The day had been long and arduous, filled with various but necessary duties of a king. From a meeting with the elders of the coven that morning to preparing the final touches for the Festival of Souls that evening to enjoying the actual festival, Luanistyn Cían had seen to it all throughout the course of the day. It was not until the sun had set, and those in his coven had at last settled in for the night, that he could allow himself that luxury as well. Utterly exhausted, he had collapsed onto his bedding with just enough grace to keep from knocking down items from the neighboring table. Suffice it to say, the moment his head lay upon the soft, woven linens, he was lost to the realm of consciousness.
One might think he would have slept peacefully for all of his fatigue. That was not to be the case, however. Given the preparations for the festival, the constant buzz of the day, and the merriment of the night, it had completely slipped Luanistyn’s mind what else All Hallow’s Eve might bring forth. Tonight- when the veil between the spirit realm and the realm of the living was at its thinnest- was the night of The Wild Hunt…
Terror- the one singular emotion he could grasp. It enveloped him, consumed him whole, nearly bringing him to his knees. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. Eyes flitted about anxiously, searching for the slightest hints of danger. Danger he sensed was out there, waiting, yearning for him. The knowledge only served to amplify the churning emotion within. His was a fear so intense that it was almost tangible. The rational part of him knew he needed to reign it in, to control it lest it overpower him completely, which was something he could not afford. Not if he wished to see the sunrise…for he was being hunted. He knew it despite not having encountered anyone thus far. Yet he could hear the pounding of hooves, claws, and other appendages racing across the earth in the distance, drawing closer with every passing second. No, he could not, WOULD NOT, stay here and make himself an easy target. That was not the way of a king, especially of The Witch King. He would not allow himself to fall prey so easily!
With great effort, the stallion willed himself to move. His legs, leadened by dread, refused to cooperate at first. It took precious seconds for him to get his body to act as he requested, shuffling first one hoof and then another and another. A shuffling gait eventually turned into a gentle lope, which in turn became a quick trot followed then by a full run. Onward Luanistyn raced. Through thatches of shrubs, across open fields, into rivers and creeks, past the trees of the forests, his hooves carried him as swiftly as the wind. Still, he pushed himself harder. The hunters had not been deterred. They remained on the hunt, seeking out their prey. Even now, he could hear them roving in the distance behind him. Not so close to cause further panic yet not far enough away to give any comfort. Come, Luan, you must outrun them! He spurred himself to go ever faster. The fear threatened to overwhelm him once more.
Why?! His mind screamed. Why do they chase me?! One part of him wished to know. That same rational part which kept telling him to control his fear lest it control him…as it currently was doing. Who would wish to hunt him? Yes, there were foul creatures in the world, but he felt himself capable enough of dealing with them. Never, in all of his days, had he felt terror such as this. It was…preternatural… “Hush and flee, or stand and fight. It matters not for the Hunters of the night,” an unfamiliar voice broke across his thoughts. There was a cruelty in its nature, an enduring chill to its tone. Luanistyn had heard one other speak in a similar manner- Winifred Sanderson, his nemesis. Could she have sent these hunters after him? It was possible. He knew better than to underestimate the loathsome mare. And if any night were to be opportune… “Hush and flee, or stand and fight…” The voice intoned once more, closer this time. Chills crept along his skin. With lungs burning, chest aching and legs throbbing, Luanistyn pressed his body for a little more power. He had to escape these hunters. Winifred could not be victorious this night! Just a bit more, the stallion encouraged. That is all that is needed… Focusing on his fear, he at last managed to take hold of it and channel it to be something useful. A burst of speed rocketed him forward. The dawn will come and I will be there to see it!
A loud crash resounded throughout the abode. Luanistyn jerked awake at the sound. His chest heaved with excited breath as his bleary eyes scanned the area. Wearily, he laid his head back down, letting his eyes stare at the far wall while he brought his breathing under control. The last vestiges of terror still clung to him, though they were beginning to fade. Was it all merely a dream? A premonition perhaps? He could not say for certain what it had been, and his mind was too addled at the moment to contemplate things more. Whatever it had been, it was now finished. Dawn had arrived and brought with it new beginnings. The fears of the night were vanquished. He was awake, alive and well. That is what mattered. He could explore the potential omens of his dreams later…when he was better rested.
Perhaps he might have reconsidered if he had taken clearer notice of his surroundings. There, near the adjoining wall, a painting lay askew upon the ground. It was one given to Luanistyn by a dear friend many years ago- a wooden framed, watercolor image of the spirits galloping over the earth at night…an image of The Wild Hunt…
FIN
WC: 1,008
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