Chapter 1: Riders in the Snow
This is the story that tells us about what happened in the small region in South France before it was suffered by the beast. It is the story of those girl who almost lost her entire family, she once loved so much, to the beast of Gévaudan. It is her story. Hers and the story of her brother who once was much more to her than just an ordinary brother. The brother who never should have left her. The brother to whom she once meant more than everything else in this world, who was to her like a father. But also the brother who almost destroyed her entire life if no one would have known how to prevent him from this on the last second. But after all he was only a victim himself. A victim of those he trusted. A victim of those who misused him and his knowledge for their own purposes. A victim of those he was close to. So this is the story of Marianne de Morangias who lost her one and only brother Jean-Francois which she loved more than anything to her own mother with her henchmen and to the beast of Gévaudan in such tragical way and only because of that discovered the love of her life:
It was a clear winter morning in December 1762, as chilly and as clean as a fresh spring which flows silently bubbling from the rough, in the morning sun reddish glowing rocks of the area all around Mt. Lozère. Snow, as white as the clouds in the eastern morning sky has settled on the frozen landscape of the Gévaudan. A soundless, icy wind was blowing across the hills, just like an ice-cold breeze that freezes everything getting into its way. There was a creepy silence in the air. A silence that to endure it was almost detrimental. A silence that made one believe to be anywhere nowhere. The forest, other times lush and green, now shrouded into the deepest darkness was surrounded of impenetrable patchy fog that eclipsed almost every perceptible shape, that enveloped everything with a white haze of cold and silence. The thin skeletons of the trees, overcast of ice, bended under their great load, looked like choking under these, complaining of the much too hard winter that had pressed them with very bad this time. He stood silently there, the forest. Silent like in a dream. A dream that makes you forget. Forget that in summer here you can hear the birds sing. And actually you might have thought that nothing, but really nothing could have broken through this silence, yes, that nothing could have thrown up this unclouded picture. But the fog cleared up. Sounds defeated the unbearable silence. Hoofs of horses! Two lonely horsemen appeared at the horizon. Their horses were snorting for breath. The breath of the animals was to be seen even from a very far distance. At breakneck speed the riders approached the forest that was lying there as unspoilt as if no creature ever had put its foot on its ground. Snow was swirling around. The horsemen drove their horses. Forward, on and on. Coming straight onto the forest. One of the horseman, on further consideration one could see that in this case it concerns a young girl, was wearing a long, full robe, purple and lined of fine, soft as velvet fur which gave the impression of keeping oneself warm as good as a pleasant crackling fire in the homey fireplace and that even in deepest and coldest winter. The loose, elaborating skirt of the red glowing robe was flowing in the wind at a gallop at the back of its bearer like the tail of a fiery comet paving its way in the sky. The high brown leather bootees at her feet, lined with the same fur that was also adorning her full robe, were pressing the gelding to gallop forwards, faster and faster, on and on. Her long reddish hair which was gleaming yellowy-gold in the bright morning sun were pinned together skilfully to a symmetrical plaited ponytail under a little dainty hat, black, and ornate embroidered and decorated with lace and tulle. The beautiful thick curls pouring out of this work of art of a riding cap at her temples were jiggling and fluttering in the wind. The plait of the horsewoman was flying at a gallop just like the tail of her horse. A picture that to watch it was very amusing. Cheeks and nose of the young horsewoman were glowing red. Of cold mostly, though one might think now but most of all of fervour and amusement, since as it seemed that she was quite content with this ride and enjoyed it to the full to ride through the cold snow and the icy wind at this breakneck speed. Her shining eyes, as green as two gleaming emeralds, sparkled in the harsh light of the snow which reflected the light of the sun just like a mirror. The friendly and at the same time highly amused laugh of the girl was hardly unheard. The closer the two riders came to the forest the louder and clearer the voice echoed from between the trees. The other rider, a little dropped back behind his young female companion, looked rather exhausted and somehow tired, for instance as like he had to face some efforts in order to keep pace with his young fellow. Yet he still laughed, too whenever he heard her voice and it's echo, how it resounded out of the dark forest again and again and at the same time made the branches of the bare trees shiver. He was wearing a long coat, red brownish and of the best and thickest leather and a cape of finest black velvet which he was also pulling behind him just like a flag that stirs itself impatient to herald a great event. His sturdy black boots, lined with the soft fur of a wolf, were pressing his mare to top performances. The trousers of red glazing silk shimmered over and over again from under his whirled up coat, which nearly fell him over his ankles. On his head, covered with long black hair that was usually used to fell him over his shoulders in curls and that he now had tied together to a ponytail with a hair band of black shimmering velvet, the horseman wore a strange triangular formed hat, the brims decorated with golden ribbons and folded to the inside on its edges. On the left side of this strange headgear was tacking a bow in the colours of the French flag, fixed brightly and bordered with frills. The face of this rider was reddened, too but at him it looked more like it was effort that made his face glow red and not amusement, for example or less ambition. His narrow blue eyes looked rather despairing at the scene which presented itself to him in the foreground because unlike his young female companion he fell behind more and more.
This is the story that tells us about what happened in the small region in South France before it was suffered by the beast. It is the story of those girl who almost lost her entire family, she once loved so much, to the beast of Gévaudan. It is her story. Hers and the story of her brother who once was much more to her than just an ordinary brother. The brother who never should have left her. The brother to whom she once meant more than everything else in this world, who was to her like a father. But also the brother who almost destroyed her entire life if no one would have known how to prevent him from this on the last second. But after all he was only a victim himself. A victim of those he trusted. A victim of those who misused him and his knowledge for their own purposes. A victim of those he was close to. So this is the story of Marianne de Morangias who lost her one and only brother Jean-Francois which she loved more than anything to her own mother with her henchmen and to the beast of Gévaudan in such tragical way and only because of that discovered the love of her life:
It was a clear winter morning in December 1762, as chilly and as clean as a fresh spring which flows silently bubbling from the rough, in the morning sun reddish glowing rocks of the area all around Mt. Lozère. Snow, as white as the clouds in the eastern morning sky has settled on the frozen landscape of the Gévaudan. A soundless, icy wind was blowing across the hills, just like an ice-cold breeze that freezes everything getting into its way. There was a creepy silence in the air. A silence that to endure it was almost detrimental. A silence that made one believe to be anywhere nowhere. The forest, other times lush and green, now shrouded into the deepest darkness was surrounded of impenetrable patchy fog that eclipsed almost every perceptible shape, that enveloped everything with a white haze of cold and silence. The thin skeletons of the trees, overcast of ice, bended under their great load, looked like choking under these, complaining of the much too hard winter that had pressed them with very bad this time. He stood silently there, the forest. Silent like in a dream. A dream that makes you forget. Forget that in summer here you can hear the birds sing. And actually you might have thought that nothing, but really nothing could have broken through this silence, yes, that nothing could have thrown up this unclouded picture. But the fog cleared up. Sounds defeated the unbearable silence. Hoofs of horses! Two lonely horsemen appeared at the horizon. Their horses were snorting for breath. The breath of the animals was to be seen even from a very far distance. At breakneck speed the riders approached the forest that was lying there as unspoilt as if no creature ever had put its foot on its ground. Snow was swirling around. The horsemen drove their horses. Forward, on and on. Coming straight onto the forest. One of the horseman, on further consideration one could see that in this case it concerns a young girl, was wearing a long, full robe, purple and lined of fine, soft as velvet fur which gave the impression of keeping oneself warm as good as a pleasant crackling fire in the homey fireplace and that even in deepest and coldest winter. The loose, elaborating skirt of the red glowing robe was flowing in the wind at a gallop at the back of its bearer like the tail of a fiery comet paving its way in the sky. The high brown leather bootees at her feet, lined with the same fur that was also adorning her full robe, were pressing the gelding to gallop forwards, faster and faster, on and on. Her long reddish hair which was gleaming yellowy-gold in the bright morning sun were pinned together skilfully to a symmetrical plaited ponytail under a little dainty hat, black, and ornate embroidered and decorated with lace and tulle. The beautiful thick curls pouring out of this work of art of a riding cap at her temples were jiggling and fluttering in the wind. The plait of the horsewoman was flying at a gallop just like the tail of her horse. A picture that to watch it was very amusing. Cheeks and nose of the young horsewoman were glowing red. Of cold mostly, though one might think now but most of all of fervour and amusement, since as it seemed that she was quite content with this ride and enjoyed it to the full to ride through the cold snow and the icy wind at this breakneck speed. Her shining eyes, as green as two gleaming emeralds, sparkled in the harsh light of the snow which reflected the light of the sun just like a mirror. The friendly and at the same time highly amused laugh of the girl was hardly unheard. The closer the two riders came to the forest the louder and clearer the voice echoed from between the trees. The other rider, a little dropped back behind his young female companion, looked rather exhausted and somehow tired, for instance as like he had to face some efforts in order to keep pace with his young fellow. Yet he still laughed, too whenever he heard her voice and it's echo, how it resounded out of the dark forest again and again and at the same time made the branches of the bare trees shiver. He was wearing a long coat, red brownish and of the best and thickest leather and a cape of finest black velvet which he was also pulling behind him just like a flag that stirs itself impatient to herald a great event. His sturdy black boots, lined with the soft fur of a wolf, were pressing his mare to top performances. The trousers of red glazing silk shimmered over and over again from under his whirled up coat, which nearly fell him over his ankles. On his head, covered with long black hair that was usually used to fell him over his shoulders in curls and that he now had tied together to a ponytail with a hair band of black shimmering velvet, the horseman wore a strange triangular formed hat, the brims decorated with golden ribbons and folded to the inside on its edges. On the left side of this strange headgear was tacking a bow in the colours of the French flag, fixed brightly and bordered with frills. The face of this rider was reddened, too but at him it looked more like it was effort that made his face glow red and not amusement, for example or less ambition. His narrow blue eyes looked rather despairing at the scene which presented itself to him in the foreground because unlike his young female companion he fell behind more and more.