Dearest

It had been a problem for quite some time. Something was in these woods, other than Spirit. Another hunter. But not one that deserved the title. Spirit had found bodies of creatures within the woods. Some monstrous and others… not so much. Dryads, and Timberwolves lay among Blight and Void. And as if killing them wasn’t enough, they always seemed…. Almost mutilated. Light slashes marking out letters and runes. A thousand cuts. The battlefield around them seemed only slightly scuffed, like the Hunter themself wasn’t having a hard time. They were just…. Toying with their food, so to speak. And they didn’t care where that food came from. Spirit kneeled next to the body of a dryad, offering a small internment right before it was swallowed by the earth, roots overtaking the body, who was adorned with slashes and burn marks. A small sigh. And then, in the far distance, she heard it. A haughty laugh, echoing through the woods. A fire lit in her eyes, and she was off. Leaping over roots, sliding under branches. The woods itself seemed to spur the Witch onwards, the path clearing before her. And it came into view. A stallion. Unicorn. Deep grey coat and silver mane. Golden eyes. Standing behind him were two young mares- clearly no older than 20. In front of them was a creature. Many would call it a monster. But Spirit knew better. It was merely a denizen of the woods. At first glance, it would appear to just be a black panther. Then another look. Six legs, and from its shoulders on its back sprout two whipping tendrils. Or… at least usually. This one only seems to have one, right now. A look at the ground. There’s the other. It still thrashed every now and again. Spirit’s question about it remained, though. Why didn’t it just blink? As if on cue, the panther-creature’s body began to fade away, as it backed up against a veritable wall of trees. As it was nearly out of view, a movement could be seen of it trying to jump away. Only for the grey stallion to scoff, “Oh no you don’t!” He called out, before he would make a motion with his hooves, as if he was pulling something to the ground. And with a sickening crack, the displacer beast was back in the material world, letting out a small whimper as it tried to stagger to its feet again. He stepped towards it, drawing out a longsword, and grinning, “Worry not, my lovely maidens, for with my blade, silvered by battle, will I fell this bea-” Spirit couldn’t handle it anymore. She stepped into the fray, between the witcher and his quarry, “Would you shut the fuck up. Why don’t you pick on something your own size, you freak.” Spirit’s heart was in her chest. The voice he had sounded familiar. But she just couldn’t tell why. The stallion, however, seemed to have no such problems, as he would shake his head, “Oh? And where, pray tell, might there be something my size, girlie? Or are you just here as another one of my entourage? I’m sure you heard that the great Slate the Slayer was in town!” Ah. There it was. Spirit’s muscles tightened up, and she grit her teeth, “Well, I’ll have you know that you’re looking at her. You should know to not underestimate a Witcher. Less so a Witch. Isn’t that right, Father?” A gasp drew from the mares behind him, as they began to whisper to one another. Spirit would look at them. One was a light brown mare with a darker mane. The other a white coated mare with a black one. Spirit looked back up to the Stallion, who let a vision of shock cross his face for just a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, before Spirit cut him off again, “What are their names? They seem like nice girls. Though, I’m sure they don’t enjoy watching you torture innocent creatures, right?” As they were spoken of, they both let out a small squeak, before turning their heads, as if refusing to look at the unicorn. The stallion would pause, before offering a small smile, “Why, I’m sorry, kid. You must have me confused! I, Slate the great, have no children! In fact, it’s impossible for them to h-” “Taproot.” “W-What did you say?” “Taproot. That’s her name. She still holds out hope that you’ll come visit her again. How do you think she’ll react when I tell her that you’re out here with two young mares who’s names you don’t even know?” “Well th-they… umm… never tol-” “Yeah we did. Did you forget already?” Spirit saw sweat visibly bead on the Witcher’s brow. She held back a smirk, as he stammered, “I… Yes. Of course! How could I forget my dear Tiger Lily?” “My name’s Brown Butter.” “And mine’s Schism.” “L-Ladies, please! You’ve seen the scars, right? You know that after all my stories I’ve regaled you with, I can’t remember every girl’s name who takes a fancy, right? R-Remember the Timberwolf?” he’d say, as he flipped a cloak aside, to reveal some scarring across the foreleg, “if I remembered everyone’s name, I wouldn’t remember my stories!” Spirit, at this point, coudln’t help but snort, “Timberwolf. That’s supposed to be a timberwolf scar? That’s the scar of a hunting dog. You got in the way of someone. Like you’re doing now.” As she spoke, the Witch would pull off her own forest green cloak, letting the rest of her emaciated body show. Scars adorning her skin in a spiderweb of pain. A tapestry of her own suffering. And the stories of her own, “This is what a Timberwolf does to you,” She’d say, as she revealed a deep gash down her side, “I have seen more than you have in your life, old man. And you've got three times my age. So… I will say this. Exactly once. I want you out of my forest. I want you out of my home. I want you out of my life. And I want you out of Taproot’s life. If you come back crying to her now that you remember her name, I will personally make sure you know what a real scar feels like.” The stallion gulped, and Spirit turned away. She approached the displacer beast, still on the ground, which hissed slightly at her approach. She paused for a bit, before she was able to kneel beside it, starting to perform the basic medical knowledge she had. She didn’t notice that the stallion was still there behind her. Nor did she see the silvered blade slowly lifting in a magical grip, levelled at her neck. She did feel the one remaining tendril of quickly wrap around her though. And the world went white for a moment as she was pulled from this plane of existence. It was just a moment. But when she and the Displacer Beast reappeared, she felt the cold metal of the silver blade embedded in the ground beside her, where she previously was. The mare leaned forwards, pressing her head against that of the beast’s in a show of thanks before she stood up. She turned to face the stallion. Already, with that one, earnest swing, his eyes were wide and his mane was disheveled. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Spirit would slowly approach him. Soon, she stood before him, her head only getting halfway up his chest. And yet, she only had one more thing to say to him, “Boo.” A choked sound escaped the stallion’s voice, and he would run, deep into the woods. A wind whipped through the trees for just a second, before Spirit would shake her head, “Let him go. Don’t make him suffer any more. And don’t keep him here. I don’t want him anywhere near you anymore.” Spirit moved to see the displacer beast once more, only to find that it had gone. As it should. She closed her eyes for a second, before a light ‘ahem’ caught her attention. Oh yeah. “Brown Butter. Schism. Do I have that right? Come on. I think we need to get you home.” ‘Weeellllll, you know, we do really like the scars. You look kinda cute when you-’ “You’re too young for my blood, sorry. And don’t take this the wrong way but when you get out of the woods? Please stay out. I don't want to play babysitter any more than I already do.” Slow nods. And soon, Spirit was alone in the woods. As she always had been. And as she hoped she would stay. …. Maybe she should pen a letter to her mother.