Okay, here comes the more complicated part of the story. Warning, this part features like four to eight different languages, since The Wild Hunt is so universal in European mythology, it seemed to make a lot more sense to include a bit of everything.
Unfortunately, it also means that I have to rely on Google Translate, which is notorious for screwing stuff up. I am a B1 in German, but that's about the extent of my knowledge of other languages. As such, if you happen to be fluent in any of the languages featured in this story, and find anything wrong PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I WILL FIX IT!
Also, thank you ya'lls for all the reviews on the story. You all seem to think this is a very interesting beginning, hopefully this lives up to your interest.
The sound of the horn seemed to blow through Sarah, making her ears buzz with the sound. A cry of many men followed, barely different from the whistling wind followed it. Sarah turned towards the shouts, her eyes straining into the snow and wind.
There, a light. Many lights. A dozen torches shining through the snow. The sound of the group became more clear. Yelling, cursing in a dozen different languages, dogs barking, women laughing.
People!
They burst through the blizzard on horses as black as night, dogs biting their heels, men urging them on through the storm. There were twenty, maybe thirty of them. It was hard to tell because they all blended and danced between one another as they rode.
Sarah tried to call to them, but her voice could not compete with their noise. They likely wouldn't notice her, she was in the dark, quiet and small. But they couldn't pass her, she would freeze and die.
Sarah began running, drawing energy from some final source, following the group as she went. She hurtled straight into their path, stopping when she was in front of the charge. She watched them gallop towards her, her face like stone. Better to die quickly at the feet of their horses then to slowly freeze.
The horse in front was the largest, and was white. Whiter than the snow it effortlessly tore through, almost as white as the thread on Sarah's spindle. It's rider was a large, burly man wearing a dark brown cloak, and when he saw Sarah, he jerked on his reins and the horse pulled to the stop.
The whole party followed his example. They fell eerily silent as they waited to see what had stopped them. The white horse stamped it's feet impatiently. The figure in the cloak leaned over the head of his horse.
"Little mortal, why do you stop our Hunt?" An old, deep voice with a heavy Irish brogue that made Sarah's bones ring.
"I- I…" Sarah forced her teeth to settle. "Good sirs. I'm trying to g-get back to my lodgings. I'm afraid I'm a b-bit lost, could you help me to-"
"Sarah."
She nearly dropped the spindle, peering to the side of the white horse. On a fine black slender steed a man was pulling down his hood. It revealed yellow hair poking every which way, blowing widely in the wind. Eyes accented with black and blue lines narrowed in worry. A familiar mouth twitching into a frown.
"J-Jareth." Sarah chattered, she supposed she should have been more surprised to see him, but she couldn't muster up the energy to. "B-been a whi-while, huh?" She smiled, only it came out more like a grimace.
Jareth was not amused. He swung off his horse, his dark eyes never leaving her.
A rumble like laughter filled the leader's throat. "You know this mortal?"
"As a matter of fact, I do." Jareth snapped, he quickly walked over to Sarah. His horse followed him without guidance. He tilted his head to the side, and he reached out to touch her cheek with a gloved hand. "You're freezing." He noted, sounding slightly horrified.
"Yes." Sarah agreed, clutching the spindle to her chest. "And wet."
Jareth looked her up and down, then snapped to the leader on the horse. "Is mian liom í a thógáil." He said faintly. Sarah's mind slowly translated the irish.
I wish to take her.
The leader laughed. "Is é an Fiach é, tar éis an tsaoil? Tóg an rud atá uait."
It is the Hunt, is it not? Take what you want.
Jareth nodded, then turned and held out his gloved hand. "Come." He said in English, his voice rough.
Sarah stared at his proffered hand for a moment. The words he and the leader had spoken echoed around in her mind. She knew they were important somehow, but they seemed to hold little meaning. And she was cold, so very cold. She pulled one hand from the spindle that she clutched to her chest, and placed it in Jareth's.
At once she was pulled into a warm, welcoming embrace beneath his cloak. Sarah sighed in contentment, her shivering settling as he tucked his cloak more securely around the both of them.
Jareth picked her up with one arm, cradling her against his chest as he mounted his horse, setting Sarah in front of him. He carefully covered every inch of her with his cloak, even going so far as to pull it under her socked clad feet.
"Ready to ride?" The leader asked, looking to Jareth. Jareth in turn looked down to Sarah, who nodded.
Then someone blew a horn again and they began running.
They went much faster than a normal horse should. The ground seemed to run like a river beneath them, only skimming across the top. It was also, unfortunately, not a smooth ride. Sarah rather felt like she was being bounced around like a single bean in a can.
But Jareth kept one arm tight around her, the other on his reins, and she did not fall off. The party raced over hills in seconds, Sarah even thought she saw the town she was staying in in the distance, but she wasn't sure in the snow.
Then suddenly the leader gave a great shout, the dogs barked with a new conviction, and they leapt up into the air. Sarah gasped, thrown back against Jareth' s chest. He leaned forward, his chin touched her cheek, arms as steady as ever as they gained altitude.
Sarah's hands tightened around the spindle she still clutched to her chest. She looked down, the white hills below soon disappeared behind a wall of whirling, screaming, snow.
Suddenly they burst through the snow and were riding atop the storm, rather than under it. Beneath them the clouds roared as they dumped their snow in the world beneath them. Above them stretched the dark sky, a thousand stars shining brighter than the torches the others had brought.
Sarah gaped at the beauty of it all, but found it hard to focus on the beauty around her. Despite the warmth Jareth and his cloak brought, Sarah's jaw clattered together incessantly. Her feet felt nothing in their soaked socks.
Jareth suddenly kicked his horse, they sped up till they were riding side by side with the leader. "Tá mé ag dul ar ais le teacht." He shouted. "Tá sí fós ró-fhuar."
I'm going back to camp, she is still too cold.
"Tar ar ais go tapa. Tá beagnach gach duine bailithe againn."
Come back quickly. We have almost gathered everyone.
Their horse broke off from the group, running it's own way across those endless plains of clouds.
"Can you move your toes?" Jareth asked, his voice low in her ear.
Sarah tried and failed to move her numb feet. "No." She whispered back.
Jareth spouted a curse, he kicked the horse harder and they ran still faster. Sarah closed her eyes to protect them from the whistling wind. At once a wave of exhaustion settled on her, her head nodded forward, then jerked back up.
Jareth's arm tightened around her waist. "Don't fall asleep." He whispered intently in her ear. "Don't you dare fall asleep."
Sarah forced her eyes open, but the exhaustion remained. She began jabbing herself with the hook on the spindle every time she started to drift away. Soon, they came to the edge of the clouds that created the snowstorm and they ran on air again.
Below them, she saw the sea, shining in the half moon. It crashed and turned over and over itself, Sarah watched it with glazed eyes. It was like a lullaby in a picture, and she was so very cold. Her eyes drooped.
She stabbed herself again and jerked awake.
They ran across the sea, just fifty feet above its depths. A grey line appeared on the horizon.
"France. I believe that is what you call it now, correct?" Jareth whispered in her ear. Sarah nodded.
The cliffs were fast approaching, growing steadily larger.
Soon the sea was far behind them, they were running on the ground again. It disappeared underneath them faster than anything had a right to, yet Jareth still urged the horse on faster.
She had to use the spindle three more times to keep herself awake before they came to the camp. It started with a speck of light that grew into a large bonfire in the distance. Jareth pressed his cheek against hers and sighed. "Here we are."
The fire was surrounded by several tents propped up expertly with poles and lines. Figures stood around the fire, cutting wood, washing dishes and clothes, or preparing food. A smaller fire to the side held a roast pig on a stick.
They rode straight into the campsite, the people yelled and scattered from their work until Jareth pulled the horse to a stop. He swung off, leaving Sarah alone in the saddle, her teeth clattered as she further explored their surroundings.
"Heat water. I require a bath." Jareth ordered, and several abandoned their work entirely to follow his orders. "Hurry," Jareth barked. "she has been in the cold far too long."
Then he took Sarah by her waist and pulled her down from the horse. He swung her against his chest again, going up the roaring fire, setting her down on a stump there. The heat of the fire felt uncomfortable against her cold, wet skin, but she did not protest.
Jareth took off his cloak and spread it across her back, then knelt before her. Sarah watched as he tore off her wet, sodden socks and tossed them into the fire. He began rubbing her feet, muttering words she couldn't understand as he did so. Slowly, ever so slowly, they seemed less like icy blocks and more like the flesh they were supposed to be.
Suddenly, Sarah gasped. "Hurts."
His hands felt like a thousand tiny blades her feet.
"Good." He replied roughly. "Try to move it."
Sarah tried, and found she could wiggle the toes. Jareth sighed in relief and started on the other. Behind them, Sarah could hear what she assumed were servants running around, pots banging together as they tried to carry out Jareth's orders.
It seemed silly they had jumped so readily to his commands. Wasn't Jareth the king of the goblins, not these people?
"Give me your hands." Jareth ordered. Sarah took one hand away from her chest and he began rubbing that as well until she could move it normally. She switched the hands holding the spindle so he could work on the other one.
When that was done, he stood, sweeping her up in his arms again. Sarah teeth still clattered like skeletons. Her skin felt warm, but the cold seemed deep seated within her, not so easily removed by some rubbing or a few minutes by a fire.
"This way, my King." A woman's voice said, and Jareth walked long, powerful steps across the campsite.
They entered one of the tents, a steaming tub of water sat in the center. Two women in plain, medieval style clothing stood on either side.
Jareth set her on a nearby stool. "Watch her, wash her. I will fetch her new clothes." He ordered, then swept out of the tent.
The moment the flap closed behind him, the women ran to her. They tugged the spindle away from her hands and tossed onto the floor.
"Hey!" Sarah reached for it. But they grabbed her by her shirt and pulled it off. Her pants followed. They struggled with her bra until Sarah showed them how to unclasp it. They tossed this, and her underwear to the ground with the rest of her clothes.
They supported her trembling legs as she stepped into the bath, sinking down into the steaming water. Sarah hissed first in pain, then in pleasure from the warmth.
For the first time in hours, Sarah began to feel warm. Her shivering slowed to a stop as her core temperature rose. She glanced to where they had heaped her clothing, only relaxing fully when she saw it's end poking out from under her pants.
The women wasted no time, scrubbing her until she was pink and red from warmth and friction instead of the cold. Away went every last shred of shivering, along with all the dust and dirt she had collected over the past week in the tomb.
When they finished, they helped her out of the tub and pattee her off with soft towels. She was then guided over to a padded table. There she laid comfortably as they rubbed and massaged sweet smelling oils into her skin. As Sarah became more aware, she noticed their touch felt odd, more gusts of wind pounding against her skin than hands, but the effect was not unpleasant. They rubbed away all the knots in her skin, the tension released into the steaming air around her.
They took a robe and covered her when they finished, it was silk lined with soft linen. Sarah sighed in contentment as they tucked it around her.
A knock against a pole holding the tent up, the two servants looked to Sarah. She cleared her throat.
"Come in."
Jareth stepped inside, smiling for the first time when he saw her. In his arms he held a pile of cloth. One woman hurried forward and took the pile from him. Jareth went to Sarah.
She saw him clearly now, in the candlelight of the tent. He wore a black quilted vest, a dark red shirt, tight pants as always, gloves meant for snow, not for dress. The bronze amulet on his chest somehow pulled the whole look together.
"Where am I?" Sarah asked him, gesturing around the tent. She caught one of the servants picking at her pile of clothes. "Hey-hey! Leave that alone."
The servant jumped back, her head bowed in apology.
Sarah looked back to Jareth. His smile seemed forced now. She shrugged nonchalantly. "So anyway. Where are we?"
"The camp for the Hunt." He murmured. He reached down, taking her chin in his hand and kissed her on the lips before she could protest. He stayed there for a few moments. Sarah's other questions died away, and was mildly surprised to find she was kissing him back.
Jareth pulled away, looking rather dazed. "I expect you soon, precious." He said huskily, adjusting his gloves. "We must hurry if we are to join the hunt." He stalked out of the tent again.
The servants hurried over, a snow white shift in their hands. The robe disappeared, replaced by the soft linen fabric. Over this, they dressed her in a wool kirtle, it was lined with silk that had a beautiful pattern of leaves and roses. Finally, there was a surcoat with delicate embroidery coating the green fabric.
They pulled hose up her legs, tying it securely above the knee. Boots followed, made of the softest leather, lined with the wool of sheep. Leather gloves with insides of fur were given to her. Her hair was braided and pinned around her head, a knitted woolen cap pulled over her head.
Another cloak was pulled out, it was a tightly woven wool dyed a light lilac. It was lined with fur from an animal Sarah did not know, but felt wonderfully soft when the women pulled it around her.
The servants gestured to the door, but Sarah walked over to where they had tossed her old clothes and pulled the spindle out from underneath her jeans. She held it up. "I need something to carry this."
Glancing at each other, one of the women untied a small bag from her belt and handed it to Sarah.
She dropped the spindle inside and tied the cord around her waist. "Thanks for the help." She said, and strode out of the tent into the campsite.
Jareth was waiting by the fire. When he saw her, he smiled and opened his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Where is my cloak, ma moitié?" He whispered against her forehead.
"You gave it to me." Sarah retorted, and felt him smile.
"So I did, but now I am without one." Jareth trailed one hand from her shoulder down to her hand. He grasped it tightly. "I suppose we will have to share this one. " He reached down to press his lips against her fingers. "Such a pity." He purred. "Are you ready to join the Hunt, pet?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He pulled away and clicked his tongue. At once the dark horse they had been riding leapt down from the sky, shaking and stamping.
This time Jareth helped Sarah mount, then swung up behind her. His hands began untying the cloak around her neck.
"Much more effective if I wear it for the both of us." He teased, flipping it around both of them, tucking it carefully as he had before so they wouldn't be exposed to the cold.
"Fine by me." Sarah said, gripping the horn of the saddle.
"Ah, dolcezza." For a moment his voice was breathless and wistful. "Such times we will have together."
Before she could question this, they broke into a gallop.
They rode out of the camp, then Jareth kicked the horse and they leapt up into the air again. Sarah screamed in excitement, clutching the horn of the saddle. They rode across the sky, jumping from cloud to cloud. The stars and moon guided their way, and the land far, far beneath had no hold to pull them down. They were free.
Sarah thrust her arms outward, feeling the wind against her face and chest and beamed. Jareth, with one arm around her waist again, directed the horse out over the sea.
After a while, Sarah figured out a more comfortable way to sit in the saddle, working with the horses motions, rather than against them. This made the ride all the more pleasurable as she examined the night around her.
"If only we had time to go north." Jareth mourned. "The lights there are stunning when you ride them."
Sarah laughed. "I imagine so."
She almost felt disappointed when she saw the Hunt in the distance. The group had grown larger now, easily more than thirty, and was as loud as ever.
Riders recognized Jareth as they rode past him. Calling out to him, welcoming him back to the Hunt. Then they would notice her, tucked so neatly underneath him.
"Eine frau!"
"Bean!"
"En kvinde!"
"Boireannach!"
"En Kvinna!"
"A woman!" In a dozen languages they cried, "The king of goblins has a woman." Then they laughed. "He has caught himself a woman."
Jareth sailed to the front, only stopping as to not pass the leader of the group. The man turned on his white steed. Though she could not see his face under the shadow of his hood, she somehow knew he was smiling.
"Welcome to the Hunt, mortal." He told her.
Jareth laughed. "Gan a bheith marfach ar feadh i bhfad." He said gleefully, and he and the leader laughed.
Not mortal for long.
The words stuck a cord in Sarah, and she shifted uncomfortably.
"What are we hunting?" She asked.
"Yes, pray tell." Jareth called to the leader. "What do we hunt this year?"
The hooded figure shrugged. "We hunt what I say we hunt."
Sarah watched him, then called. "Will you tell us if I can guess your name?"
The leader was silent, riding steadily for a moment. "And who do you think I am, mortal?"
Sarah tilted her head to the side. "Are you always the leader?" Odin was one of the more consistent figures leading the hunt, but that didn't explain the Irish brogue.
"Since Odin decided he enjoyed a warm fire and a comfortable chair to the cold wind while riding atop a horse, we've taken turns."
"Hmm." Sarah smiled, running through various mythologys in her mind. "Well Fionn mac Cumhaill, will you tell us what we are hunting?"
At once the rider tore off his hood, revealing a thick yellow beard and sparkling clear blue eyes. "How did you guess, mortal girl?" He asked.
"I don't believe I'll tell you." Sarah said flippantly, she heard Jareth chuckling behind her. It had been a lucky guess. It could also have been Manannán mac Lir, but Cumhaill had been more known as a hunter than him.
Cumhaill laughed, throwing back his head. "Clever thing. Well, I suppose I may as well say." He pointed his finger forward. "We hunt the Werewolves of Ossory."
Jareth whistled, and his arm tightened around her waist. "There has never been a successful hunt for them." He warned.
"Ah, but they have never faced The Hunt!" Cumhaill proclaimed. "They have been crossing the veil, terrorizing my people again. Tonight, they fall."
Sarah frowned. "There have been a lot of wolf attacks recently. Karen says that two people of died from them."
Cumhaill nodded solemnly. "They must be stopped now."
Sarah blinked, looking around her. "Will the hunt finish soon?" She asked. "I promised Karen I'd call her tomorrow." Her brow furrowed. "In fact, as wonderful as this is, I really should be sleeping. I have a lot of work to do with the tomb after Christmas. I need my rest…"
She didn't notice the sharp glance Cumaill gave Jareth, and the way Jareth stared at her as if she had grown two heads. He ducked down and quickly kissed her cheek. "Hush your fears, minx."
Strangely enough, they did.
They rode on. One more rider joined them from the ground, and they all cheered him in. The whole group turned north, whooping and screaming. It filled Sarah with a strange, wild energy and she whooped and screamed with them.
Jareth yelled loudest of all, his shouts sometimes making Sarah's ears ring with their strength. When the wind howled he howled back at it, the dogs joining in with him. When he tired of the wind, he cawed and chirped until birds that matched his calls came. They swarmed around the Hunt, flying fast with the horses.
Sarah tried to imitate them as well, but only succeeded in scaring them away and making Jareth throw back his head and laugh long and loud and fierce.
"My little liebling, leave the bird calls to me." He told her, pressing his cheek against hers. He nuzzled her, his nose digging into her neck. There he placed kisses until she could hardly breathe, she was laughing so hard.
"Maybe now you'll stop your efforts to call the birds." Jareth scolded, but chuckling with her all the same.
She joyfully ignored him, giving a caw to a passing raven, she didn't that Jareth had dropped the reins, or that his arm had left her waist until he slid straight off the horse, falling down into the darkness below.
Sarah clung to the horn of the saddle, panic filling her at the sight of the reins flying free. "Jareth!" She screamed.
A barn owl rose up from where he had fallen, flying alongside her. Sarah caught a glimpse of the sea far, far below her. Without Jareth behind her, it seemed dangerous and terrifying.
She heard Cumhaill and a few others behind her laughing at her and her fear. "Jareth, please-"
The owl flew front of her, then turned around and transformed back into his human self, landing neatly in the saddle in front of her. Chest to chest they pressed against each other, Jareth grinned devilishly, she caught a glimpse of pointed teeth.
"Yes, darling?"
"Never do that again." Sarah gasped, her hands pressed against his vest. "What if the horse ran off with me?"
Jareth frowned, looking like a hurt little boy. "Why stellina, I would catch you quickly. No need for fear." And he reached down to capture her lips.
This time, he deepened it. The last kiss had been brief but this one went on and on. His hands caught hers placed them on his neck, then he grasped her waist so he could pull her deeper and deeper-
"Hast du einen Liebhaber gefunden, Kobold König?" A woman's voice called.
Sarah broke the kiss, turning to see a woman riding freely riding up next to them. Around her, dozens of dogs jumped and snapped around her. She seemed to have the most dogs of the group.
"Nein, Gauden, eine Ehefrau." Jareth replied, grinning like a madman.
The woman eyebrows raised. "Eine Ehefrau?" She winked at Sarah. "Lucky girl." She said in a thick Germanic accent and fell back with the rest of the group.
"What did she say?" Sarah asked, trying to find the woman in the stampede of horses and fae.
Jareth pressed his forehead against her scalp. "Nothing of importance." He purred.
For a moment, that answer contented her, but then a wave of cold went through her body, starting from her forehead to the tips of her toes. Her mind cleared and she glared up at Jareth. "Well, maybe it's not important, but I still want to know."
He blinked, and frowned, as if her answer surprised him. "She was only speaking of how well we looked together, heart of mine." He said, he leaned down and tried to kiss her again.
Sarah pulled back. "What is an Ehefrau?" She asked.
Jareth's face darkened, and he frowned. "What?"
"I know that a Frau is a woman, but what is an Ehefrau?" Sarah persisted.
Jareth smiled simply at her. "I told you perle, nothing of importance." He leaned down again, this time successfully catching her lips.
Sarah let the matter go, it was too difficult to focus on anything when he was kissing her. After a time, the discomforting cold passed. She could always ask the woman later, after the hunt anyways.
After a time, Jareth changed back into an owl, flying around so that he could sit behind her again. For the first time in the whole journey, he was silent, no longer challenging the wind nor calling birds to their sides.
Everyone was quieting, Sarah realized. The dogs silently pounding beside them, the horses no longer neighed, their owners pressed their lips together tightly.
Sarah hardly dared breath, they all seemed to be waiting for something.
Suddenly, Cumhaill jerked at his reins, pulling his horse to a halt. Jareth did the same, they all stood in the air, watching their leader.
Cumhaill leaned over and looked into the dark land below. Then he turned to the hunt. "Tonight, we hunt the Werewolves of Ossory."
No one made a sound, but Sarah looked around and saw a glint in all the rider's eyes. A glint of a wild fierceness that made her suddenly feel like a small child among a clan of ferocious murderers.
Jareth whispered into her ear. "Do not be afraid süsse. Stay on the horse, do what I say and no harm will come to you."
Fear me, love me, do as I say-
Jareth hands squeezed at her waist. Sarah pushed away the memories and nodded shortly. Jareth sat back in the saddle, apparently satisfied.
Cumhaill reached down into his saddle, plucking up a horn there. He brought it to his lips, hesitated for a moment, then blew.
The roar from the Hunt after the horn made Sarah clap her hands over her ears, wincing at the great noise.
They all dived towards the ground, screaming with mad delight, splitting into groups of two or three. Jareth rode with the German woman who had spoken to before. They both shouted, urging their horses faster and faster. The dogs of the woman ran with them. No longer did they bark in excitement, they howled for blood.
Jareth held out his right hand, a sword appeared, long and lean and elegant like him. The woman also materialized a shorter, but no less fierce looking blade.
"Trennen!" Hissed the woman, and her dogs split into two, half going with Jareth, the other with her.
They landed on the snowy ground with a thud, the horses hooves now beating against the ice and dit. The dogs began tilting their noses to the ground, smelling-
One gave a triumphant bark and took the lead. The others quickly followed.
"They've caught a scent." Jareth whispered.
"So I assumed." Sarah said hoarsely, her knuckles white against the horn of the saddle.
They chased after the dogs. The German woman rode to the side, her dogs had picked up the scent as well.
Suddenly, on the top of the hill Sarah saw a figure in the moonlight. An enormous wolf, nearly as big as the horses they rode on, running on four feet. Sarah felt a flash of fear in her stomach at the sight, until she realized that it was running away from them. It dashed over a hill, they nearly lost of it.
"Oh no you don't." Jareth hissed, and he jumped off the horse. An owl flew ahead, faster than the horses, faster than the dogs. Away he flew till he was only a speck in the distance, Sarah held onto the saddle for her life while watching.
Just as Jaret was directly above the werewolf, he transformed back into his human self, sword in hand. He dropped on the werewolf and swung. There was only one blow, one sweep across the neck and it fell.
By the time Sarah and the woman caught up with him, Jareth was marking it's chest with the infinity symbol of the labyrinth. He added a smaller symbol next to it, a dog's head.
Sarah looked at the monster, it was difficult to catch the details of the monster in the moonlight, but she saw the basics.
A vaguely humanoid body coated in fur. Trousers on the lower half, but a head that was clearly of wolves. The head sat half twisted away from the body, soaked in it's own blood.
The woman laughed, her horse prancing in place. "Kobold König, eins fur mich, bitte!"
Jareth shrugged. "Ich jage wie ich will." Then he looked to Sarah, who was staring at the blood with a pale face. He sobered, walking up to her. He took her hand and kissed it. "Don't worry, my heart." He whispered against her fingers. "It was not sentient, not truly."
Sarah nodded, he swung back on the horse, tucking her cloak around them both once more.
The dogs busily sniffed the fallen corpse until the woman barked another command. They scampered up and separated again.
The whole process started over, the pounding on the ground, the search and finding of a scent. This werewolf was faster, Jareth at first tried to let their partner have the kill, but eventually took to his owl form to kill it himself when it proved too fast for their horses.
Over and over again, all through the night they hunted until it became as monotonous as breathing. Scent. Chase. Catch. Kill. Jareth and the woman traded taking the prey down, unless it was one of the faster.
Sometimes another group caught the same scent as they, then there was a chase for who could catch the kill first. Though many tried, none could beat Jareth's speed as an owl. He never lost against anyone else. He never lost their prey.
"You said no one has successfully hunted them." Sarah murmured as Jareth settled in behind her again after yet another kill. "And yet you do it so easily."
"Well, Frau Gauden and I are rather…"
"Skilled?" Sarah suggested.
"Yes." Jareth decided. "These are dangerous creatures, ma chérie, don't be fooled. Very little can outrun our steeds, and it is only the sharpest of dogs' noses that can track them. I chose Frau Gauden for our partner for a reason, her hounds are the very best. It is only with my speed and her dogs we are able to do this so easily."
"So she tracks them, you kill them, for the most part. What am I?"
Jareth kissed the top of her head. "Moral support."
"Honored." She replied, slumping forward in her seat.
Gentle hands touched her shoulders, messaging them. "Tired?"
Suddenly Sarah realized how hard it was to keep her eyes open. "Yes." For a moment, she wondered if she should pull out the spindle again to keep her awake.
Jareth pulled her back against him, circling her waist with both his arms. "Here, rest against me." He whispered into her neck. "I'll keep you on the saddle."
Sarah shook her head. "But then you can't turn into an owl to hunt…"
"Let me worry about that." Jareth said, playing with a lock of her hair that had escaped her hat. "It's almost over anyway." His hand rubbed soothing circles on her shoulder and he began singing a lullaby. She drifted away against his chest, listening to the howls of the dogs and a song that was both so very familiar and tender, yet so very far away.
The last thing she remembered was him murmuring in Irish against her scalp. "I gceann cúpla uair an chloig eile, mo grá, beidh tú liomsa."
In just a few more hours, my love, you'll be mine.
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