The Hunt

Two men skulked along a game trail, their path illuminated by what little moonlight the trees allowed through. The man in the lead paused, then stooped to examine a spot in the trail. He gestured to his accomplice and pointed to an impression on the ground.

“Hard to tell without the light, but looks fresh. What do you think?”

“Yeah. It rained a bit this morning, but it doesn’t look too weathered. Then again,” He looked up at the forest canopy, “The trees don’t let too much through.”

“Still, I’d say that means it came through here after the rain.” He leaned down and smelled the print, “Smell’s still there. I’d say it’s been no more than 8 hours.”

“Do you want a caste of this one?”

“No. No castes this time. I feel like tonight’s the night: we bring back a head, or nothing at all.”

The second man chuckled, then stopped suddenly and stood slowly, “Hound, do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Exactly. It’s extra quiet, like even the trees are still.”

“Let’s go, Rabbit,” Said Hound, “your gun ready?”

Rabbit patted his rifle and nodded. They moved slowly along the trail, their senses piqued in the dim light as though the silence of the trees was warning, “Are you hunter or hunted?”.

It didn’t matter to Hound. The hunt was a personal matter for the pair. When they were young men, they had been hunting in this forest and encountered the creature, but when they told their friends in town they were nearly laughed to death. Their frustration with the town turned into a thirty-year hunt to achieve the impossible: prove the creature’s existence by tracking it down and killing it.

Hound stopped again, “Smell that?”

“Yeah,” Said Rabbit, “We must be getting close. See the trees? We’re getting into the older growth here.”

“You and your plants.”

“Hah! You and your nose.”

They had earned their senses. Years of searching the woods for the creature had honed their instincts and developed into their nicknames: “Hound” because his dog-headed determination, sense of smell, and tracking ability; and “Rabbit” for his obsession with plants and his nervous awareness of the environment.

As they walked, they came to a fork in the road. Hound veered to the left, but as Rabbit made to follow him he felt a voice, “no, go right,”. He hesitated and heard a sudden “Ahhpp!” from Hound, the sound of branches breaking, and a splash.

They were on the hunt, so Rabbit stopped himself from calling out. Instead, he edged forward and listened until he heard the undergrowth change. He gave a soft owl call, and he felt the voice again “It’s steep, but he’s fine.”. He shook his head, “What’s wrong with me?” he thought.

A soft call came back in reply, followed by the sound of three splashes. Rabbit nodded to himself and backed away from the ledge. They had planned for most things, and getting separated was one of them. The owl call followed by three sounds meant all was well and to meet at the headwaters; if things got desperate, they each wore a tracking device and had access to flares and walkie talkies, but, at least for now, the hunt was still on and they would not break their cover.

Rabbit returned to the fork and eased his way along the trail, and he felt the impression of a voice again, “We’re watching. Be wary in this domain.”

“I’m hearing things,” he thought, “I’m alone for now. I must be careful and ready.”

The forest was completely still, as though holding its breath, and even the sound of the river had been absorbed by the trees. After sometime of careful pursuit the trail opened up into a clearing which made Rabbit think of an auditorium: the trees encircling looked like an audience transfixed on the spectacle unfolding before them.

There, not a hundred yards away, stood the creature Hound and Rabbit had seen so long ago. Rabbit lifted his rifle to take aim, and the creature turned and looked at Rabbit.

“We’re watching.” Rabbit felt the voice again, “It’s my chance,” he argued, “I can get ‘im.”

“He’s ours. Do what you will, but choose: Kill him and die, or leave him and live.”

Rabbit couldn’t pull the trigger. He lowered his rifle, and thought he saw the glint of a smile as the creature left the clearing. Rabbit stood there for nearly half an hour. Stunned. Had the trees talked to him? Threatened him?

“No,” he thought, “Can’t be. It’s a product of fear. Instinct. Seeing him again, I don’t think this gun would kill him.” Still shaking his head, Rabbit set his course for the headwaters.

Meanwhile, Hound had been sloshing along the shallow creek following a horrid stench he’d long associated with the creature. After sometime of careful pursuit, the water suddenly deepened and he found a large pool with an island in the center. On the island, was a massive tree.

“Rabbit’ld love this,” He thought, and he sniffed and gagged. The scent was suddenly overwhelming. He coughed horribly and made his way to the island to sit down and clear his throat. When he got to the base of the tree he leaned his back against it. He noticed a shift in the air and the pungent odors ceased, as though the tree had pushed them away. Hound shuddered, and became aware of a scent he’d never noticed before.

“What’s this?” he muttered, and sniffed again, “Is it the scent of the trees?” He inhaled deeply; the scent was soothing. He leaned his head back and looked up the trunk of the tree into its branches. “That you big guy? I’d never noticed how nice you guys smell.” He shook his head, “Pah!” He thought, “I’ve been around Rabbit too long. Talking at trees.”

Hound looked around the pool, and the scents of the area wafted over him. In a way he couldn’t express, the forest was speaking to him. The scents of water, of trees, the stream bank; life and an alien awareness surrounded him, watched him.

Suddenly, he saw a dark shape emerge along the edge of the pool, and a familiar scent struck his nose as though daring him to notice, to kill. He lifted his rifle and took aim at the shape, a pair of eyes reflected the moonlight and looked at him, but as he moved his finger for the kill he noticed something terrible: he couldn’t smell a thing, as though the entire forest, the creature itself, said “Do it, if you will, but know what you’ll lose.”

Hound couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. He lowered his weapon, and he thought he saw a flash of teeth as the creature finished its drink and left the pool. He sat at the base of the tree for another half an hour, stunned, while the scents of the forest swirled around him like children at play.

“I must be tired.” He finally thought. “It’s fear from being alone, from seeing the creature.” He looked at the rifle in his hands, “I don’t think this gun would’ve worked anyway,”. He shook his head and set his course to the headwaters.

Hound was first to the location, so he set camp and put on a pot of “forest tea”. He was sitting by the fire, half naked while his clothes dried, when Rabbit walked up. Rabbit pulled a dry blanket from his pack and threw it to Hound.

“Thanks,” Hound said, “Any luck?”

“No,” Lied Rabbit, as he joined Hound near the fire “found a beautiful glen though, wonderful plants in the moonlight… You?”

“No,” Lied Hound, “just a big ol’ tree in a pool- good scents there...”

The pair grew quiet as they set about their camp dinner of forest nut soup and herbal tea, neither quite willing to admit, “I saw the creature, alright; I had it in my sights, but the forest told me not to shoot.”