/lit/ - Literature

>>19240132
(2/3)

“I say, a fine morning for a meet!” the Earl proclaimed as he led a small group of nobility (and their considerable retinue) into Exmoor. His father, the Duke, had taken ill so it fell to him to lead today’s hunt. The kennelmaster loosed the staghounds, who readily picked up the old Forester’s scent and were off.

He had been running for ages, and could yet hear the beasts behind him crash through the brush. One, in particular, far outstripped the rest. He made a sharp turn toward the smell of water, hoping to find a spot to stand his ground while any smaller beast must be forced to swim.

She knew this chase was entering the final phase. The stag would seek refuge in a stream or bog and the pack would bark until the masters came. But this time she would take the creature herself and show the Duke she was his goodest girl!

“The hounds are like to drive the stag into these shallows,” the Earl told a young Lord, “I want you to hold the bow just like this, pull back the string slow, aim well, and slide your finger off when you feel it’s reached the point of release. Do you understand?”

“Aye sir, I do. I think?”

“Excellent! Now pull back when you see movement, and release when you see the stag. Aim for a clean broadside kill, if you miss he’s like to run off.”

(2/3)