The Hunter's Wolf

The Hunt Begins

The Hunt Begins

The night.

It is the only time when mythical creatures that are long believed to remain as a fantasy of the mind becomes embodied. Truth be told, comes the people who hunts them for the greater good, for vengeance, for justice. Once the sun sets and the moon rises, we hunters step out from our cocoons and into the dark woods, where we make allies with the shadows and hunt evil creatures.

The Order is where the central dogma originates. Hunters that are of high rank across the globe are chosen to lead distinct divisions. These divisions, are nowadays understood as societies or associations. A meeting is uphold once per two annums, in the objective to discuss matters that influence the borderline between the celestial world, and the human world.

Mythological perception must not to be revealed to the mortals- that is our main principle.

We pledged and vowed an oath to the Order, swearing in behalf of our lives to carry out the missions delegated into our hands, to succeed them without fail, even if it takes us up to the measures of paying the price of death.

This is my primeval hunt, where my practices are ought to be proven in the field, and where I justify my true worth as the daughter of the Head society. Every hunter in the association holds high hopes as of tonight, where they will finally testify the finesse of their weapon that they forged.

The dead, brown decomposing leaves rise in swirls and fall down to the soil weightlessly like that of a feather as we venture into the thick, abundant forest, passing like a mere blur soundlessly. The creatures of the night are keen in their hearings. Extra precautions must be retained into the mind at all times, and it takes years of physical training to be a silent killer.

Just a hitch of the breath can wake the beast from its deep slumber, hence why we use the aids of masks to cover half of our faces, aside from reserving our entities to ourselves.

My father breaks my momentarily daze as he curls his hand to a fist and holds it up, signalling us to stop and find a hiding spot.

He has found the prey.

I lean my back against a bark of an old tree, wood covered with growing lush green moss and bugs with the size of tiny pebbles crawl up to where they drill holes for their nest, seeping deep inside the trunk. Its height rises like a giant pillar to at least a hundred feet before sprouting a single limb, its branches sprawl wide, hindering the moon's silver rays to touch the soil beneath.

All the while waiting for my father's next signal, I take out the silver daggers pinned around my waist and hold on six of them, three on each hand. Looking behind me just to make sure that I am in the right pace as everybody, my eyes sweep over the crew for tonight's hunt.

There are six of us, my father and I included. My father always prior himself upfront, then comes Matthew; his second in command, otherwise known as his right hand man. But exclusively for tonight, I will be taking over his position.

Matthew glares at me for staring at him too long, and he jerks his chin to my father's direction, beckoning me to look ahead and focus. As the seconds pass and boredom begins to fill me, a loud thud echoes throughout the entire forest. The impact shakes nature's floor impetuously, that nocturnal birds flap their wings to fly away from where they perch, shrieking in high pitches as they cower away.

My father signals us to stay low. I crouch, bending on my legs and ankles to keep my balance steady and ready for sudden movements. Curiosity gets the best of me and I take a slow, cautious peek to find out the origin of the sound, but my father raises his finger to his masked mouth, telling me to be reticent at all times and to not risk danger of blowing up this cover.