The Hunt (Snowfall Spinoff): Chapter One

The Hunt

The First Chapter
When the hunting-beast fled after slaying Snowfall, he ran as far and as fast as he could without pause, not knowing where his legs were taking him, and not caring.  At last, when he was too weary to run any more, he collapsed and lay in the snow, panting heavily.  The scent of the girl's blood was still in his nostrils, and he could not get it out.  Then he realized that he still had her heart with him.  It lay in the snow beside his head, the scent of it seeping through his nose and into his mind; his head pounded, and his vision swam.  He could not believe that he had allowed himself to kill her.  At the time, there was nothing else to do, but now, now that she was dead . . . why?  Why did she have to die?  So good, so pure, so lovely.  It was wrong; he was wrong, and he knew it.  He had known it all along, but now the truth stood before him and would not lower its accusing finger.  He had slain beauty, and his deed could not be undone.  At last, he could bear the torment no longer, and his consciousness drifted away and he knew no more.

When he awoke, the sun was shining, but he was very cold.  He rose to his feet and shook himself, but was surprised to see how far above the ground he stood.  Then he realized that he was standing on his hind legs, which were bare of all fur.  And his front legs were not only fleshy, but were not even legs; they were arms, the arms of a man, with two hands of five fingers each.  He lifted them to his head and felt a human face.  Once again, he was a man, standing naked in the snow.  And at his feet lay the heart of the Princess Snowfall, the heart which he had sworn to deliver to the Queen, that she might devour it, destroying her rival once and for all.  But she would never see it.  The huntsman dug a hole through the snow and into the ground, laying the heart in it and covering it with earth.  Then he sank to his knees and begged forgiveness.  But he heard no reply save the howling of the wind.

How long he knelt there he did not know, but when he finally rose he knew that he had to seek shelter soon, or he would freeze to death.  The sun was going down and the cold was growing worse.  So, rising to his feet, he deliberated which way he would go.

To the East lay the palace of the Queen whom he had sworn to serve so many years ago, when he made that fateful promise which would haunt him the rest of his life.  To the North and South the mountains stretched on for many miles.  But to the West -- to the West lay other kingdoms, other places where the Queen's dominion held no sway.  There was no telling what might dwell there in the great unknown of the rest of the world.  He had never been there before; there was nothing there to remind him of his past life and deeds.  To the West lay freedom, so to the West he turned and begin his journey.

* * *

But as the sun sank below the mountains, and the shadows sprang up all around him, he felt his legs give way beneath him and he fell on all fours.  He lifted his hand before his eyes, and it was no longer a hand but a fearsome paw.  With the coming of the night he had become a beast once again, and he prowled through the darkness, continuing his journey by the light of the moon.

We Are Not Alone

We are not alone

The answer to the longings of our heart lies outside of us, 

beyond us, in the sphere of the supernatural.  

We are not our own fulfillment, 

and when we attempt to be,

 the consequences are devastating 

for us and for the world.  

We knew this once, but we have forgotten.

Deep within us, we know it still.

But how can we remember

If there is no one to help us,

To open our eyes

And point out the way?

The way leads down paths dark and dreary,

Under hanging trees and over raging seas.

The silence of truth is deadly,

But we must die all the same.

We have no other choice.

It is only through dying that we may be free.

Free of ourselves,

Free of the shackles that bind us to our own self-centre,

Our reflection in the monstrance

(a reflection only monstrous).

We look in the pool and see ourselves,

And we call it good

For a time.

But soon we are disappointed

For we cannot touch our reflection,

We may not possess ourselves.

There is set a limit on us,

A line we may not pass

For love of all the world.

The thing we love most cannot satisfy;

We are a chalice we may never drink

As long as we live.

As long as we live

We are incomplete.

If we worship ourselves,

We worship the finite,

And worship itself rebels

And recoils against such blasphemy.

We become the mystery that we are not

A void and vapid New God

In a void and vapid New Age.

We give ourselves freedom that we cannot give

Daring the deeds we should not dare

And deeding the dares we ought not deed.

We offer the same religious praise

Which once we had offered the infinite

Only we do not believe in the infinite

Only in ourselves.

But we cannot live without offering it

Nor can we die unless we do so.

And we wish to die,

Each in his prison wishes to die,

For we know that we must die

If we wish to escape the horrors.

We cannot escape the horrors

As long as we live.

We do not even have each other

For each is all alone

And each worships himself

In his dark and lonely chapel,

His chapel empty and still,

Not even the wind’s home,

Only his own.

He knows that the others are there

But wishes that they were not so,

Or that they were in a different way,

A way that were better for him.

Sometimes he forgets of them,

And is angry when they encounter him.

He cannot find it in his self-absorbed heart

To forgive them their virtues.

We repeat our empty words

Over . . .

. . . And over . . . 

 . . . And over . . .

. . . Again.

And we shall repeat our empty words

Tomorrow . . .

. . . And tomorrow . . . 

. . . And . . .

. . . Tomorrow