Tansy!

Taaaannssyy!

The sound of hounds barking, the delicious, piercing smell of desperate sweat in the air.

The girl was running fast, faster than any of the others that had tried to escape their arrows, and yet they all still knew she wouldn't get far. The game only lasted as long as he allowed it to, and it had gone on for long enough to satisfy his needs. Supper with his father was not to be missed and it was nearing sundown which meant that the Lord of the Dreadfort's table was soon to be seated and Ramsay's hour of fun had come to an end.

At midday the hunt had begun.

Ramsay and Myranda had loomed over the girl's bedside when she awoke from her slumber.

Let's play a little game, he had said, and saw in her terrified eyes she instinctively knew what he meant by that.

She was still in her nightgown, when they pushed her out the gates barefooted, confused, stumbling.

Run Tansy, they both screamed at her and then laughed. When she didn't move, just stood there on the drawbridge crying, mumbling incoherently, he released an arrow that grazed her left calf.

You must run or you will lose the game, you stupid girl!

And run she did, towards the Northern tree-line, in the direction of the nearest village, which was the most obvious choice for someone in her predicament, but of course no less fatal than any of the other options she had been given.

They had gone back to Ramsay's private chambers, fucked twice and eaten a light meal of cheeses and fruit before they dressed back into their hunting garb, slung bows over their shoulders, then proceeded down to the kennels to select a couple of hounds to accompany them on the hunt. The choice had fallen on Maude and Willow; the two most vicious-looking and evidently starved beasts on that particular day.

Now, they were deep in the woods, running, gaining in on the girl.

Behind them Reek strived to keep up, limping his way across the bumpy terrain, breathing hard in uneven, ragged gasps. Despite the servant's weakened bodily state, Ramsay had requested his participation. He wanted Reek to see what happened when someone was no longer of use to his master.

Let me do it, Myranda hissed excitedly as she picked up speed, forcing him to do the same. Let me put one through her face. She thinks she's so pretty.

The hounds need feeding, he stated resolutely and ran on ahead of her, ignoring her sour glare.

Myranda was a jealous creature and it was becoming such a bore. For a second he toyed with the idea of Myranda being chased through the woods like the girl, but stopped himself. She was a rarity after all; replacing her would be hard if not impossible to do; for what woman would ever look at him the way Myranda did, with such unconditional adoration? Despite all her flaws – of which there were many- she was after all still the best hen in the Dreadfort's coup; a loyal and dedicated wench, one who not only entertained his inclinations, but shared them.

Where are you, Taaannsyyy?

Maude and Willow appeared from behind a tree, barking, calling out to him; long threads of drool hanging from their muzzles.

They had cornered their prey.

The two hunters slowed their pace and sauntered towards the old oak. The girl was sobbing hysterically, crouching behind a large rock near the tree. To his great satisfaction, he noticed that her feet were swollen and bloodied from having run on layers of sharp rock and through the barely penetrable under-bush.

Please my Lord, please.

Behind him, Myranda tightened her bow and released.

AAAHHH, the girl screamed and clenched her leg where the arrow had entered.

Please.

A manic grin on his face, he watched on, studying the wounded girl begging for her life. Pursing his lips, he emitted an eerie, cutting little whistle.

Girls

Rip her! Rip her! Rip her!

The girl was still alive, when Maude started tearing chunks of flesh off her face, turning a once so pretty thing into a bloody, oozing pulp.