2018-09-17 14:29 fiction flash-fiction Benjamin Brood


Hunters come and go from The Lodge. The season is busy, the game is rich and plentiful. Hunting permits are prized, being traded for treasures or experiences. Nothing is worth more than hunting. The Lodge has an air of muted festivity. It's an important time, so demonstrating brashness or being jarring or loud could alter the mood, leading to abrasive reactions — the fabric of intonations could be polluted, the necessary temporal portals unintentionally dispersed. In the woods you must be careful, a circle should be circumnavigated. Lazy wanderings are discouraged. Of course wearing an emblem, patch or cloak with the correct combination of symbols can prevent needless accidents. The season will be short this year, and the hunters are eager, you must go carefully, tread lightly if you go into the mountains. Respect the hunters' cairns placed skillfully to entice sprites and spyryjyon. Ignore the hunters' singing and dancing in open fields, they are not always successful and the distractions of their prey can overwhelm them. The Lodge will be shrouded in mist, this is normal and to be expected.