Category: hunter’s life


His eyes, green fireflies in the darknesss of the night, were piercing the mist. His moves fast, deadly, like even by the way he ran, he could cut through the heavy and thick air.

Give me freedom, his body seemed to shout into the void, as he jumped from heighs, to dunk onto the the fresh soil, his talons buried deep into the fallen leaves and dark ground, as he was taking next leap.

His forest.

His kingdom.

His soul.

The Feast

All skeksis were looking at him when he feasted. He returned from the forest, as he was doing every trine, if uncalled, to check on how much older and weaker they became. There was some typical skeksis ego in it, to show himself strong, sharp and untamed, and observing them tangled in rich robes concealing their bodies and doing everything to not fall into skekSo’s disfavor.

He didn’t care also for subtleties of eating. He just sank his teeth in the meat – which was delicious, touched by Gourmand’s handy set of spices – and tore in half, swallowing almost full portion. He felt the more decent ones looked at that with horror. He gurgled with laughter, sending them a knowing gaze, and seeing them turn away.

He didn’t actually care if they like him, are scared of him, or hate him with passion. He missed them, though. Despite himself, this was his weak spot, and showoff of his strength was only one of the reasons why he was always returning.

Pitiful, silly, impossible… still, his own kind.

He caught skekSo’s curious look and taking the cup of wine – he missed that too – he leaned in his chair, allowing his back spines flatten against the support and secondary arms lay on the sides.

It was lush life which he led when he was younger. The Archer definitely implanted him some sentiments, while they hunted together.

It was indulgent, he thought when the cold and sweet liquid trickled down his throat. But when he was young, he was not different from them.

He liked this court of fools, even if he would use even violent means to deny it.


He would never be after his tongue, if he knew it was not him who was the lying one. Weak, pathetic prey for an experienced hunter like him. Wasting skill for a gelfling, yet the honor of a skeksis urged him to avenge his own kind.

But now, as he knows where the truth lays, it will be one tongue torn from the deceiving beak. And he makes sure no one ever tries to fool him, making an example from the messanger of lies

Closest of Their Kind

He observed skekSo more often than the Emperor could even guess. Most often, the ruler has seen him only when he revealed himself. The days in the forest passed slowly, animals were protecting their cubs this season and he didn’t mean to interfere. He will wait till they grow up and become worthy prey, no honor in pursuing a mother with her children.

But skekSo was always an interesting observation subject. Head always high, feathers crowning his face like a spiked tiara. The court members were coming and going, supplying, and demanding. And he herded them like nebries until they were doing what he wanted. What they should be doing.

But when he was alone and that was most often when skekMal was most curious to observe him, he was shedding the skin of a mighty ruler.  That was skekSo only skekMal knew. Tired, almost destroyed by responsibility and angry, very angry.

Most skeksis would never believe it, maybe only the angry part, but the Hunter knew that either of these faces are true one, it was duality they all had, despite being already halves.

skekSo was most dual of all of them.

The powerful Emperor at day. A tired shepherd at night.

The Hunter’s eyes were piercing the candle-lit chamber, when skekSo was massaging his own forehead, trying to get rid of the pain.

He allowed the Emperor to hear him and when skekSo turned back, he just disappeared.

Another time.

It was a promise.

He would never confront him when he was not ready.

skekSo, apart of skekSa, who wasn’t part of all of this anymore, was the only skeksis in the court, that skekMal had some respect for.

Another time. Hunt your nightmares, Emperor, with head high, just as you confront the reality.

Just as I confront mine.

Concerning Gelfling

The gelfling were indifferent to him as a prey.

There were tales that he especially likes to capture the reckless Stonewood, who got too far into the woods, kill them and eat their flesh to satiate his endless hunger for prey’s meat.

That was amusing.

Gelfling were unworthy prey and he killed them only, if they get in a way into hunt on something bigger and more intimidating. His skill as hunter would be insulted if he especially followed, tracked and killed a gelfling.

But that was good they feared him. They won’t be meddling in his pursuits.

He liked few gelfling in his life. These were not afraid of him, at least not when he allowed them to know him. When he allowed them to live and see that he won’t send them forth and follow them for sport, to later devour them. Though they believed that for quite long at the beginning.

Gelfling weren’t as stupid as the castle dwellers imagined. They were naive in some way that he couldn’t deny but could guess much more than skekVar or skekSo could expect. They didn’t have sharp skeksis senses, talons and fangs. They had much less to use. Yes there were hunters among them and he knew they aren’t weak, scared and clumsy. In comparison to him, much weaker, like childlings. but they had something, this energy of youth, that he liked observing, from afar, when they killed prey, fought for life or died in the claws and jaws.

Still, the tales of himself amused him, even if at the beginning, when he was young, insulted in some way.

Now he was wiser enough to use them for his own benefit.

The Trophy

He never knew what went wrong. His face gained a raw scar, a cut of talons that almost severed right half of his face. He didn’t care for how this looks. He would even wear it with pride, as all scars on his body.

But others would see and know, yes, know, he can be beaten, torn, and his flesh destroyed. He didn’t fight for reputation  being a shadow and death, to show the gelfling and especially skeksis, mostly other skeksis, that he can be vulnerable.

So he killed the beast. His size, his strength, all matched his own.

Took one trophy only, a skull. And put it on the face, on the scar and it fit, like he swallowed not only the strength of that animal with its meat but its being.

Many trines later, the gelfling will be talking about masked ghost, killing the reckless fools at night and leaving bones of animals, taking some as a trophy, the rest allowing to return to Thra and become one with earth. It will please him.

But now, first time in his short, hundred-trine life, he really absorbed the soul  of a slain beast. He didn’t know if this happens again. But it was good feeling.

Anything But Us

His opposite. His enemy. His friend. His lover. And his undoing if he ever chooses that.

He never ever tried to solve the mystery that was his counterpart. He never tried, not really hard, only sometimes was giving this a few thoughts, to abandon them, as unable to explain. He never knew if he can call him a foe or the only person that truly understood him. Even when they were sharing bodies. This was act of self love, which suited him. After all, he was as selfish as skeksis could be. Self love was only kind of real love he would admit he could feel to anyone.

urVa was patient. Not as patient as other urru. He had wild streak which fascinated skekMal, because he felt that he himself had some sentimental part too. There was a thick mental rope between them they shared and which was binding them together with a vine which couldn’t be cut.

Sometimes he thought that this sentimental side was implanted in him by urVa himself. Sharing hunts, sharing tales, sharing everything, when they rarely met – it all made him different. He was sure that the same happened with urVa – he became wilder, more reckless.

Dare and calm mixed together into something that once was a one creature and never – if skekMal had a word in that – will exist again.  The mere thought of being someone else than the Hunter, was repulsing to him.

They both shared one more love. Love for life. Curiosity for life and the will to explore, travel, tear the last drop of existence from Thra and absorb it themselves. urVa would not admit it but skekMal knew. He was observant and patient.

Why his enemy, his friend, his lover, his opposite, was the only one who could be his undoing? Why he had a string of certainty that urVa, even if loved him, could put Thra before him and himself?

But skekMal never wanted to destroy Thra. This was his land, his blood, his root and bone. And they both walked the same paths, sometimes in the same unum, knowing that the other was there too.

And smiling bitterly at that. Soon. We will meet soon. And we won’t talk about anything but us.

Not Today

There were rites at the beginning of time when he was still very young and his body still not as tested by battles and hunts and age, not scarred, not hard as leather. He was more naive, purer, and definitely more stupid.

He was thinking them up himself, leading parties of the hunting skeksis, who were as well young, and naive and very very stupid. Even more than himself, he thought.

Their bodies were bending in an ecstatic dance of the prosperity and when the hunt came well, they were taking even more wild approach, to appease Thra. To appease themselves, to assure themselves that Thra wants them.

Now, the rites were gone and the hunt started to be a rite of its own. He had his habits, yes. But he never danced at night anymore, never squirmed between starts, not now.

Now, he was silent, deadly, and focused and if he ever did any rite, did any honor to Thra, it was never before or after the hunt.

He was silent facing the days of youth. He wanted to forget them. Not because he was so very very stupid back then. Not because the other skeksis became even more stupid as the trines went on.

Because it – deep down in his soul – was too painful to think about. He had secrets, which never see the daylight. These secrets will disperse one day during the next and next hunt. It was his own ritual of survival and the way to forget the things that never should be seen by a living being.

He wanted to feed on life, on fresh prey. Not the ghosts that inhabited his soul every time he got lost in memories.

One day. One day he ventures onto these paths and deals with them.

But not today.

To Hunt the Death

The hunt never ends. But after a rough battle, the blinking stars over his head seemed blurred and the forest denser. The shadows were creeping around him as they felt blood on him. And there it was, a lot of blood, trickling, and pooling from his wounded flank and leg, like a stream of rubies. 

skekMal’s tired hand laid on the dead animal’s corpse, which he eventually slew. But not without costs. Each hunt could be his last, he knew that, but even if he was prepared, he didn’t  w a n t  that. He liked to live, conquer his limits, each day, from morning til night filled with lumimnescent light of Thra.

His gaze landed on the sharp jagged wound coming from his chest to his hip. A slight hiss escaped his beak. That was too easy. Too easily the animal wounded him. When he gets off this ordeal – and he was not sure, if he will, not at all – he will be more cautious. Last hunts made him feel invincible, and this one put him again on Thra’s surface. 

Curse it; he spat saliva, which was not mixed with blood. If he was wounded internally, it will be much more difficult to mend his hide.

But the animal was laying next to him, dead, very dead, and he was still alive. If he manages to move, he will go to his camp and mend himself.

He wouldn’t be skekMal, if he didn’t try.

He wouldn’t be a skeksis, if he didn’t want to win over death. One more time.

To Belong

He never considered himself a guest. Not in this forest. Not in Crystal Desert. Not among the nature breathing the fresh air into its green lungs.

He surely wasn’t born here and his body won’t return to Thra, as it never came from it.

But he was never a guest. He was part of Thra since his first day, when he was travelling whole day, searching for his first prey.

Maybe his blood never belonged here, maybe the soil would never accept it, when it soaks into the ground. But this land was his and no one would take that away from him, he was owner of it, as much as the other skeksis owned the castle, gelfling, power over the commons.

He didn’t even need to prove that. It was as natural as the circle of life, natural as strong taking over the weak, and natural as the predator claiming its meal.