The Hunt
A Victorian aristocratic lady once remarked, with great astonishment to her host, that the end table in her guest's home wasnot covered by a table cloth, and asked, for the sake of maintaining decency,that it be immediately covered
so that the legs of the table would not be exposed. It is difficult toimagine a society wherein thewoodenlegs of furniture could be consideredan obscenity; the notion that such a sight maybe suggestive; so much so itmight
/conjure up indecent thoughts in the minds of those in high society.
Suchasexually repressedsociety is a difficultthing to comprehend.
Victorian prudery cannot be matched, that is for certain, yet it is not too dissimilar to that of thecultural attitude in elvish society and for that reason comparisons can be made so as to assist in the understanding of the stringentsexual
moralityamong this high race of people.
The carnal nature of man, or in this case is of elf, is a thing to be rejected, denied, and most certainly a thing not to be gratified.
Victorianliterature is rife with allegories pertaining to the repressed sexual self; unable to be contained, it festers until breaking through andfeasts on carnalindulgences. The denial of mans' bestial naturegives way and his
desires burst forth.
Thelesson learned is this; mans' carnal nature cannot be denied,sexualityis a force of nature that does not consent to be suppressed.
Elronyre stands on a stone cliff. The night is cool and a full moon reigns over the night sky. The night's lantern glows over Mirkwood.
Celebrian, the wife of Elrond, was rescued by her sons. He was told this earlier that and her company were assailed by orcson their journeyfrom Rivendel to Lorien. Celebríanwas captured by orc's, tortured by them. Anger
boils inside Elronyreas he reflects on this.
A wolf howlsin the night; a cry for the hunt. The blood rushes through Elronyre's veins, tonight is a night for hunting. Tonight is a night to kill. His hearing is beyond the ability of mortal man, his sight is as keen as an eagle.
They're out there, skulking about in the forest. He can hearthe creatures from a mile away.
He shoots, the arrow singes the orc's ear. It runs, at a furious pace it flees for its life. Another arrow flies above its head, embedding in a tree. An inch closerand it wouldhave gone straight through the wretch's cheeks. Elronyre doesn't
miss. He nevermisses.
Another arrow is locked and the bow string is pulled back. It shoots its target in the leg this time. The creature stumbles to limp away. But not for long. Another arrow is lodged carefully in its shoulder. The howls fill the air; hideous sounds. It'sthe
only partof the hunt that Elronyre hates.
The creature is lying on the ground now, it turns overtolook at him. Too afraid to growl, there will be no curses, no spitting, no threats. The game is over, and the creaturehas lost. Now there is only terror.
Elronyre stands tall above it, he smirks as he slowly locks his bow. The creature backs away. He smiles as he gracefully pointsthe tip of the arrow at the wretch. He speaks to it. "Your death won't be quick." He says with a shake of his head.
/Pow. The arrow shoots, not into the heart, not into the head, but intohis other shoulder. Another one impaleshimin the gut. It's perfect. No death comes quickly from a shot to the bowels. The creature is pinnedto the ground
now. It can't get away. Elronyre hasonly one arrow left.
It gurgles, it moans.
He locks the last one, and pulls back the string. Where should it go? He could finish the creature.
He pauses with the arrow drawn. They lock eyes.
Elronyre releases. The sound of the arrow impaling its body ispleasing to him. It lodges not in the heart, but next to it.
Elronyre sighs when the killing is over, he is trembling. This feeling; it's blood lust.
Elronyre has a dark secret. Hedoesn't kill because he has to. He kills because he likes it.