the White heart

The White Hart

Long after the Three Sisters were welcomed into the family of the gods, long after Korak had pleaded his troth to Thellyne the Archer and been rejected many times, long after Silent Thellyne had welcomed the druids into the grove of Eliwyn and chosen to live on the earth, rather than in the heavenly sphere among the other gods, the Fair Sister won the horns of the White Hart. Word of the Hart had spread to forests across the land, and nearly every hunter who revered Thellyne the Huntress prayed to her to set the beast before him. From old men who had felled a thousand stags, to young huntresses new to their bows, all desired to win the horns and hide of the Hart. The legendary crea - ture was said to stand ten feet high at the shoulder, and fifteen from the tip of its great horns. It had been seen in only fleeting moments, and was the loveliest game beast that ever lived. Of all the hunters of the world, only one did not hunger in her heart to win this beast’s hide. Her name was Nayariel, and she was born and raised in a great elven wood. It was said that none of her race had a keener eye, and no elf, man, or any other mortal ever lived who was as perfect a shot with a bow. Nayariel was known to be the greatest hunter of her day, perhaps the greatest ever, and she did not wish to still the great White Hart—for she and the Hart were the same. In her youth, Nayariel had asked a great wizard to help her become the greatest hunter who ever lived. The wizard obliged by transforming her into every game beast under the sun. Before long, she knew their ways, thoughts, and very souls, and possessed the keen insight necessary to slay any beast. But the wizard did not tell her that for the rest of her life, she would transform back into these beasts. As time went on, Nayariel found herself adopting the forms of rabbits, foxes, wild hens and other lesser game on fewer and few occa - sions, until she only transformed into the White Hart. She traveled across the world looking for some means to lift this curse, for the wizard who had granted this ‘gift’ had disap - peared. In her travels, she continued to transform, spreading the Hart’s legend. In time, a great field of hunters from around the world assembled in an ancient wood where the Hart had last been seen. Indeed, Nayariel had hidden herself away there, hoping none would find her. Every day she prayed to Light-footed Thellyne to spare her and lift from her this curse, but the Woodland Guardian did not do so, for she had other plans for the White Hart. The great mass of hunters, which included legendary heroes from all the mortal races, descended on the wood, sending their hounds before them and beating the brush to call out the White Hart. Some noted that all the world’s greatest hunters but Nayariel were there; but if they thought much of this, it did not slow their progress. After a day of hunting, they set up camp, sang songs, drank beer and mead, and slept the sleep ofthe innocent. But in the night, Thellyne appeared in a dream to the hunters. She showed them a vision of the White Hart, pierced in the heart by an arrow—and where it was pierced, a river of tears sprang forth. The river flowed into the sea, and where it passed trees they hung their boughs low in sorrow, and when it met the great sea the waters turned red with blood. On the morrow, those of the hunters who were wise, including the great heroes among them, turned from the path. Ulfik, a renowned hunter and champion, declared to the others, “This way is folly! For the Fair Sister shows us we must not hunt this beast, and any who kill it will bring great sorrow to the world!” But some of the hunters did not listen, and continued, lusting for the horns and hide of the Hart. That afternoon, they saw their quarry, for Nayariel was transformed into the fair White Hart, and ran before the hunters. Their hounds gave chase as the field of hunters loosed arrows at her. It was not long before the White Hart staggered and fell, pierced by a dozen shafts. When the hunters came to the Hart, they cheered and blew their horns. And when they cut open the Hart to dress it, they found the body of Nayariel inside, pierced with adozen wounds. It was then that Thellyne stepped from the woods before them. “I denied you this beast, and yet you slew her. You are not faithful to me—you are snarling wolves, hungry for blood, and you will know this poor child’s curse for the rest of your days!” And with these words the hunters who slew the White Hart were transformed into wolves for a time; and they changed again with every full moon. Thus were the first werewolves born, and their evil persists to this day. Though Nayariel was killed, Silent Thellyne took her spirit as a companion, for great hunters need companions to help them beat the bushes and dress their quarry. As for the precious hide and horns of the White Hart, Thellyne and Nayariel dressed and tanned the hide so that Thellyne the Huntress might wear it as a cloak. They hollowed out the head, so that Thellyne might pull it over her brow as a helm; when she does so, the great white horns jut out before her to remind her followers that they must never kill the fairest beasts merely for the sport of it.