PAST

The red fox was not aware of eyes watching her. The quick animal tiptoed from the bushes, her snout to the ground and tail erect. I watched the creature with held breath, her steel eyes like blade edges cutting through the brush and brambles of the sun dappled forests. A stream gurgled at the animals feet, and she dipped her head to sip from it, rough tongue lapping up the cool spring water. I waited. Legs tense, body poised, mind clear.

Wait, I commanded myself, so eager to take the pounce that my body trembled. Sweat ran down my ribs, bursting onto a red leaf. The foxes ears sprang up, and it lifted it's whetted gaze across the treetops, body just as tensed as my own.

Be still!

It was a game of endurance. Of patience. Of silence. Nonexistence. Mayhap the seed of doubt find its way into the animal's heart, my hunt would be for naught. I had to disappear. Sans fear, sans sound, sans movement. In the hunt, the only movement would be the one that decides the outcome. I stilled myself, my small form just behind the cluster of shrubs at the tree's base. The time to pounce was seconds away.

The fox lowered her head back to the waters churning surface, fiery leaves twirling from the green canopy and resting on the stones.

,mn

A little hare stepped into the light, rubbing it's whiskers and yawning.

It was at that moment the fox lowered her guard, heightening her offenses and whetting her teeth for the kill.

It was at that moment she believed she believed she was the hunter; that there was no other predator that could ever stand in her way.

And it was at that moment that I burst from the shrubs, twigs and dirt flying through the air obscuring my form.

The fox, even when I came down on her, still lunged after the hare, fangs bared and muscles tensed.

We went down in the stream, a whirlwind of claws and teeth. The hare had long since fled, and all that made sound in that forest was the din of water splashing and screeches of the defeated fox.

Alas, even though my arms were tattooed with scratches, my face with blood, and one eyelid split like a lemon, I held the fox fast, hands pinning her to the stones by the scruff of her neck. Our breaths steamed in the cool air, muscles sore and bodies throbbing. But through the pain, I smiled. I'd caught her. The Beast of Cedarwald, trickster of the southern woodlands, caught by a wee girl no more than eight years of age.

As the beast struggled and bit at air, I ruminated on it. Eight. Eight whole winters weathered. Eight summers spent. Eight harvests feasted upon at the great hall in the village square. It was my birthday - marking the eighth summer in the village of Cedarwald. It was a small, homily place that sat in the Summer Isle, where the winters scarcely reached. The sun always shone in Cedarwald; rising up over the Summer Isle bay even when the winter winds blew in from the north, but even then the waters never froze in the great rivers, and the trees among the forests always bore the ripest green apples in all of Duran'dul, kingdom of gold.

"Fenra!" Boomed a voice so loud, it shook the acorns from the treetops, "If I have to haul your hide back here myself, I'm flaying it!"

The voice of my nana sent a ripple of surprise through my body, one that loosened my grip and costed me the spoils of my hunt. I scrambled, nearly catching the nimble creature by the tail, but my small, chubby arms were no good. The beast leapt upon a stone, glaring down at my mud covered self in triumph. I bared my teeth and hissed, but the fox only sniggered. She began into the shrubs, but before fleeing, she turned around again, intelligent eyes soaking and sizing me up. She whooped once, clouting the stone with claws before dipping her head my way and lowering her ears. She vanished into the forest without another sound.

"Fenra! You little wolf-child! You're going to send me to an early grave if you keep running off like a mad--" Nana's words cut off, and she knelt at my sides, turning my arms over and hovering over my bloodied eye. "You wild, foolish, brave little thing. You met her, didn't you?"

My chest swelled with pride, and I nodded furiously. Nana picked the burrs from my short dark hair, washing my wounds with the running stream. Her hands were calloused from years of labor, yet her touch was gentle, delicate like a seward stitching soft velvet.

"How did you catch her?" Nana asked, a tamed smile at her lips.

"I held my breath, and waited and waited and waited until. . .FWOOSH!" I shot my arms out wide, making myself large. "She didn't see me coming, she didn't. Miss Foxy didn't even hear me!"

"You're lucky 'Miss Foxy' didn't decide to turn you into a sapling. Guardian spirits are a fickle bunch, especially around these parts. But, as mad as your feat was; I'm proud of you, my little fox-child."

I felt as if the sun had set upon my petite bosom. My nana's praise was like a gift of gold from the king himself. She wiped the blood from my eyelid, nodding with mutual respect. I found that I hadn't lost the spoil of my hunt; for I'd gained two invaluable things. The pride of my nana, and the favor of the guardian fox spirit.

* * *

My nana was still young and ripe, faint streaks of silver just barely gracing her obsidian locks. She'd told me, one winter, that she wasn't from this land, but hailed from across the sea far to the north. She'd said that her country's winters lasted all year round, and the frost that coats half of Duran'dul blows in from her homeland. She'd told me the ocean between the two lands were frozen over - a solid ice bridge that one could ride across on horseback.

Nana told me many tales of her homeland across the frozen sea. Stories of heroes, monster and men. Gods and warriors. And most notably, the beastkin of Old Auriem. She'd save these stories for last, when my whistle was wet and ears ready to receive the history of our land. Auriem, the cluster of continents that made up the mapped world, was - centuries ago - inhabited by the fearsome beastkin; a warrior race of giants whose king ruled the world alongside our human warrior goddess - Armina. Nana told me of the fallout she and the beast king had, and the generations war that consumed the world. It wasn't until the fabled hero - Rune Greshield of the Golden Hills had called upon the dragons of the east that the beastkin were routed, sent back into the churning seas where they came from.

But these beastkin where just that. Kin. They were incomplete beasts, mere human-like copies of the original. The original being the heart of nana's stories. The First Beast.

She'd begin with a simple line, one that made the hairs on my neck stand upright.

"When the moon dipped in the slain Old Ones blood rises above hills, the First Beast will search in anguish for a surrogate, one to bear the Mark of A Huntress, and end the cycle sired in avarice."

I hung upon those words, That head spinning riddle laden with a deeper meaning. My young mind worked tirelessly to understand it, but to no avail. But the story of the First Beast was no legend. Nay, it was a warning to all who dwelled in Cedarwald. The guardian spirits and daemon of nature were old and as ancient as Auriem itself, but even they knew to fear the coming of the Beast. For when the Blood Moon rises in the night sky, be they man or fae - none were excluded.

Not even eight year old girls, whose only thought on that ruby painted night was their birthday and the gifts they'd receive.

* * *

My birthday was the first night in twenty years that the Summer Isle had seen a true winter. The sun seemed to melt from the sky, and night fell sooner than it should've. The owls had yet to awaken before the stars lit the sky, and the little crickers made no noise, bathing the dim forest in an unnatural silence. The type of silence where all that existed was the crunching of leaves underfoot, and the course breath that steamed into the chilled air.

I was but a child, and being a child, I saw nothing amiss. It was the first time I'd seen the powdered snow dance in the air, resting on my bedroom window and covering the green hills like icing on a cake. I pressed my florid cheeks to the cold glass, soaking in the wondrous sight. But it wasn't until the moon rose, that the wonders of the winter reached it's crescendo, and I found myself enthralled.

On my eighth birthday, the crimson moon rose high above the stars, casting a deep red light upon the snow laden hills and frosted treetops of the silent forests. In my little heart, I truly believed the Moon Goddess herself had come down to bless my day. I felt special. Loved.

My nana had a special quirk, one that let her sense one something unnatural was about to occur, but on this night, she hadn't foreseen the coming winter. She hadn't sensed the night, or the Blood Moon on the horizon. I believe if she had, she'd stop me in my tracks. But nana had left to gather the village men and woman for a feast in my name, leaving me home to redress my split eyelid.

But in that moment, I forgot it all. The stories, the warnings - the moment the moon had stroked my heart like a minstrels fingers upon a harp, I tossed it all to the wind. That moon was for me. My gift from the gods.

I tucked into my coat, nestling into the stag furs and soaring through the front door of our little cottage. I was met with the enlivening breath of the winter, dancing in the scarlet light scattered by the snow beneath my boots. My hot breaths twirled into the sky, my cheeks red and voice sweet with laughter and merriment.

"Come, little Fenra. This way." I whipped around, scanning the brush for the honeyed voice that had beckoned me. There, just out of direct sight, was a shimmering form, one that fled into the woods as I raced for it.

There were no firebugs, no foxes, no crickers cricking in the night. The forest that I'd hunted in was dead silent, save for the padding of our feet and the voice of that shimmering entity.

"That's it, sweet child. Just a bit further. Your grand gift is just ahead!"

I stumbled, letting out a childish squeal that I couldn't contain. I felt so happy. So misty eyed that I hadn't even noticed when I reached the frosted bay of the Summer Isle, looking out at the vast, red glittering see. The moon hung on the horizon, so massive I felt as though I could reach out and touch it. So big that it swallowed up the whole of the night sky, giving off the illusion that the celestial body was floating half-submerged in the bloody ocean. Breaking waves washed over the frosted sands, running under my boots as I stepped out into the bay, standing up to my knees in the frigid waters. I barely even noticed the biting cold that soaked into my bones.

Standing angelically upon the waters surface was a great, silver wolf. Massive in size, and absolutely beautiful. It's argent coat seemed to emit it's only light, challenging the red glare and refracting the colors across the sky.

Wolves were rare in Cedarwald, the majority of packs having fled across the frozen oceans some centuries ago with the people of the Golden Hills. I'd only ever seen one wolf; a runt, that got into a fisherman's nets, devouring his catch and skittering off into the forests. I'd thought wolves to be no more than pests. Scarce ones, at that.

But the magnificent shimmering beast that stood before me was the most beautiful living thing I'd ever seen in my eight years of life. From the ivory stag horns that sprouted from behind it's ears, to the nigh endlessly long tail that flowed from its flank, melding where the sky and ocean met. What stood impossibly upon the waters surface, to me, wasn't an animal - but a god-like being. Greater than even the guardian spirits of the wood and fae of the earth. This creature radiated the Hunt, from it's silent steps towards me, down to it's violet eyes so sharp, with a blink it could have cut the world in two.

It stopped in front of me, great crowned head looking down at me, and I, up at it. Then it spoke, but not with it's mouth. The honeyed voice of the god came rose from the sea, and fell from the sky, meeting with a thunderous clap that shook my little heart like a drum.

"Little Fenra - child born of seven summers and a winter. You are truly special." When the great beast called me special, all I could feel was an intense happiness.

It's--it's my birthday," I breathed out.

"That it is, Little Fenra, for on this night, by the Blood Moons light, you shall be reborn. Can you feel it? How time moves with your every heartbeat? That existence churns with your every breath? The world is the womb, and your gift is rebirth." The beast lowered its head, snout lightly touching the water's surface and sending ripples outwards. I lifted my hand to it's fiery main, fingers reaching for the pale antlers that curved around it's head. The lure was irresistible. The pull of my hands to it's fur. Just a single touch. Time slowed to a crawl, the beast's head moving closer and closer to my little fingers; only a hair's breadth away.

"Tonight," it spoke, "thou arte reborn into the avaricious cycle."

My hand fingers wisped past a single strand upon the creatures head.

And at the same time, it open it's great maw, so wide, that I could count the one-thousand and seventy seven sword-like teeth within.

The beast closed it's mouth around my little arm, and when it lifted it's head once again.

Nothing remained.

I didn't understand why I couldn't move my fingers, or why from the elbow down, there was nothing. There was no pain, even as rivulets of red poured out, swirling in the waters by my legs. All I could do was stare in confusion, the immense jubilation I had before slowly dissolving.

"And upon this night of your birth, I shall hand down a name. No longer are you Little Fenra Macha of Cedarwald." The wolf's eyes fell on me, turning from that beautiful violet to a crackling red. "I name you Foltchain - of The Hunt. Survive this ordeal, newblood, and bear the Mark of The Huntress! Seek me out, and flay my hide! Seek vengeance! Take back what I took from you! End the cycle in my blood, or pass the torch on to another child of Man."

The wolf let loose a mighty howl that cut through the night like a spear of lightning. It shook the very earth and moved the heavens. I felt time began to move once more and the world around me crash into existence. And one by one, my senses began returning.

That's when the pain registered.

That's when I understood that my life was being snuffed out like a flame.

That's when my eyes opened, and I understood what the hunt truly was. What the fox does to the hare when she catches it. What the hunter does to the stag when he fells it.

I was dying.

My body fell into the cold waters, head resting against the snow speckle bank. The mangled stump where the First Beast had torn my right arm off bled out into the water, turning it red like the moon that watched in scorn above. I'd been naive. Naive to believe the gods cared for a mortal girl who was not even a woman grown. A foolish mortal girl who had ignored her nana's warnings, and paid for it with her life.

I cried for her. For my nana, voice being drowned out by the raging blizzard. The blood soaked into my puffy coat, the wolf's paw stepping over it as it looked at me once more before fleeing out to sea. It was foolish of me to believe I was special. But I was but a child. A child still golden.

But deaths rots gold. Death rots all.

I wanted to go home.

When my consciousness faded, that should have been the end of me. I should have been a victim of the hunt. But I didn't die. Something saved me that night. Something shared the flame of life with me, shining a beacon into the night that beckoned nana to the bay.

And when I awoke, upon that urine and blood stained cot, I emerged into a world of pain; kicking and screaming like a newborn babe. In a way, I was born again, and through the agony, I understood the challenge of the wolf.

Take back what I took from you.

It wasn't my arm that the First Beast had stolen from me. Nor was it my happiness or my life.

What the beast had stolen, ironically, was something once lost, could never again be attained.

My innocence.