Chapter 17- Olin

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The deer fled through the dark forest that was once their safe haven. Their breath came in heaves and a sheen of sweat covered their flanks, they couldn't run much longer. The golden brown irises were being washed away by the whites of the eyes which flared with terror. In the scene the only colour seemed to misery, the darkest, blankest emotion, which leaked from every pore of the petrified herd.
   At the back mother doe's desperately tried to keep up with the rest while either their swollen bellies, or stumbling fawns slowed them down. All the while they were spurred on by the horrific cacophony of  sounds being emitted by the hunt. The deep booming of horns maliciously harmonised with the bloodthirsty baying of the hounds and the jeering cries of men cheering the dogs on. They did not just hunt for sustenance, they hunted for entertainment.
   To them the stumbling of the young who could not run properly on their gangly legs was amusing. To them the tripping of the old, whose bones were too brittle to endure the onslaught, was a triumph. And to them the stag, who stayed at the back to take the first blows and protect  his charges, was a challenge. A buck in their heads was a nice winter coat and trophy above their hearths. 
   Eventually a new sound filled the air. It was the screech of a bird, a large not at all ordinary bird. From out of the sky swooped a chamrosh, tamed and docile being ridden by a castor lighter than most. It made for a more aerodynamic combination and the two shot out of the sky and down towards the deer who knew they could run no more. The animals stopped and went into defence mode, the pregnant and young being forced into the centre of the circle  while the males and fitter doe's stood their ground on the outside. Meanwhile the dominant stag was rearing up and bellowing at those who threatened his herd. In his younger years he had relied on the protection of others and now it was his time to repay the debt. 
    Hounds slunk forward but were too cowardly to make a first strike, they were intimidated by the huge antlers some of the deer wielded. Castor men argued loudly about who got the right to kill the grand old bull who strutted up and down impatiently swinging his tangle of horns at any who dare step too close. In the end though their argument was solved for them as a wicked barbed spear flew out of the air and embedded itself into the bucks neck causing him to let out a low groan of pain. 
   Everything stopped. Now their was a new colour amongst the blacks, greys and browns...now their was red. Dark scarlet red, the colour of blood that oozes deep from inside the body. The great stag collapsed to the ground and suddenly the scene snapped out of existence. 
   Alec woke up screaming and covered in cold, clammy sweat. His throat felt raw but he couldn't stop as the imploring panicky eyes of the deer hung ghoulishly before him. Fai burst into the room (his bedroom was closest to Alec's) and ran over to the thrashing boy, who was desperately trying to hide his face under his blanket. 
   "What's wrong Alec. Was it a nightmare?" Alec shook his head slowly feeling unable to put into words the enormity of the horror he had just witnessed. 
  After several moments he managed one word in a strangled, hoarse whisper. "Olin."
  

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