THE HUNTED

Leto looked around the woods with an almost nostalgic eye. It had been so long since he had seen anything that wasn't the deep black waters of Ivok's realm. The green of the trees were like emeralds and the pale yellow of flowers like honey dripping from a beehive. The colors seemed exceptionally vibrant and their beauty soothed an ache in his heart he had never realized was wounded. Maybe it wasn't Leto feeling that longing for color and life but whatever part of Ivok was inside him, though Leto hoped it was just him finally seeing the wonder in the world after such a very long time.

- A long time... how long? -

Leto thought, thought the idea found no audience in the real world. Leto felt as if he had been trapped for eons in the dark waters of that other space yet somehow he doubted that was really true. He prayed it wasn't. He looked around with care to try and find a land mark he could recognize but the little pond was one he had never seen before. The dark bark of the surrounding trees made him think that he was in the Darkwoods, but the trees seemed spread out and maybe tended. The Darkwoods were as wild a place as you found and unlikely to be maintained by anything more than the trials of nature. Looking close at the water Leto's ear twitched as a strange whisper seemed to sit against the unmoving surface. A whisper of unfulfilled promise and dashed hope...

In a strange moment of clarity Leto knew, just knew without thought or process, that the pond had been made by hand. Hands really, several people working together to clear the area and dig the space so that it could naturally fill with freshwater. Yet that was all he knew, the how but not the why or what kind of promise and hope were left wanting. Just a pond in the forest filled with rainwater... Leto shrugged before turning and looking around again. As he focused he noted that many things carried a faint whisper about them now.

He watched a tree for a moment before he heard a whisper of a growing seed that had to turn itself slowly to avoid rocks at its base and still grow strong. Of a bird whose nest was attacked by a vicious snake no matter where she built to lay her eggs. The snake who had watched the bird for so long and knew where an easy meal was but was old and expected to die soon. The world was a roar of whispers that slid over Leto's brain like cobwebs, some sticking for him to hear while the rest just passed behind him. As he tilted his head he caught the faintest hint of a stronger whisper, something more aware than a tree or beast, it was a barely formed concept but it seemed vivid to Leto. Fear. An idea of being chased and overtaken and the fear of not having control over their own fate. The sound was so strong to almost bleed over into other senses.

Leto took a second to orient himself on the sensation before beginning to walk toward it. That fear called to him, yet even as he moved he noted other sounds around him. None were as clear as the rich fear but some were clearly the whispers of higher thought. Anticipation, bloodlust, eager hunger, hate and anger, pride, loathing, and even touches of something Leto didn't have the words for. He moved with care, not hurrying his steps but hopping along with purpose. His new body seemed to require a bit of care and his balance was a small trial to master. When he neared the whispers subtle songs of action echoed in his mind. Two young lovers enjoying the woods, sharing fruits drenched in honey and sweet words, then the shouts of hunters... An arrow flying through the air and the sting of pain that rang sharp and sweeter than the hushed promises and honeyed fruit. Fear and running, laughter and shouts, certainty and finality.

Leto stepped between the trees standing before a slopping hill over the scene. Two satyrs cornered against a great tree, one with a wounded leg and the other pressed in front of her trying to shield her with his body. The male had two long and tall horns just starting a slow curl, his light brown fur tinged with small curls like the hair on his head. He had fair skin and many light red tribal markings peaking out between his meager clothes. The young satyress was pretty, her horns curling into almost complete spirals at the sides of her head, his face still holding that crisp youth while her body grew to adulthood. She held a hand tight over her left leg where part of an arrow shaft stuck from the meat. Her hair was dark, nearly black save for the streaks of light brown. Around the two were several humans, dressed in leathers and using weapons of quality that made the soldier in Leto sick to see. Chipped swords, worn bows, and axes more suited for chopping trees than flesh.

Looking at the ground, Leto's arrival did not go unnoticed... The humans turned to glanced up at the large figure of the goatman while the two satyrs seemed to go perfectly still in animal fear. Leto's yellow eyes drifted over the group and he saw the stirrings of movement touch the humans first as they started to make a choice on what to do next. Leto's lip raised in a small snarl as he focused his thoughts at all of them and attempted to communicate.

- ENOUGH! -

Every single one of them, the hunters and satyrs alike, dropped and covered their heads. Leto's thought moved over them like a wave that set off the screaming. The whispers that seemed to naturally float around these people was sent to chaos by Leto's thought and rippled like the surface of a still pond meeting a stone. Most of the humans took a knee as they dropped their weapons or held their heads. The pain looked fleeting but very real to them. As it passed Leto realized his mistake, trying to will his thoughts from mind to mind. That was something he had learned to communicate with Ivok, whose own mind was so vast as to nearly crush Leto's very soul, even with someone more understanding to Leto's limits it was too much to just push the thought at them. Leto raised a hand to his mouth as he coughed into it like an instructor trying to gather the attention of a class. The screams had died down to pained grumbles and most the soldiers took up their weapons or at least found their legs beneath them.

"What is this?" Leto asked with narrowed eyes.

His voice was deep and sounded like gravel even to his own ears. It was not the voice he remembered, the voice he'd grown up with or sung with during the summer moon. It was a voice that sounded full of smoke and miles of bad road. His long fingers curled around the black staff Ivok had given him and he waited for an answer to his question. He wasn't given one, not one proper as he expected. Rather one of the humans raised his sword up high and shouted at the top of his lungs. The call seemed to rouse something in all the hunters.

"Raaaaaaagh! It's just a 'nother fuckin goat lads! We'll take 'em too!" The man called.

He had a wide grin on his face but the beads of sweat against his forehead spoke more than his words. His voice was to push back fear, the men's and his own, while the sword he held like a god's promise tight in his hand. No strange or terrible thing may find him unprepared so long as he carried that stick of hammered iron. Leto took a step forward but that was apparently the wrong choice if words were his hope. One of the hunters grit his teeth and stepped forward with an axe raised high. He was the closest man to Leto but his motions were sloppy and slow... he had the strength behind the swing but it seemed no real training. Leto swung his staff low at the man's legs while his free hand moved to grab the axe just below the head. The hunter's balance crumpled as the cool wood of the axe handle fell into Leto's palm. The hunter didn't let go of the weapon but it mattered little.

Each race had something they were known to do. Orcs were feared for eating their victims. Goblins poisoned their tools. Satyrs? Well who hasn't known a goat to butt heads? So Leto slammed his head forward into the man's nose to a satisfying crunching sound. As the man fell back the others found their courage at last.

It was a battle.