(Today’s story is a quick practice in free writing, it generally works for short stories and I plan for this one to be very short!)

Horse hooves drone almost in unison, driving dust into the clammy midnight air. In the moonlight, the horses are ridden by a group of hunters. One stops and dismounts, surveying the area to the side of the path. He turns and shouts back to his group. “Aye! It crossed ‘ere.” His gruff voice sends some birds fluttering out of a tree, startled from their perch. The man ties his horse to a nearby tree as the others dismount. Another man, taller yet slimmer in build, wonders over to the side of the path. “Well I’ll be damned, that bloke was tellin’ the truth!” As the group of five gathers around, the full moon glimmers in the small puddle that has formed within a large paw print.

The first man, having tied his horse up, returns to the paw print and kneels beside it. “She said the damn thing was as big as a bear.” The others laugh nervously at the notion, but their confidence is high. After all, five men can take down a bear, what is to stop them from killing a wolf? As the men scatter to tie up their horses, the man kneeling calls out and waves the taller man over. “Aye Christoph, this ‘ere be no normal wolf.” Christoph laughs, his voice cracking slightly, hinting at fear. “What are you sayin’ Papa? You believin’ in werewolves?” His father shakes his head. “No. This ‘ere’s a silvermane paw print.” He stands holding a small bit of shimmering silver fur, and he takes a deep breath. “I wish it were a werewolf.”

As  father and son take point, the other three cover them from behind. “Clay, what do ya think a silvermane looks like?” A man looking as if he’s seen many hunts in his day turns to face the young man who questioned him. “A silvermane, boy?” He chuckles to himself at the boy’s startled reaction. “A silvermane ain’t no ordinary dog, nor is it a wolf. No. The silvermane is a rare magical creature. Its fur shimmers in the moonlight, but that is only if it wants ya ta see it.” He judges the boy’s reaction and turns to the other man taking up the rear. “Tell me, Sharn, ya ever seen a silvermane?” Sharn looks sternly at Clay and shakes his head. “No Clay, I can’t say I’ve ever seen one. But I think you shouldn’t fill Dayden’s head with stories. He’s more nervous than a hen in a fox den.” They both turn to Dayden and notice he is visibly shaken. Clay nods to Sharn. “Aye, but that’s all they are. Just stories.”

“Papa, why are we hunting this animal if it is so rare?” Christoph looks to his father’s eyes for the answer. “It’s become a man-eater and once they get the taste for flesh, they continue to hunt it.” As they come to a slight overhang, they wait for the rest of the group to catch up. Christoph clears his throat. “Do you think we’ll find it?” His father turns to him and grins wildly. “I think we’re on the right track.” His eyes dart to Christoph’s feet where more fur can be seen shimmering in the moonlight. As Clay and crew catch up he glances between the boy and his father. “Why’ve we stopped Mandarus?” Christoph looks to his father, astonished by the fact someone used his full name. Mandarus looks between the members of the group. “Because, we’re catching up. So I want you blokes to be ready for it.”

As the men descend the steep hill near the overhang, they trees seem to have grown closer together. Mandarus readies an arrow and looks to his son. The silent nod gives Christoph a vote of confidence in his father. Clay begins to travel wide, and Sharn and Dayden go wide away from him to the right. A slight snapping of a twig sends everyone’s head spinning, and the group sees a small pheasant rushing through the brush. Mandarus easily pins the bird to a tree, and the group stifles a laugh. “Damn bird nearly scared the piss outta me!” Christoph shakes his head to his father’s grin. Mandarus turns to Sharn and Dayden and they shake their heads. As he turns to get the approval of Clay, he finds him out of sight. “Clay?” Mandarus whispers in anger. “Clay, where’d ya go?” As they walk over near where he was, a small tuft of silver fur shimmers in the moonlight. As the group tightens their formation, a breeze blows the scent of wet dog into the air.

Meanwhile on the path, a group of travelling monks come across a group of horses tied to some trees. One monk turns to another and grins. “My prayers have been answered!” As he rushes over to the nearest horse, the other monk shakes his head. “I doubt that, I believe these horses are here for a reason! They are most likely a group of hunter’s horses.” As the two pause to consider that fact a slight breeze carries the scent of wet dog and a slight murmur. “Did you say something?” The monk by the horses turns sharply toward the other. “No… did you hear something?” As the two monks stand staring at each other, it comes again. “…Hellllp…” Suddenly the small group of monks flock to the horses and tear off into the night. The horse hooves drone almost in unison, driving dust into the clammy midnight air.