Ego || Gaston

Silent Breathing

Silent breathing.
The sound of heavy leather working boots being significantly dulled by the soft soil and grass beneath them.

Directly ahead – the sound of grass being torn by blunt, herbivorous teeth. Loud chewing and breathing. A soft grunt, as the deer raised it's head out of suspicion.

Little did it know that its breaths were numbered.
Before it had a chance to lower it's head back down to tear up another mouthful of grass, an arrow struck it directly between the eyes, painlessly and instantly killing it.

Almost as soon as the creature fell to the ground beneath it's strong legs, a booming voice resonated through the trees.

"That was meant to be MY kill. Who'd be out hunting in this spot anyway, at this time of the day?"

A familiar voice. But – No, it couldn't be. He'd been killed in the war. I was sure of it. I saw it happen. Hell, I was the one who struck him with the sword in the first place, the arrogant, conceited bastard!-

Without hesitation, I drew near to the beast that I'd earned as my dinner. It would indeed make a lovely roast.
I removed the arrow cleanly, and quickly lifted and slung the kill over my shoulder. It was big, and certainly not comfortable to carry in this way, but this was the most efficient method, and it's not like it was too heavy for me.

Walking swiftly, I transported the creature to my horse, tied to a tree not too far from myself. I placed it in the cart with my other prizes from the earlier hunt.
Hearing heavy footsteps drawing nearer to me, I raised my hood and mounted the black horse, willing it to gallop away from the woods I was in.

This would be the first of many hunting trips when I found myself hearing the voice of someone I could only assume at the time to be a ghost. Turns out, I couldn't have been more wrong.

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13 similar hunting occurrences later
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I watched as the hooded figure got on their horse with yet another kill they'd managed to swindle from just under my nose laying limp the cart behind them, and ride away from me, just out of reach. Again.
And that horse – I knew that horse. I knew that horse well, I was sure of it.
I'd never seen another black horse with such a uniquely shaped white patch of hair on it's left flank. One that could have almost been painted on, for it resembled the initials of it's owner's name so closely.

A D

I had hoped it was some kind of hallucination. Some kind of after-effect from the great fall I'd experienced – and survived, somehow – the year prior.

The fall that was extremely physically damaging, and not just to my body. Also to my reputation, to my sanity and to my pride. It was with luck that Belle was such a forgiving individual – most likely blinded by her love for the beast, the way I had been blinded by her beauty. Had it not been for her actions and words to the other townspeople, I may have been exiled from the little village I called home, and was once the boisterous and loud hero of.

Slowly, my body healed, and I regained my strength. It was nothing I hadn't had to do before, what with my being the handsome captain of an army. I'd learnt the hard way that there isn't much a man can't heal from, due to those days.

I closed my eyes, and I was there.

One moment of blindness, a slight hesitation, and I'd been struck by a sword in the middle of a battlefield, the sounds of explosions ringing in my ears as I closed my eyes, left to die if it had not been for my comrade and good friend Lefou and the wonderful widows who acted as nurses to me. The memory filled me with strength and life, the knowledge that I cheated death.
With this new found vitality, I decided to ignore this vision of a horse that was distracting me from properly hunting. I turned around and with a huff of breath, mounted my horse, and rode back to Villeneuve, my home.

As I approached the main square, I could see that the townspeople were surrounding a figure on horseback. Drawing closer, I was able to see over the crowd to what the commotion was about.

The cloaked figure I'd seen moments earlier in the woods was standing there, with a hood masking their face, and loose hunting drapes masking any sense of humanity.

The figure gracefully removed themselves from the horse, and made their way around it towards the cart it pulled, full to the point that I wondered exactly how strong that horse actually was to have been able to pull it along the uneven woodland paths. They began to distribute the meat around, with townspeople throwing coins into a small velvet bag within the cart as payment.

I dismounted my horse, drawing my sword as soon as my feet hit the ground. The sound of resonating metal and thud of my boots on the cobblestones caught the attention of the hooded figure, and they too drew a sword.

The group of people between us noticed the tension and parted, a quiet whisper moving through them as I carefully assessed the situation with a military mind.

The figure lunged – feigned. They tricked me.
We were quickly engaged in a dangerously paced sword fight. Quite effortlessly, seemingly, the person was able to overpower me – me! – and send my sword sliding across the floor, where they easily trapped it under their boot, so I could no longer take hold of it.

There was only one person in the world that I knew of who would be able to do that quite so swiftly. I laughed and raised my arms as surrender, more out of shock and surprise that this person was still alive, just as a knife thrown ever-so-tactfully shot past my head and straight through the sleeve of my favourite beige leather hunting jacket, pinning me to the wooden pillar behind me.

The person walked close to me, pulling off the hood and cloak as they did so.
Waist long, brown and thick gently waved hair. Lightly tanned skin – likely from the amount of time spent outdoors. High cheekbones. Full, red lips, curving at the ends into a smirk. Mysterious, mischievously sparkling brown eyes.

"How are you even alive?" she hissed, her lips parting to reveal perfectly straight, white teeth.

She was a vision of beauty, even with her eyebrows knit in fury, every aspect of her seemingly hand crafted by gods themselves, as she strode towards me and placed her sword up to my throat.
I chuckled.

"Hello, Angelique."