Wild Hunt

Legends abound of spectral black dogs, framing the slopes at night, harbingers of death to all who encounter them.

Some say these are the hounds of hell, the ghostly hounds of the wild hunt from Celtic myth, or yell hounds, chasing souls in the dark under Hearn the Hunter's lead.

Neon Hill even has origin legend involving the devil himself.

One tale claims the devil hurled a massive stone or clod of earth at the nearby village of Eversham, aiming to destroy its abbey.

The drumming Brady heard was also interesting.

While looking into that, I found stories about hellhounds accompanying something known as the wild hunt, a folklore motif found across parts of northern Europe involving a supernatural procession of spirits or other beings moving through the night.

Some versions even describe hounds and drumming.

I have no idea whether any of that truly connects to what happened to us.

Maybe Brady's drumming came from something completely unrelated.

Or maybe we encountered something people have been telling stories about for centuries.

Was the creature that chased us the Grimm? Did the drumming have anything to do with the wild hunt? I don't know.

Those are only guesses.

Can you give us a couple highlights, things that we maybe don't know about? Can you spoil anything?

Yeah, I think the most exciting one for me is the Wild Hunt, which is there are not only Eldritch.

When an Eldritch fits too much in what embodies it, it becomes an Eldritch God, and things go south pretty quickly.

They are very based on Morkbor Miseries in a way that they can change the world around them in ways that can be beneficial, but mostly are not.

Really brutal.

I wanted to bring in his, his role as this, this, oh, leader of the Wild Hunt and that kind of thing, and his relationship with the other world, which also comes into the brute tradition.

And so over the course of the narrative, he becomes less supernatural in my story.

Mm-hmm.

And, um, you know, "Arthur of Bauer has broken his bond." Like he's come back.

He comes roaring up the land.

Like that is the Wild Hunt Arthur.

That is the earlier, the folk h- kind of hero Arthur, not the political k- sort of-

It was a time of great festivities.

And it's also believed that the god Odin leads his wild hunt.

You will see it in the sky.

Odin on his powerful horse.

Turning to another well-known tradition, we have Santa Claus, who is clearly Saint Nicholas of Myra, but some have argued that his flying reindeer that pull his sleigh are a little too similar to Thor's being pulled by goats or Odin's flying horse.

or even possibly the Wild Hunt.

The thing is, Santa didn't have reindeer pulling his sleigh until 1821, and that comes from a poem that was published in New York.

So a pagan origin for Santa's reindeer and sleigh is pretty much out of the question.

And that topic was, again, that was meant to be a book of its own.

But with the Wild Hunt connections, it fit very nicely into this book on fairies.

So I'm very, very proud of my research in that.

I think that's... probably i mean i've i've from all the research i've done there's disparate eternal hunter uh that's what that chapter talks about in the dirty witch yeager the eternal hunter it's our our wild hunt analog here in pennsylvania uh these disparate legends exist all over the place newspaper articles folklore books blah blah blah and i think i i I think I'm the only place that's ever collected them all together.

And I tried to be exhaustive.

I'm sure I missed some to my great frustration.

End of chapter 9 Recording by Shiromi Arcerio

CHAPTER TEN THE WILD HUNTSMAN The forest pots were dappled with sunlight, as father and I strode down its winding glade, and all the wood things were chirping and chattering with joy.

Now and then, something brown and furry scuttled across our path, and once I all but trod on the tiny mouse, who had hidden herself under last year's leaves.

You clumsy boy, said the tiny voice, and I turned in time to catch sight of a wee pink elf as she sprang from the flower father wore in his buttonhole upon a bright blue butterfly which has been hovering above her for some time and now darted swiftly away.

I was still staring at her when there flashed through the air a huntsman on a fiery horse followed by many hounds.

Their hurrying feet knocked off my cap and rumbled all my hair.

They had passed in a second and next moment i heard their baying far away the little woman in green sobbed still but she seemed to be growing calmer her hair and eyes were a soft light gray and her frock was most prettily trimmed with tufts of moss aha i thought when i noticed this you are one of the most women i've no doubt for i knew that this was supposed to haunt the forests of southern germany that was the white huntsman said the little thing looking at me trustfully but for the kindness of the woodcutters who make these marks in the trees they fell i should have fallen to his bow and spear when we can find three crosses we are safe for he dare not touch us then i waited to hear what else she would say for i thought of the kobolds why why why and did not like to ask her questions in a little while her lips were smiling and swaying to and fro as a tree sways in the wind she began to sing i knew i had heard that song before but i could not think where until i remembered that the pines which rustled against the windows of my night nursery had often sung it when i was small is the song of the wind she told me and the very first sound we hear we are born in the roots of the tree which is to be our home and when this dies we must die too so long as the sap runs through its branches and the bark is not cut or injured we are safe and sound in our snug recess but at certain times we are bound to leave it to seek for food or to attend our lords it is then that we are in such grave danger and all because alfreda tried her witcheries on a stranger what did she do i could not help asking i will tell you said the moss woman sadly and then you will understand why even the youngest of us has now gray hair the wild huntsman elfida was the fairest of our race she signed and her palace the tallest and straightest point that ever raised its boughs to heaven when she left its shelter at early dawn to bathe in some sparkling stream or seek for sweet berries in the thickets the flower elves flocked to greet her white roses gave her their bloom for her oval cheeks and the violet scented her sunny hair Wherever she passed, the moss grew a brighter green, and she had but to breathe on a non-dawn trunk, and the softest feathery fronds came to hide its ugliness.

The creatures of the forest were all her friends, and took pride, as we did, in her loveliness.