Hunter’s Moon
Amice felt the pull of the Hunter’s Moon rising above the horizon. Last night, it hunted four of the village children. Too enticed by the freedom of an autumn’s afternoon, they adventured outside the circle of the village as the sun set. Frantic parents searched by torch light far into the night while Hunter’s Moon smug face filled the starblanket sky. Only the fingers of dawn lessened it’s power.
The Council wondered at the hope of escape; of those captured by the Hunter’s Moon , only Amice, tiny, bird-like child with raven hair and obsidian eyes came back after 4 years, an old soul at 16. She held no memories of her time with the moon, nor how she left his grip. Only stumbling into the meadow spurred on by the dawn, collapsing by a copse of larch.
Sparrow – so called because he reminded people of a small song bird – was out foraging for food. Rich tubers, wild mustard still bright yellow, meadow herbs, mushrooms – all to make his “forager’s stew.”
Amice was curled into a fetal position, cloaked in black, her raven hair cascading around her. “Amice” he whispered in surprise, “come home.” She raised her head, and gave a faint smile. Sparrow helped her up onto unsteady feet. Leaning on her friend, they made the trek to the village just before the moon set out to hunt. Although back within her community, she never fit. “Fey,” the villagers called her. She was drawn to the full moons as the cycles passed. She and Sparrow grew close – two tiny birds in a village of humans.
Now Amice was once again bathed in the orange light. She called to the moon, “Come down that we might talk.” A dark figure in hunter’s garb, edged in starlight stood before her. “Amice, my child, I have missed you.”
“So much that you take four in my place,” she asked. “What ransom do you ask to ease the grief of families and friends?”
“What care I of the insignificance of one village’s grieving”
“You created the pain.”
“So I did,” he laughed. “In the heat of the hunt, I lose empathy.”
“What then to heal the pain; what price to return the four.”
“You know the answer – a fair trade you for the brats.”
“Then here I am. Embrace me.” she said.
Smirking, the hunter swaggered towards Amice. She drew a knife from her sleeve, and with swift accuracy, pierced the hunter’s heart. The moon dripped four tears, four children tumbled to the ground.
Each fall, Amice rides the full moon, making it large and orange with her knowledge of the hunt. But it is a light for humans to hunt by now.
Imagined for Tale Weaver 90 (October 20): Ransom
@ my frilly Freudian slip 2016
October 21, 2016 at 10:07 am
Wow! Care for her for years. Take brats away from village (could have been public service for village). Then she pierces his heart. Typical female. 😆 Nicely done
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October 21, 2016 at 1:26 pm
And she wasn’t even blond, but raven haired. Go figure.
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October 21, 2016 at 1:35 pm
Blonde envy does often get expressed as extreme anger…. ok, it makes,sense now 😆
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October 22, 2016 at 5:47 am
Oh dear, I never realized I suffered from blonde envy!
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October 22, 2016 at 10:24 am
It’s more common than you think. Sad, but you know how it is. The other side of the fence is always greener
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October 22, 2016 at 4:09 pm
Or blonder . . . Hey wait, I always wanted to be a red-head — lovely auburn hair sleek and shiny and long — past my ass. I got red hair envy. Thanks for the help pyscho-analyzing my rage.
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October 22, 2016 at 4:29 pm
Warning!! Red heads are extremely volatile. Wounds and person experience have taught me well. About a dozen times or so. I decided it’s safer to stick with my own kind
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October 22, 2016 at 4:44 pm
I think I am a red head in spirit. I had red highlights in my hair as a child. I’m certainly volatile, but I tend not to throw wounding objects.
But then, my evil grandmother and her spawn, my uncle, had red hair . . . .
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October 22, 2016 at 4:48 pm
I have an unhealthy attraction to redheads. It always seems like a good idea at first….
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October 22, 2016 at 4:50 pm
Mine is men with tight little asses (beards a plus). Got me into trouble, well, sorta . . . blushing at her lack of modesty.
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October 22, 2016 at 5:20 pm
(Rubbing his goatie) This sounds way too. If your a cradle robber too…. have we met? It may have been brief but interesting with no pictures to prove anything..of course
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October 22, 2016 at 9:24 pm
It was very interesting, with no video either. Of course.
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October 23, 2016 at 11:59 am
Flash Backs are better any way. They can be self edited
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October 23, 2016 at 1:01 pm
Oh, so true . . . having one now . . . ; ]
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October 23, 2016 at 3:43 pm
If I get a break today……
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October 23, 2016 at 4:43 pm
Hope so . . . she said wickedly.
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October 23, 2016 at 7:17 pm
It’s the thought that counts… 😃
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October 23, 2016 at 7:56 pm
;)
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October 20, 2016 at 1:17 am
Fascinating take on this idea, I like very much where you took this prompt…..
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October 20, 2016 at 5:23 am
Thank you Michael. I’ve been having a lot of trouble writing lately. Staring at prompts, drawing blanks. Figure I should at least try and respond to my own prompt.
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October 20, 2016 at 5:26 am
You did well Miss Frilly….
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October 20, 2016 at 5:26 am
Aww, thanks. : ] :
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