HOME | DD

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

On this snowy Solstice Eve, Arthur Butcher could almost swear that icicles were forming on his unkempt wheat blonde hair as he trudged through the fresh fallen snow upon the forest floor after the Witch of the Woods, her long, onyx black hair almost cape-like in how it obscured nearly her entire slender figure from behind, leaving only the shoulders of her fur coat and the wide hem of its skirt visible as she walked through the snow with an almost inhuman grace, practically gliding over it.

As he continued to walk after her, Arthur had time to reflect on the choices that led to his new life as her servant that had just begun. Having pledged a life of servitude to her in exchange for curing his sister of a fatal illness, he now spent this eve of the Winter Solstice not celebrating with his family, but foraging in the Heart of the Forest searching for supplies for his new mistress’s own Solstice rituals, not for seasonal merriment, but to appease the ancient gods that held sway over this wood.

Not that Arthur had had to have said goodbye to his family without one last Solstice celebration, fortunately. In fact, he carried with him the final Solstice presents his family had gifted him just the night before: upon his back over his winter coat, a forest green cloak given to him by his mother to keep him dry and warm on winter nights such as these; and from his belt hung a sheathed foraging knife from his father, and a scabbard containing an iron sword given to him by his monster hunting Uncle Melion, which he said would keep Arthur safe from the monsters and spirits of the wood better than any steel sword would.

As the two continued deeper into the wood, Arthur heard a feminine giggling coming from the trees left of the path they were walking. Cautiously, he slowed his pace and looked over to where this laughter was coming from, and found a curious sight.

In a grove beyond the path, a group of three beautiful women were lounging among the evergreen trees, looking right at Arthur and beckoning him to join them. Arthur began to raise his hand to decline the offer, but as he continued to look back at the three, and saw that they were not ordinary women. Each of them had skin like burnished wood, eyes that appeared as orbs of solid amber, and hair that looked as green as the leaves of spring, until Arthur realised that was exactly what it was. Each of these plant-women had hair of the leaves of a different sort of tree: one had long, curly hair leaves; another sported a shoulder length bob of the spiny leaves of holly; and upon the last was crowned a head of yew needles that fell down to her ankles. It was then that Arthur recognised what these women were: they were dryads, a type of fae that embodied the very spirits of the trees.

“Well, this is a surprise,” the dryad with hair of yew needles laughed in a melodious voice. “I wonder what a young man like you is doing here in the Heart of the Forest?”

“Oh! Um, well I…” Arthur stuttered, flustered as any young man would be when approached by three beautiful women out of nowhere, “I’m just… out doing errands for work is all.”

“How sad!” pouted the dryad of Holly, who looked the youngest and most petite of the three. “That sounds no fun at all!”

Arthur was about to explain to them that it was not a matter of fun, only for the Juniper to interrupt in a throaty purr, “You know what would be fun? If you came home with us! I promise we could show you a good time…”

But as tempting as such an offer was, Arthur could not help but be wary of the dryads. He had heard stories of men who followed such beings into the woods only to never return, so it seemed safest to politely refuse and move on. But just as Arthur opened his mouth to decline their offer, the dryad of Yew had moved from where she sat among the grove, to barely an inch away from his face in just the blink of an eye, and gently pressed a finger to his mouth to shush him.

“Oh, but you will have so much fun!” the dryad insisted as Arthur saw tiny wisps of emerald green magic swirl around her. “So why don’t you forget about what you’re doing and join us~”

Arthur thought he ought to back away, the dryad was so close; so close, in fact, we could smell her… and she smelled good… and soon, as Arthur took in her scent, it became harder to think of how to decline Yew’s offer. In fact, it soon became difficult to think at all. Everything around Arthur became an unrecognisable blur; everything except Yew and her wonderful scent, and he could think of nothing but how beautiful and desirable she and her sisters were… and how irresistibly commanding her voice was… how every word that came from those full, luscious lips sounded like the most wonderful idea in the world…

As Yew began to tease the enraptured Arthur’s chin, her sisters joined her to surround Arthur, Juniper coming from behind to massage his shoulders as Holly floated by his side to tickle him behind his ear; their seductive magic adding to Yew’s own to bring Arthur deeper under their power.

“You will come with us, won’t you?” Juniper purred into Arthur’s ear from behind him. Arthur opened his mouth to agree, but when he did, he found that he had forgotten how to make the words, so he simply nodded instead.

“Good boy,” Yew told Arthur as she gently pushed up his chin to close his mouth, “There is no need to talk, only to obey~”

But then, as Holly continued to playfully tease Arthur’s neck from the side, she briefly bumped into the sheathed sword hanging from his belt and immediately jolted back an inch in fright. The other two immediately stopped teasing Arthur as he saw Yew’s eyes widen and her nostrils flared, as if she had just smelled something unpleasant. Arthur’s addled mind filled with dread as he saw Yew’s displeased expression. Had he done something wrong?

“No, this will not do at all,” Yew coldly said as she shot a hateful glare down to the sword at Arthur’s belt. “We must do something about that dreadful iron, shouldn’t we?”

“Already on it, sister!” Holly cheerily laughed as she twirled her index finger into the air, more swirls of green magic weaving through the air until they reached the rope fastening the sword to Arthur’s belt, and it began to unravel into hempen strands and then into full grown stalks of hemp, leaving the sword to clatter onto the ground.

“That’s better~” Yew told Arthur with a sultry grin as she and her sisters gracefully glided to him and resumed teasing him. Yes, Arthur groggily thought, this was better. That’s what Yew had said, anyway, and what she and her sisters said had to be true- no, it was truth itself. But why had he been carrying such a thing in the first place? Surely he wouldn’t carry anything that would make these ladies unhappy. Oh well, it probably wasn’t important. Yew would have told him if it was.

“Now come, human…” Yew whispered seductively into Arthur’s ear as she continued to stroke his face, “We’ll show you such a good time, you’ll never want to leave~”

But before the dazed Arthur could answer the dryad’s invitation, a familiar pale hand had grasped hold of Yew’s wrist in a flash and pulled it away from Arthur. The dryad looked to her left to see who had grabbed her, and her face quickly changed from a sultry grin to a look of fear when she realised that, barely a hair’s breadth next to her now stood the Witch of the Woods, who looked right into her eyes and shot this uninvited company a stern glare, as well as a brief glance towards Juniper and Holly, who immediately bolted back into the grove and dived into their trees, literally disappearing into them as though submerging into water.

“I am glad you are so eager to welcome my servant to, pardon the pun, this neck of the woods,” the Witch told the dryad in a cold, steely tone that did not sound glad in the slightest, “but I am afraid that he is not yours to do what you please with.”

Shuddering in fright, the dryad turned her head back to Arthur, and seeming to catch a glimpse of the green glow marking Arthur’s palm, her expression worsened from fear to panic.

“Please forgive me, O Mistress of These Woods!” the dryad begged in a panic. “We did not know he was yours! We had hoped he was like the wolf who once roamed here!”

Before the Witch could respond, however, a familiar voice pleaded from the juniper tree, “Please don’t blame us!”

“Yeah, it was Yew’s idea!” the holly tree howled repentantly.

Turning her head back to the betrayed looking Yew, and with only a moment of hesitation, let go of the dryad’s arm and with no change to her tone or expression, said, “I am glad we have an understanding. Oh well, no harm done. But remember this: try to tempt any servant of mine away from me again and you and your sisters will be firewood. Do you understand?”

Rapidly nodding in affirmation, the dryad dashed back into the grove as swiftly and soundlessly as she had approached Arthur, literally disappearing into the yew tree between the juniper and holly.

His head finally cleared from the dryad’s intoxicating scent, the first thing Arthur saw was the Witch of the Woods looking down at him in disapproval, before sighing, “I would be more cautious of humouring them, child. Few things in this forest are truly harmless, especially if it appears sweet and inviting.”

“I… uh, what?” Arthur groaned, still trying to get a grasp on his surroundings and what had just happened. But then, his head cleared as he remembered what had just transpired earlier. Lowering his head, he nervously muttered to the Witch, “I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be too sorry, my child,” the Witch said reassuringly, her look of disappointment changing to a relieved smile. “Letting your guard down like you did was dangerous, but I gather you had not yet before encountered beings that could ensnare the senses like those dryads could, so your mistake was understandable, and I was more than able to intervene before it was too late, so no harm done. Just try to be more cautious the next time, will you? After all, what use is a mistake if you do not learn from it?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Arthur chuckled nervously, relieved that the Witch was not too cross with him. “Guess it was a good thing they made my sword fall, or you wouldn’t have known I was in trouble, huh?”

“Hmm? Oh no, I knew the moment you had stopped following that they were trying to tempt you away.”

“Really? Then why didn’t you intervene before they started messing with my head?”

“I had figured that you would best grasp the danger you had put yourself in if I let you experience just what such beings are capable of. But mostly, it was far more amusing to let them believe they had won before I revealed myself. What a shame that you were not lucid enough at the time to fully appreciate the looks on their faces.”

“Well, thanks for the concern,” Arthur grumbled, beginning to question his mistress’s priorities, but instead of incurring the risk voicing those concerns might risk, he instead asked, “But just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I had gone with them?”

“That would depend on which dryads you were consorting with,” the Witch explained further as she turned around to continue down the path, with Arthur soon following behind her. “Some may attempt to lure you into the realm of the fae. Others may change you in mind or body for their amusement, if there are not inclined to simply kill you. And more still may want to show you a good time in complete sincerity before allowing you to go on your way. Still, you would do well to be cautious of everything you encounter here, and keep that sword of yours drawn unless you absolutely need something else in hand.”

Nervously, Arthur wrapped his fingers around the grip of the iron sword on his belt and slowly drew it from its scabbard; even as the dryad’s grove grew so far behind them he could no longer see it when he looked back. The two continued to walk for some time, until the Witch stopped in her tracks and held out her arm to signal Arthur to halt as well.

“It appears we have found the first item on our list,” the Witch told Arthur, motioning towards the bare apple tree standing before them, but more specifically, the large sprig of mistletoe hanging from one branch. “As such, now should be one such time to put your sword away.”

Pulling a long stone knife from the satchel at her belt, the Witch looked to Arthur as he sheathed his blade and asked him, “I trust you have harvested mistletoe before, my child?”

“Well, of course,” Arthur replied. “My family’s always been keen about observing these traditions, so I’ve done this every winter for most of my life.”

“Excellent,” the Witch said with a warm smile as she handed Arthur the knife. “As glad as I am for your experience, given the part of the wood we are in right now, there is a thing or two more you should know that you may not have been told on your past gatherings.”

As soon as Arthur took the stone knife and he untied the sheathed sword at his belt to hand to her, the Witch explained further, “It should be obvious by now how many beings of Faerie call this forest home, and quite a few of them dwell in trees such as this one. As such, taking an iron or steel blade to such a tree might greatly offend them; if not outright provoke them to attack. You should also be careful to not harm the tree itself while you cut the mistletoe, for the very same reason.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said as he cautiously approached the tree, knife in hand. “But I’ve seen other people be less than gentle in cutting their mistletoe this time of year. Do trees outside the Heart of the Forest not have faeries living in them?”

“On the contrary, my child, many plants hold such residents, if not most,” the Witch explained further as Arthur climbed up the tree towards the branch from which the mistletoe hung. “However, few of the particularly dangerous kinds of fae or spirits tend to dwell close to human settlements, so most of the ones you or your neighbours may have offended over the years will likely have caused minor misfortune to inconsiderate mortals at worst.”

“Oh, well that’s good to hear,” Arthur said as he climbed onto the branch and crawled over to where the mistletoe hung beneath and began to carefully saw it free, suddenly remembering quite a few instances of people around his hometown mysteriously finding themselves victim to unexplained annoyances after the Solstice had passed.

“The truth is,” the Witch admitted as Arthur gradually cut the mistletoe from its branch, “this excursion of ours is less about preparing for tonight and more about teaching you the ins and outs of foraging in this forest safely so you will know how to do so without issue in the future. Otherwise, I’d have gathered everything I needed earlier this month and all you would have had to do was hang everything up.”

“Well, I guess it’s better to learn all of this sooner rather than later,” Arthur said with a shrug as he finally sawed through the branch and the mistletoe was cut loose, nearly falling towards the ground before the Witch caught it in her hands and placed it in her satchel.

And so, the two continued on their errands through the night, gathering sticks and logs for firewood where they found it, and picking plums and redcurrants from the trees and bushes. However, it was when they had found a holly tree and had harvested the holly they needed to make a wreath that the evening took another dangerous turn. They were approached the tree, when Arthur heard a jingling sound in the air, and the sound of hoofbeats begin to make their way towards him and his mistress. Before Arthur could inquire that was coming, the Witch quickly grabbed hold of him and pulled him behind the tree, quietly ordering him, “Don’t make a sound,” as she leaned her back against the tree and held him tight close to her.

His face pressed tightly against the Witch’s chest, Arthur could not see what she had ordered him to hide from, but he certainly felt something near. The presence he felt was something dark and primal, as if the embodiment of the fear of being hunted. Hoofbeats thundered past, too graceful and light to be any horses Arthur had known, but each step giving a heavier impact than any deer, either. Even then, no natural creature had ever exuded the sheer threatening presence Arthur felt right now.

But as whatever stampede this was finally passed where the two were hiding, something else slowly approached, the December snow crunching under the slow, ponderous footsteps of powerful hooves. These footsteps stopped for a moment, before resuming, whatever creature they belonged to now slowly making its way towards the tree the two were hiding behind.

Though terrified of what he might find, Arthur turned his head ever so slightly against his mistress’s chest towards the sound of whatever was stalking them, just enough so out of the corner of his eye, he could see the barest silhouette of something creeping around the tree to where they were hiding: a great, dark shape that could have easily stood a head or two above Melion were he still here, standing upright like a man but covered in dark fur, and upon its broad shoulders resting a head of which Arthur could only make out a pair of menacing, burning red eyes staring right at the two of them, and from its crown a pair of wicked, curled horns like a great monstrous goat’s.

To Arthur’s horror, the moment this creature’s eyes peered at him, it began to extend a long, gangly arm right at him, only for the Witch’s hand to turn Arthur’s head back to where it was and for her to hold him tighter, depriving him of sight once again. And in that moment, face pressed tightly against his mistress’s body, Arthur felt the Witch change. He could not quite make out what about his employer was different from before, but he could tell that she was not in the form he knew as the Witch of the Woods. And before he could even ponder what had just happened, he heard the Witch’s voice say to this interloper in a cold, commanding growl, “The boy is mine~”

For a brief moment, all was quiet. Then, Arthur heard the sound of the approaching creature turning away from them and leaving, the crunching sounds of its hooves on the snow growing further and further away until they disappeared into the howling of the wind.

A few more moments passed as the Witch remained quiet and still held on to Arthur, seeming to have returned to her normal form, though Arthur could no better put his finger on what had changed about her in the first place, still neither of them daring to move a muscle, until at last the Witch relaxed her grip on Arthur and gave a sigh of relief, at which point he cautiously opened his eyes.

“What was that?” Arthur asked worriedly as he backed away from his mistress and turned towards where the interloper once stood, the large, cloven hoofprints already becoming covered by the fresh snow blowing in.

“That, my child, was one of the reasons why it is better for me to practice the older Solstice traditions,” the Witch explained, seemingly having collected herself.

“Wait, are you saying that thing was a god?” Arthur gasped in disbelief.

“Yes, it was. A very old god, in fact; a god of winter and the hunt no longer worshipped by your people, but still feared by many. He is referred to by many names, but most call him the Horned God; one of only many gods known by that title, but by far one of the fiercest among their number. I trust you know of the Wild Hunt that rides into the mortal realm this time of year?”

“Of course I do. I had thought that those riders that passed us might be them; so is this Horned God their leader or something?”

“Sometimes he is, and sometimes he isn’t. To lead the Wild Hunt is not a formal rank so much as it is an honour bestowed upon some of the greatest hunters of Faerie, but that being said, the Horned God has been given that many times, and is likely to receive it many more in the future. And given the prerequisites for the privilege, it goes without saying that once one has been marked as his quarry; his pursuit becomes quite difficult to escape.”

Quivering in fear as he remembered just how interested in him this Horned God appeared to be, Arthur worriedly inquired further, “You’re not saying I’m his quarry now, are you?”

“I would certainly hope not. Even with my millennia of experience, that one’s intentions can be quite difficult to divine. That being said, I would recommend staying close to me while we continue our excursion. Speaking of which, it would behoove us to begin our own hunt for the night so we can return home…”

And with Arthur’s inquiry on their recent visitor finished, so came the last task on their agenda for the night: the hunt for a sacrificial boar. Turning to Arthur, the Witch asked him, “Do you know how to hunt, my child?”

“Well,” Arthur began sheepishly, “my Uncle Melion taught me a thing or two a few years back. I’m not really the best at it, but I can do it well enough that it helped us get through a few rough winters.”

“Then let us hope that the old wolf is as proficient in teaching those skills as he is in practising them.”

“Well, we’ll see, I guess- wait, have you brought a boar spear? I only brought the equipment I had on me, so the only weapon I have is the sword Uncle gave me…”

Flashing Arthur a warm smile, the Witch reassured him, “You need not worry my child, I shall handle slaying the beast; you need only concern yourself with tracking our quarry and carrying out the sacrifice.”

And so, Arthur got to work doing just that, his mistress walking alongside him as he searched for tracks, droppings, and any other signs that would lead them to a wild boar for tonight’s sacrifice. Eventually, he found such clues and began following them to the source, only to notice how they seemed quite bigger than those left behind by the boars he was used to… which made him remember something.

“Mistress,” he gulped as they cautiously stalked the forest for the sacrifice to be, “the night I met you, I saw a pack of wargs bring down the largest boar I had seen… are boars of that size unusual in the Heart of the Forest?”

“Hmm, that depends. How large is the largest you have ever seen?”

“Well… I think it was the size of a rhinoceros, if what I’ve read of their size is accurate.”

“Ah! No, boars of that size are actually quite common in this part of the wood.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and, his face now white as a sheet.

“Really?” he gulped.

“Yes, they are,” she reaffirmed. Chuckling, she continued, “In fact, I would be quite surprised if an ordinary boar could even survive here for long, given the Heart’s other denizens.”

Arthur barely had the time even to regret his life choices up until this point before he began to hear the sound of porcine snorting coming from a clearing just up ahead from where they were. The Witch raised a hand to gesture Arthur to be quiet, and the two crouched low behind a nearby bush, which Arthur parted with his hands to gaze upon their quarry. As the Witch had said, it was another boar larger than any horse Arthur had seen, even larger, in fact, than the one Arthur had seen the pack of wargs bring down on that faithful night. Two sets of curved tusks extended from the beast’s maw, long and sharp enough in Arthur’s eyes to be wielded on the battlefield, and the bristles of its thick grey coat were so sharply bristled that Arthur briefly mistook them for quills like a porcupine's. This massive boar was drinking from an unfrozen babbling brook, seemingly unaware that it was in any danger.

Arthur gulped. How, we wondered, was they supposed to slay a beast of that monstrous size?

As if reading Arthur’s mind, the Witch placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him and said, “You’ve done your part well, my child. Just watch as I handle the rest.”

Having said her part, the Witch calmly stood up from their hiding spot and began to walk towards the boar at a leisurely pace. Seemingly having no care to keep herself hidden, the Witch eventually tread on a loose branch, the sound of which breaking alerted the beast to her presence. Raising its head from the stream, the monstrous boar quickly whipped around to the direction the Witch was coming from and began to paw the ground aggressively, preparing to charge at this intruder. The Witch did not heed the beast’s warning, simply continuing to walk towards it at the same leisurely pace, as if she was daring it to charge at her. And that’s exactly what it did, lowering its head and running towards her at full speed… only to be impaled by a great bramble vine that the Witch had conjured out of the ground, the vine’s thorns stopping it from charging all the way down its full length to reach her.

Still not fully dead, the boar struggled to get free of the vine goring it even as it bled out, but was helpless to do so as the vine came to life as hoist the beast into the air at the Witch’s command and began to constrict it like a snake.

Turning back to where Arthur was hiding, the Witch called to him, “Now that the beast is trapped, my child, could you be a dear and finish the sacrifice with that sword of yours? I’m afraid the usual dagger won’t do for quarry this size.”

Figuring there was no reason to dawdle, Arthur stood up from his hiding place behind the bush and drew his sword, telling himself that this would not be has hard as sacrificing the barn raised boars back at home. But, as he approached the bound boar, he noticed that the wind had started to pick up… unnaturally so. What had earlier this evening been merely the typical winter wind swiftly became a terrible squall, strong enough to lift him off the ground and hurtling into the sky!

“Arthur!” the Witch called, seeing what was happening, and she immediately let the ensnared boar fall and ran for him faster than he had even seen the dryads move, stretching out her hand for him to grab, but just as she had almost made it to him, she was blocked by a strange figure of whom Arthur could only make out the barest silhouette. The last thing Arthur saw before to miniature cyclone around him completely swallowed him was the Witch look at the figure in shock and say, “You…!” before Arthur himself blacked out.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

On this snowy Solstice Eve, Arthur Butcher could almost swear that icicles were forming on his unkempt wheat blonde hair as he trudged through the fresh fallen snow upon the forest floor after the Witch of the Woods, her long, onyx black hair almost cape-like in how it obscured nearly her entire slender figure from behind, leaving only the shoulders of her fur coat and the wide hem of its skirt visible as she walked through the snow with an almost inhuman grace, practically gliding over it.

As he continued to walk after her, Arthur had time to reflect on the choices that led to his new life as her servant that had just begun. Having pledged a life of servitude to her in exchange for curing his sister of a fatal illness, he now spent this eve of the Winter Solstice not celebrating with his family, but foraging in the Heart of the Forest searching for supplies for his new mistress’s own Solstice rituals, not for seasonal merriment, but to appease the ancient gods that held sway over this wood.

Not that Arthur had had to have said goodbye to his family without one last Solstice celebration, fortunately. In fact, he carried with him the final Solstice presents his family had gifted him just the night before: upon his back over his winter coat, a forest green cloak given to him by his mother to keep him dry and warm on winter nights such as these; and from his belt hung a sheathed foraging knife from his father, and a scabbard containing an iron sword given to him by his monster hunting Uncle Melion, which he said would keep Arthur safe from the monsters and spirits of the wood better than any steel sword would.

As the two continued deeper into the wood, Arthur heard a feminine giggling coming from the trees left of the path they were walking. Cautiously, he slowed his pace and looked over to where this laughter was coming from, and found a curious sight.

In a grove beyond the path, a group of three beautiful women were lounging among the evergreen trees, looking right at Arthur and beckoning him to join them. Arthur began to raise his hand to decline the offer, but as he continued to look back at the three, and saw that they were not ordinary women. Each of them had skin like burnished wood, eyes that appeared as orbs of solid amber, and hair that looked as green as the leaves of spring, until Arthur realised that was exactly what it was. Each of these plant-women had hair of the leaves of a different sort of tree: one had long, curly hair leaves; another sported a shoulder length bob of the spiny leaves of holly; and upon the last was crowned a head of yew needles that fell down to her ankles. It was then that Arthur recognised what these women were: they were dryads, a type of fae that embodied the very spirits of the trees.

“Well, this is a surprise,” the dryad with hair of yew needles laughed in a melodious voice. “I wonder what a young man like you is doing here in the Heart of the Forest?”

“Oh! Um, well I…” Arthur stuttered, flustered as any young man would be when approached by three beautiful women out of nowhere, “I’m just… out doing errands for work is all.”

“How sad!” pouted the dryad of Holly, who looked the youngest and most petite of the three. “That sounds no fun at all!”

Arthur was about to explain to them that it was not a matter of fun, only for the Juniper to interrupt in a throaty purr, “You know what would be fun? If you came home with us! I promise we could show you a good time…”

But as tempting as such an offer was, Arthur could not help but be wary of the dryads. He had heard stories of men who followed such beings into the woods only to never return, so it seemed safest to politely refuse and move on. But just as Arthur opened his mouth to decline their offer, the dryad of Yew had moved from where she sat among the grove, to barely an inch away from his face in just the blink of an eye, and gently pressed a finger to his mouth to shush him.

“Oh, but you will have so much fun!” the dryad insisted as Arthur saw tiny wisps of emerald green magic swirl around her. “So why don’t you forget about what you’re doing and join us~”

Arthur thought he ought to back away, the dryad was so close; so close, in fact, we could smell her… and she smelled good… and soon, as Arthur took in her scent, it became harder to think of how to decline Yew’s offer. In fact, it soon became difficult to think at all. Everything around Arthur became an unrecognisable blur; everything except Yew and her wonderful scent, and he could think of nothing but how beautiful and desirable she and her sisters were… and how irresistibly commanding her voice was… how every word that came from those full, luscious lips sounded like the most wonderful idea in the world…

As Yew began to tease the enraptured Arthur’s chin, her sisters joined her to surround Arthur, Juniper coming from behind to massage his shoulders as Holly floated by his side to tickle him behind his ear; their seductive magic adding to Yew’s own to bring Arthur deeper under their power.

“You will come with us, won’t you?” Juniper purred into Arthur’s ear from behind him. Arthur opened his mouth to agree, but when he did, he found that he had forgotten how to make the words, so he simply nodded instead.

“Good boy,” Yew told Arthur as she gently pushed up his chin to close his mouth, “There is no need to talk, only to obey~”

But then, as Holly continued to playfully tease Arthur’s neck from the side, she briefly bumped into the sheathed sword hanging from his belt and immediately jolted back an inch in fright. The other two immediately stopped teasing Arthur as he saw Yew’s eyes widen and her nostrils flared, as if she had just smelled something unpleasant. Arthur’s addled mind filled with dread as he saw Yew’s displeased expression. Had he done something wrong?

“No, this will not do at all,” Yew coldly said as she shot a hateful glare down to the sword at Arthur’s belt. “We must do something about that dreadful iron, shouldn’t we?”

“Already on it, sister!” Holly cheerily laughed as she twirled her index finger into the air, more swirls of green magic weaving through the air until they reached the rope fastening the sword to Arthur’s belt, and it began to unravel into hempen strands and then into full grown stalks of hemp, leaving the sword to clatter onto the ground.

“That’s better~” Yew told Arthur with a sultry grin as she and her sisters gracefully glided to him and resumed teasing him. Yes, Arthur groggily thought, this was better. That’s what Yew had said, anyway, and what she and her sisters said had to be true- no, it was truth itself. But why had he been carrying such a thing in the first place? Surely he wouldn’t carry anything that would make these ladies unhappy. Oh well, it probably wasn’t important. Yew would have told him if it was.

“Now come, human…” Yew whispered seductively into Arthur’s ear as she continued to stroke his face, “We’ll show you such a good time, you’ll never want to leave~”

But before the dazed Arthur could answer the dryad’s invitation, a familiar pale hand had grasped hold of Yew’s wrist in a flash and pulled it away from Arthur. The dryad looked to her left to see who had grabbed her, and her face quickly changed from a sultry grin to a look of fear when she realised that, barely a hair’s breadth next to her now stood the Witch of the Woods, who looked right into her eyes and shot this uninvited company a stern glare, as well as a brief glance towards Juniper and Holly, who immediately bolted back into the grove and dived into their trees, literally disappearing into them as though submerging into water.

“I am glad you are so eager to welcome my servant to, pardon the pun, this neck of the woods,” the Witch told the dryad in a cold, steely tone that did not sound glad in the slightest, “but I am afraid that he is not yours to do what you please with.”

Shuddering in fright, the dryad turned her head back to Arthur, and seeming to catch a glimpse of the green glow marking Arthur’s palm, her expression worsened from fear to panic.

“Please forgive me, O Mistress of These Woods!” the dryad begged in a panic. “We did not know he was yours! We had hoped he was like the wolf who once roamed here!”

Before the Witch could respond, however, a familiar voice pleaded from the juniper tree, “Please don’t blame us!”

“Yeah, it was Yew’s idea!” the holly tree howled repentantly.

Turning her head back to the betrayed looking Yew, and with only a moment of hesitation, let go of the dryad’s arm and with no change to her tone or expression, said, “I am glad we have an understanding. Oh well, no harm done. But remember this: try to tempt any servant of mine away from me again and you and your sisters will be firewood. Do you understand?”

Rapidly nodding in affirmation, the dryad dashed back into the grove as swiftly and soundlessly as she had approached Arthur, literally disappearing into the yew tree between the juniper and holly.

His head finally cleared from the dryad’s intoxicating scent, the first thing Arthur saw was the Witch of the Woods looking down at him in disapproval, before sighing, “I would be more cautious of humouring them, child. Few things in this forest are truly harmless, especially if it appears sweet and inviting.”

“I… uh, what?” Arthur groaned, still trying to get a grasp on his surroundings and what had just happened. But then, his head cleared as he remembered what had just transpired earlier. Lowering his head, he nervously muttered to the Witch, “I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be too sorry, my child,” the Witch said reassuringly, her look of disappointment changing to a relieved smile. “Letting your guard down like you did was dangerous, but I gather you had not yet before encountered beings that could ensnare the senses like those dryads could, so your mistake was understandable, and I was more than able to intervene before it was too late, so no harm done. Just try to be more cautious the next time, will you? After all, what use is a mistake if you do not learn from it?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Arthur chuckled nervously, relieved that the Witch was not too cross with him. “Guess it was a good thing they made my sword fall, or you wouldn’t have known I was in trouble, huh?”

“Hmm? Oh no, I knew the moment you had stopped following that they were trying to tempt you away.”

“Really? Then why didn’t you intervene before they started messing with my head?”

“I had figured that you would best grasp the danger you had put yourself in if I let you experience just what such beings are capable of. But mostly, it was far more amusing to let them believe they had won before I revealed myself. What a shame that you were not lucid enough at the time to fully appreciate the looks on their faces.”

“Well, thanks for the concern,” Arthur grumbled, beginning to question his mistress’s priorities, but instead of incurring the risk voicing those concerns might risk, he instead asked, “But just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I had gone with them?”

“That would depend on which dryads you were consorting with,” the Witch explained further as she turned around to continue down the path, with Arthur soon following behind her. “Some may attempt to lure you into the realm of the fae. Others may change you in mind or body for their amusement, if there are not inclined to simply kill you. And more still may want to show you a good time in complete sincerity before allowing you to go on your way. Still, you would do well to be cautious of everything you encounter here, and keep that sword of yours drawn unless you absolutely need something else in hand.”

Nervously, Arthur wrapped his fingers around the grip of the iron sword on his belt and slowly drew it from its scabbard; even as the dryad’s grove grew so far behind them he could no longer see it when he looked back. The two continued to walk for some time, until the Witch stopped in her tracks and held out her arm to signal Arthur to halt as well.

“It appears we have found the first item on our list,” the Witch told Arthur, motioning towards the bare apple tree standing before them, but more specifically, the large sprig of mistletoe hanging from one branch. “As such, now should be one such time to put your sword away.”

Pulling a long stone knife from the satchel at her belt, the Witch looked to Arthur as he sheathed his blade and asked him, “I trust you have harvested mistletoe before, my child?”

“Well, of course,” Arthur replied. “My family’s always been keen about observing these traditions, so I’ve done this every winter for most of my life.”

“Excellent,” the Witch said with a warm smile as she handed Arthur the knife. “As glad as I am for your experience, given the part of the wood we are in right now, there is a thing or two more you should know that you may not have been told on your past gatherings.”

As soon as Arthur took the stone knife and he untied the sheathed sword at his belt to hand to her, the Witch explained further, “It should be obvious by now how many beings of Faerie call this forest home, and quite a few of them dwell in trees such as this one. As such, taking an iron or steel blade to such a tree might greatly offend them; if not outright provoke them to attack. You should also be careful to not harm the tree itself while you cut the mistletoe, for the very same reason.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said as he cautiously approached the tree, knife in hand. “But I’ve seen other people be less than gentle in cutting their mistletoe this time of year. Do trees outside the Heart of the Forest not have faeries living in them?”

“On the contrary, my child, many plants hold such residents, if not most,” the Witch explained further as Arthur climbed up the tree towards the branch from which the mistletoe hung. “However, few of the particularly dangerous kinds of fae or spirits tend to dwell close to human settlements, so most of the ones you or your neighbours may have offended over the years will likely have caused minor misfortune to inconsiderate mortals at worst.”

“Oh, well that’s good to hear,” Arthur said as he climbed onto the branch and crawled over to where the mistletoe hung beneath and began to carefully saw it free, suddenly remembering quite a few instances of people around his hometown mysteriously finding themselves victim to unexplained annoyances after the Solstice had passed.

“The truth is,” the Witch admitted as Arthur gradually cut the mistletoe from its branch, “this excursion of ours is less about preparing for tonight and more about teaching you the ins and outs of foraging in this forest safely so you will know how to do so without issue in the future. Otherwise, I’d have gathered everything I needed earlier this month and all you would have had to do was hang everything up.”

“Well, I guess it’s better to learn all of this sooner rather than later,” Arthur said with a shrug as he finally sawed through the branch and the mistletoe was cut loose, nearly falling towards the ground before the Witch caught it in her hands and placed it in her satchel.

And so, the two continued on their errands through the night, gathering sticks and logs for firewood where they found it, and picking plums and redcurrants from the trees and bushes. However, it was when they had found a holly tree and had harvested the holly they needed to make a wreath that the evening took another dangerous turn. They were approached the tree, when Arthur heard a jingling sound in the air, and the sound of hoofbeats begin to make their way towards him and his mistress. Before Arthur could inquire that was coming, the Witch quickly grabbed hold of him and pulled him behind the tree, quietly ordering him, “Don’t make a sound,” as she leaned her back against the tree and held him tight close to her.

His face pressed tightly against the Witch’s chest, Arthur could not see what she had ordered him to hide from, but he certainly felt something near. The presence he felt was something dark and primal, as if the embodiment of the fear of being hunted. Hoofbeats thundered past, too graceful and light to be any horses Arthur had known, but each step giving a heavier impact than any deer, either. Even then, no natural creature had ever exuded the sheer threatening presence Arthur felt right now.

But as whatever stampede this was finally passed where the two were hiding, something else slowly approached, the December snow crunching under the slow, ponderous footsteps of powerful hooves. These footsteps stopped for a moment, before resuming, whatever creature they belonged to now slowly making its way towards the tree the two were hiding behind.

Though terrified of what he might find, Arthur turned his head ever so slightly against his mistress’s chest towards the sound of whatever was stalking them, just enough so out of the corner of his eye, he could see the barest silhouette of something creeping around the tree to where they were hiding: a great, dark shape that could have easily stood a head or two above Melion were he still here, standing upright like a man but covered in dark fur, and upon its broad shoulders resting a head of which Arthur could only make out a pair of menacing, burning red eyes staring right at the two of them, and from its crown a pair of wicked, curled horns like a great monstrous goat’s.

To Arthur’s horror, the moment this creature’s eyes peered at him, it began to extend a long, gangly arm right at him, only for the Witch’s hand to turn Arthur’s head back to where it was and for her to hold him tighter, depriving him of sight once again. And in that moment, face pressed tightly against his mistress’s body, Arthur felt the Witch change. He could not quite make out what about his employer was different from before, but he could tell that she was not in the form he knew as the Witch of the Woods. And before he could even ponder what had just happened, he heard the Witch’s voice say to this interloper in a cold, commanding growl, “The boy is mine~”

For a brief moment, all was quiet. Then, Arthur heard the sound of the approaching creature turning away from them and leaving, the crunching sounds of its hooves on the snow growing further and further away until they disappeared into the howling of the wind.

A few more moments passed as the Witch remained quiet and still held on to Arthur, seeming to have returned to her normal form, though Arthur could no better put his finger on what had changed about her in the first place, still neither of them daring to move a muscle, until at last the Witch relaxed her grip on Arthur and gave a sigh of relief, at which point he cautiously opened his eyes.

“What was that?” Arthur asked worriedly as he backed away from his mistress and turned towards where the interloper once stood, the large, cloven hoofprints already becoming covered by the fresh snow blowing in.

“That, my child, was one of the reasons why it is better for me to practice the older Solstice traditions,” the Witch explained, seemingly having collected herself.

“Wait, are you saying that thing was a god?” Arthur gasped in disbelief.

“Yes, it was. A very old god, in fact; a god of winter and the hunt no longer worshipped by your people, but still feared by many. He is referred to by many names, but most call him the Horned God; one of only many gods known by that title, but by far one of the fiercest among their number. I trust you know of the Wild Hunt that rides into the mortal realm this time of year?”

“Of course I do. I had thought that those riders that passed us might be them; so is this Horned God their leader or something?”

“Sometimes he is, and sometimes he isn’t. To lead the Wild Hunt is not a formal rank so much as it is an honour bestowed upon some of the greatest hunters of Faerie, but that being said, the Horned God has been given that many times, and is likely to receive it many more in the future. And given the prerequisites for the privilege, it goes without saying that once one has been marked as his quarry; his pursuit becomes quite difficult to escape.”

Quivering in fear as he remembered just how interested in him this Horned God appeared to be, Arthur worriedly inquired further, “You’re not saying I’m his quarry now, are you?”

“I would certainly hope not. Even with my millennia of experience, that one’s intentions can be quite difficult to divine. That being said, I would recommend staying close to me while we continue our excursion. Speaking of which, it would behoove us to begin our own hunt for the night so we can return home…”

And with Arthur’s inquiry on their recent visitor finished, so came the last task on their agenda for the night: the hunt for a sacrificial boar. Turning to Arthur, the Witch asked him, “Do you know how to hunt, my child?”

“Well,” Arthur began sheepishly, “my Uncle Melion taught me a thing or two a few years back. I’m not really the best at it, but I can do it well enough that it helped us get through a few rough winters.”

“Then let us hope that the old wolf is as proficient in teaching those skills as he is in practising them.”

“Well, we’ll see, I guess- wait, have you brought a boar spear? I only brought the equipment I had on me, so the only weapon I have is the sword Uncle gave me…”

Flashing Arthur a warm smile, the Witch reassured him, “You need not worry my child, I shall handle slaying the beast; you need only concern yourself with tracking our quarry and carrying out the sacrifice.”

And so, Arthur got to work doing just that, his mistress walking alongside him as he searched for tracks, droppings, and any other signs that would lead them to a wild boar for tonight’s sacrifice. Eventually, he found such clues and began following them to the source, only to notice how they seemed quite bigger than those left behind by the boars he was used to… which made him remember something.

“Mistress,” he gulped as they cautiously stalked the forest for the sacrifice to be, “the night I met you, I saw a pack of wargs bring down the largest boar I had seen… are boars of that size unusual in the Heart of the Forest?”

“Hmm, that depends. How large is the largest you have ever seen?”

“Well… I think it was the size of a rhinoceros, if what I’ve read of their size is accurate.”

“Ah! No, boars of that size are actually quite common in this part of the wood.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and, his face now white as a sheet.

“Really?” he gulped.

“Yes, they are,” she reaffirmed. Chuckling, she continued, “In fact, I would be quite surprised if an ordinary boar could even survive here for long, given the Heart’s other denizens.”

Arthur barely had the time even to regret his life choices up until this point before he began to hear the sound of porcine snorting coming from a clearing just up ahead from where they were. The Witch raised a hand to gesture Arthur to be quiet, and the two crouched low behind a nearby bush, which Arthur parted with his hands to gaze upon their quarry. As the Witch had said, it was another boar larger than any horse Arthur had seen, even larger, in fact, than the one Arthur had seen the pack of wargs bring down on that faithful night. Two sets of curved tusks extended from the beast’s maw, long and sharp enough in Arthur’s eyes to be wielded on the battlefield, and the bristles of its thick grey coat were so sharply bristled that Arthur briefly mistook them for quills like a porcupine's. This massive boar was drinking from an unfrozen babbling brook, seemingly unaware that it was in any danger.

Arthur gulped. How, we wondered, was they supposed to slay a beast of that monstrous size?

As if reading Arthur’s mind, the Witch placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him and said, “You’ve done your part well, my child. Just watch as I handle the rest.”

Having said her part, the Witch calmly stood up from their hiding spot and began to walk towards the boar at a leisurely pace. Seemingly having no care to keep herself hidden, the Witch eventually tread on a loose branch, the sound of which breaking alerted the beast to her presence. Raising its head from the stream, the monstrous boar quickly whipped around to the direction the Witch was coming from and began to paw the ground aggressively, preparing to charge at this intruder. The Witch did not heed the beast’s warning, simply continuing to walk towards it at the same leisurely pace, as if she was daring it to charge at her. And that’s exactly what it did, lowering its head and running towards her at full speed… only to be impaled by a great bramble vine that the Witch had conjured out of the ground, the vine’s thorns stopping it from charging all the way down its full length to reach her.

Still not fully dead, the boar struggled to get free of the vine goring it even as it bled out, but was helpless to do so as the vine came to life as hoist the beast into the air at the Witch’s command and began to constrict it like a snake.

Turning back to where Arthur was hiding, the Witch called to him, “Now that the beast is trapped, my child, could you be a dear and finish the sacrifice with that sword of yours? I’m afraid the usual dagger won’t do for quarry this size.”

Figuring there was no reason to dawdle, Arthur stood up from his hiding place behind the bush and drew his sword, telling himself that this would not be has hard as sacrificing the barn raised boars back at home. But, as he approached the bound boar, he noticed that the wind had started to pick up… unnaturally so. What had earlier this evening been merely the typical winter wind swiftly became a terrible squall, strong enough to lift him off the ground and hurtling into the sky!

“Arthur!” the Witch called, seeing what was happening, and she immediately let the ensnared boar fall and ran for him faster than he had even seen the dryads move, stretching out her hand for him to grab, but just as she had almost made it to him, she was blocked by a strange figure of whom Arthur could only make out the barest silhouette. The last thing Arthur saw before to miniature cyclone around him completely swallowed him was the Witch look at the figure in shock and say, “You…!” before Arthur himself blacked out.