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Cocklebur King Part III: Killing is very romantic |
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Harte had returned to the forest after another successful hunt; he needed to gather more furs for the incoming winter as well as salt the meat for the hard times ahead. Not being a farmer himself, his food came from the blessings of the forest. He came by a deer trail, and thinking that luck was on his side, he stealthily crept alongside it. Harte would have to scout some more before deciding if this place was a bust.
A watering hole nearby gave him some encouragement, noting some of the prints left behind by the regulars. Hoof prints mingled with tiny fox prints while others were smudged by extraordinarily large paws, with claw marks digging into the moist earth. The hunter paused, frowning at the freshness of the huge marks and the deep gouges made by fleeing prey. Bits of bloodstained fur scattered among the grasses, indicating some life and death struggle took place. If he was too close to a carcass site, the killer responsible might consider him a threat. Heavy steps plodded nearby, catching Harte’s attention. He whirled around on instinct, baring his hunting knife. Despite his training and expertise, he could not help but gasp at the sight.
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Feeling pierced and eviscerated at the same time, the beast clutched at its skin as the burning sensations began to finally wane. No…something was different. In the agony of the transformation, the creature had nearly forgotten what happened. It took a significant amount of effort to finally open its—no, his eyes. The world was muted and dulled, smells hardly registered, nearly sending the poor former beast into a shock. It was as if a veil had been cast over, muffling his once keen senses that made him a terrifying hunter. It suddenly occurred to him how drastic his love was different from him. What if he was too different for the fierce hunter? The sensation of dread at the thought was a visceral one, and he violently retched in response.
Cursing aloud, though it sounded more like drunken sailor babble instead of clearly articulated words, the man crawled away from mess as he was still unused to his new body. Wearily, he grasped at some low lying branches, hauling himself up on his newfound single pair of legs. It wasn’t easy at first, having the dexterity of fingers instead of the normal claws took some figuring out. Several failed attempts later, with sweat glistening on his aching muscles; the former beast discovered the art of standing up on two legs. With an almost childish glee, he wiggled his toes into the cool earth and began to prance around wildly as he began to accommodate to his brand-new body.
It did not take very long for him to discover how much he missed his padded paws when he trod upon sharp rocks or his luxurious fur as the cold began to creep into his bones. He needed to find the hunter, and quick. But how should he approach the bright eyed man? He can’t stalk very well in this form.
Loud snarls distracted him from this perplexing new problem, and out of habit, he tilted his head, trying to sniff the air while going back on all fours. It took all but a few seconds for him to realize the futility of the effort. He might as well try and track fish through water; it was equally as helpful for smelling out others. A man’s yell rang out, sending a shiver down the former beast’s new spine. He knew that voice.
Without a second thought, he charged madly forward, tripping and crashing along the way as he tried to pinpoint without his usual keen senses. Even if he was half blind and deaf, it wouldn’t have been too hard once he drew closer to the gruesome scene.
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A young male grizzly, not yet full grown had already engaged in battle with Harte. Slashes to its face and forearms would suggest it had already endured blade attacks, but upon closer inspection it was actually claw marks, from an unsuccessful challenge. Defeated, humiliated, and raging with testosterone, it decided to pick on a human as its next chew toy.
Harte, however, had other plans as he reacted before thinking, stabbing instead of dodging. The bear did not take kindly to this, smacking him down with a hefty paw that raked across his leathers. Air wooshed out of Harte’s chest from the blow, leaving him lightheaded for a few seconds. He scrabbled sideways, attempting to catch his breath while hacking wildly in hopes of stabbing enough to be a nuisance that the bear would tire of him. The bear roared in pain as it prepared to drop down on him, it would be more than enough force to paralyze the young hunter. Hart gritted his teeth as he saw the incoming paws, attempting to turn his blade. If he was going to go down, he was going to make damned sure that bear was taken out with him.
The fatal blow never came.
Instead, the unfortunate would-be predator was slammed into by a very angry beast-man. His timing couldn’t have been any more perfect, as Harte had thrust his blade violently upwards at the same time. Ribs cracked as the bear screamed in agony at the unforeseen barbaric assault. To the former beast, it was music in his ears, invoking his insatiable bloodlust, lack of claws or weaponry or furs be damned.
While the blade missed its intended target, the heart, it managed to pierce the bear’s lung as the sheer force of the attack literally knocked him from his intended victim. The fight for its life began through an entanglement of limbs and fur while the beast-man dug his fingers into the festering wounds, tearing wildly at the stunned bear. With muscles like coiled steel springs, the former beast bit at the unprotected neck, before resorting to improvised headlock to suffocate the barely conscious bear.
Harte, not quite processing that he had been saved by a bare a** naked man, scrabbled desperately to stand up now that his life wasn’t in immediate danger. Still working on instinct, he leaped forward, grasping the handle to pull it free from the bear’s chest with a sickening, sucking sound. While the former beast was trying to figure out why he couldn’t just bite the throat and be done with it, Harte took initiative and struck at the bear’s heart, skillfully avoiding his savior’s blood soaked flailing limbs. It was as if he and this other person had been working together all their life, working in synch to take down the maddened grizzly.
Soon, the death rattles of the dying bear as it wheezed its last breath were heard, but the former beast refused to release the dead creature until it stopped moving completely. Grinning wildly, Harte pushed himself up and offered a hand to help his newfound friend up. Hypnotized by those bright eyes, the beast man hesitated for a few seconds before the meaning of the gesture clicked.
A large, bloodsoaked hand firmly grasped Harte’s taking the hunter by surprise at the incredible strength. With a low grunt, and the mysterious man kicking the carcass, he pulled the former beast free. It was hard to tell who was more surprised; the former beast being touched by the hunter or Harte staring at this specimen of a man covered in bear blood. Neither could take eyes off of one another, stunned into silence.
Then the musk of the beast was hanging heavy in the air, a wildness about in his eyes as he eyed the handsome hunter. The hunter was taken aback at this naked, masculine beauty as chiseled abs and corded muscles showed what was underneath all that fur. He felt a deep longing, a promise of freedom from restraints of civilization as those keen eyes appeared to pierce his very soul....
 Slick Southpaw · Sun Mar 23, 2014 @ 11:07am · 1 Comments |
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