as soft, but his body language was less languid and more tense now. The climax of the hunt was approaching, he could feel it in the air, in his bones, in the rushing of his blood. The hunger in his stomach was still there, but it was suppressed by the pounding in his head.
Still, his eyes were clear and his movements were precise. Following the trail he was, but he left nothing of the like behind, like a ghost. Like a true Hunter.
Not long after, he saw a palm print on the tree to one side. Kneeling closer to look, he touched it with his free hand and it came back sticky. His clear eyes widened, the pounding in his head louder now.
Here. Now!
He froze there, enveloped in the shadows his motionless figure was indistinguishable from the shrubbery all around. His eyes darted around wildly, pupils dilated until almost his entire iris was inky black in colour.
And then he saw it.
Between two ferns to his right, he saw something.
Movement.
This was his chance. He crept towards those ferns, stepping as if in slow motion. He brought his spear low and close to his body. The pounding in his head had gone silent, leaving only hollow silence behind. But it was in the throes of that silence that his clarity was magnified. Adrenaline coursed through his blood, filling his tense muscles with the potential of explosive strength.
Even slower, he walked forwards. The movements were clearer, but the ferns still blocked his sight.
Not yet. Closer.
He drew as close as he could, drowning his dark figure in the shadows of the ferns, and brought an eye up to a tiny gap between them. There was a small clearing past the ferns, and there it was.
Its form was elusive, hidden by the shifting shadows, but its movements could not be masked from the Hunter's eyes. It's head was bobbing up and down, pausing occasionally as though tired.
This is it!
The Hunter tensed, his muscles roiling under his skin like steel cables. His powerful legs contracted and he lined up his sight with the bobbing figure. Once again he froze. Waiting. Motionless.
NOW!
With a fluid and silent movement, he unfurled his entire body like a sling, rising up and throwing the spear clean through the prey's head. With a dull thud that echoed loudly in the quietude of the Forest, it stuck in the ground, quivering.
Cautiously moving forward, past the ferns, the Hunter drew close to his vanquished prey. The adrenaline left his body and that tenseness flowed from him almost instantly. The suppressed pangs of hunger came back in full force and he bent down impatiently.
Still caution overpowered all, and he studied it with a meticulous gaze. Near the downed creatures mouth, trapped between its vicious looking maw, was another tiny animal.
The Hunter's pupils dilated. With a flash, he took in every detail of that tiny animal and matched it to the trail he was following. The realisation dawned on him.
Then that means...
The lines on his face grew animated. But as his gaze followed the sleek, muscular contours of the downed creature, his tense, almost excited, expression froze. Before warping into something else.
His dilated pupils constricted in an instant and a pale sheen of sweat coated his forehead.
The creature he had killed, the one that held in his mouth his original prey, was nothing he had ever seen before. Four-legged, its skin was of a smooth almost rubbery texture. It was almost his size, but the density of its muscle surpassed his by a larger amount.
This was not what caused him to shake in fear.
Diagonally down from its shoulder to its leg, was a large slice. Whatever caused that left a smooth wound, unlike his crude spear, capable of slicing through that tough skin with ease. The size of the wound indicated the size of the weapon dwarfed his pitiful spear several times.
It was, already wounded?
The Hunter looked up forlornly for the first time gazing past the skeletal canopy onto the firmament above. His face held a warring expression before finally his features settled.
It was unlucky, but such is the way of things.
Not long after, the silver moon watched silently as an invisible shadow sliced through that small clearing at a supersonic speed. The bisected figure of the Hunter fell to the ground along with several trees behind him, and a mocking ray of moonlight illuminated his face.
His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed in an expression of peaceful acceptance, his right hand relaxed his grip and his spear rolled away.
Seconds afterwards, his body, that of the creature he killed and even the tiny animal in its maw disappeared. The clearing returned was returned to silence, the only evidence of the events that occurred were the collapsed trunks of the gaunt trees.
And a single makeshift spear, its tip embedded into the ground, a bloody handprint on its shaft.