Eater of Harts

At her 'puter she sat to write
Of a long hard and dreary night,
A tale of hunger so vile and dark,
Savage beasts that leave not one mark
Save a tarnished scar deep inside,
No victim girl or boy can hide.

This she intended yet did fail,
Instead other words did assail
Her poor mind in a jumbled rage,
Protesting inside a ment'l cage,
To be written was the demand,
Released to those of the mort'l land.

This is how the Eater of Hearts
Welcomed their first Eater of Harts.




Hunger. He knew only of the emptiness deep in his belly, the pain severe enough to pull howls from between his trembling lips. There would be no moon tonight, no light by which to hunt, no light to cast shadows and spook his prey. All he had to do was wait for the sun to set.

Purples burst across the sky as pink and orange edged clouds speckled the horizon, shining with the last of the sun’s warmth. Night crept over the landscape. Cool winds awoke and stirred, bringing forth crystalline frost, which played along his breath. Time slowed, grown tired after a long day. Seconds crawled by like minutes, lazily drifting with the leaves on the breeze.

Autumn nights were cruel to the lone wolf. Twig snapping taunts echoed through the forest, alert ears shifted, but it was only the wind breaking the drying trees. He prowled the undergrowth, silent paws leaving little mark on the rough path. The scent of deer filled his flared nostrils, but from where, he could not be certain. Seeping up through the dirt, the smell seemed to be all around. The thudding of his heart belied his excitement at finding some form of trail. It beat loud, close under his skin. Soft vibrations pushed against fur, over his paws, and into the ground.

No, not into the ground, the reverberations came up from the ground. He crouched low, void belly brushing the carpet of powdered detriment and leaves. He lifted his head. Ears twisted and turned, focused in their natural radar habit, and pinpointed the direction of the single animal running.

Closer and closer the deer clopped as his thundering hooves pounded the solid earth. Amber eyes glittered in the dark as the wolf watched, waiting to see the creature he hunted.

Mist gathered along the floor of the forest. It rolled in as the waves wash against the shore, small roils followed by subsequently larger, preceding the deer’s advance. Between thick trunks, the animal emerged, distant and small. It zigzagged forward, effortlessly snaking through the maze, growing larger by the second. The wolf stalled, momentarily taken aback. Long antlers sprang from the head of the deer, silhouetted by the glow of the body. A white hart danced before the wolf.

It is ill-luck to kill one of nature’s emissaries, but the wolf was weeks without food. His only thoughts emanated from his starved core; instinct overrode ingrained teachings and he lunged.

He growled in pleasure as his fangs sank deep in the thick furred neck. Crimson blood poured black in the moonless night; the dark liquid dribbled down the hart’s body and slid sizzling hot down the wolf’s throat. A quick twist of his body snapped the deer’s neck and together they fell into the brush.

The wolf stood and howled his delight. His muzzle buried deep in the dying light of the white flesh as he dug and tore at the corpse before him. He ate until his stomach could hold no more and then turned his attention to the piece he saved for last. He nuzzled aside the remnants of the ribcage and gingerly picked out the keeper of life. With reverence, he lapped away the blood from his prize. Dessert was his favorite part of any meal and he could think of nothing more delicious than the heart of a hart.

Sweet meat drenched his tongue and filled his mouth. He swallowed, savoring the flavor that clung to his canines. Halfway down, however, it lodged.

On a dark, moonless night near the end of autumn, a lone wolf slept, his stomach full and his lungs empty.