The White Hunt
Fantasy Filled Journal Entries II.
“The Moon rises to gleaming life blossoming anew, only to slowly vanish from the night sky shedding a part each day. The circle is never ending whether we like it or not. Whether we understand it or not.
Installations of the outer wilderness that mankind shall never comprehend render the white giant to rotate on the sky repeatedly.
And as a painter remains in his artistry creating a tale with each stroke, the boundless blue canvas above our heads told a different story that night.
A dreadful eve has arrived when the white giant shone her brightest as we heard them approach.
Beasts from the depths of the forests.
Creatures we have never seen, wolves with unnaturally large fangs and white fur, swarming like rats from the sewers. We all scattered, hid in our houses lit up our torches, preparing to repell the creatures of the night. No one knew why they have arrived, and where they have came from. As the Moon touched the peak of the sky, a door opened. Its creak carried small footsteps lightly pressing on the icy ground.
She walked as calm as the night breeze, without hesitation. With our hearts trembling in fear we peaked out the window to see the little girl standing barefoot, facing a crowd of white dire wolves. The beasts moved together all approacing near the small girl. She stood there in silent peace as if she’s accepting her fate.
The wind lifted the echoes of her mother weeping, gliding it through our windows, straight into our hearts.
The beast howled, their voice coming from the otherwolrds shook our souls. Some covered their ears and fell on the floor screaming in agony.
As they howled and approached the barefooted childling they embrached her in a circle. The dense white fur then covered our sight untill we saw nothing but mist and smoke.
A minute passed.
They have disappeared.
The mother blinded by fear and anguish ran across the meadows away from the village and pledged her life to the forest. Her quest of finding her child has turned into and eternal hunt as her corpse was swallowed by the cold grounds and harsh roots.
Three moons later something approached the borders of the village again. The herdsman brought the news of a person covered in thick coating coming out from the forest.
Armed men and women holding torches walked out to the pale grounds between the village and the woodland to see what’s coming.
It was her.
The childling abducted by the grey monsters.
Her feet frozen, but still she was able to walk forth and face the crowd of villagers standing before her. Her hands, frozen in ice rose to uncover her face hidden beneath the hood.
A pale pair of cheeks and snow white hair, lush as wolven fur emerged.
Startled, the villagers draw back in fright, fearing the white haired child.
She looked akin to the girl who was taken, but only her face remained one and the same.
Her hair as pale as the snow gently fell on her shoulders caressing the grey grounds beneath her frozen feet.
Her lips parted and she spoke with a tone, otherworldly.
“I shall slumber. I’ll wake only, when thy heart calls.”
And the child collapsed on the heatless ground.
Her body, frozen in silence was carried to a hut where she was laid on a bed by the fire. Nothing could melt her skin, the ice seemed to hold an unnatural grip on her being. With iceflakes on her eyes and crisp in her hair she slept days, and when the days turned into months a villager, a young girl stumbled into her domain crying from a broken heart. The ice-haired child awakened, her eyes turned into a white orb glared down on the weeping maiden.
The lass cried, in her despair begged for the white-child to ease her pain.
The whiteness then raised her frozen hand and placed it right onto the chest of the weeping girl.
The maiden’s tears faded into a steam and she felt her being liberated. With ease and joy she rose to her heights and praised the name of the white healer sleeping in the hut by the forest’s feet.
Legends say the white child rests in her eternal frozen slumber and only can be awakened when the matters of the heart is pressing. Her magic and the tales of the wolven sorceress travelled to all those across the lands who were in dire need of remedy to their broken souls. She has become a protector, guardian of hearts crushed by monsters, forever wielding a secret no one shall ever discover.”
— Found in a journal frozen to ice beneath the ashes of a fire long lit.
