St.Stephen's hunt

Really pretty day today; a very Sunday-like Monday.. If my phone battery didn’t die in the cold, Instagram would have a lot more to say about it. We ascended high enough (Traditional St. Stephen’s hunt) for the tress to be completely covered in frost, the sky perfectly blue and when the sun rose, orange, it melted the lot into this whispering, tickling forest brown.

The best part of the hunt (unfortunately they guys did manage to finally get one boar), was when five trackers cornered another wild hog in a minute patch of young spruces on a very steep slope. They tried sending in the dogs, but we only had young hounds, one of which was already poked by a boar earlier and wasn’t going to chance the second round. Two hunters went into the patch, throwing stones and logs, shouting. I muttered into my walking cane (I always make myself a cane, because the terrain is otherwise only fir for moving on all fours - up or down): “Lesnik (The local God of forests), if you make this one work out alright, I’ll owe you one.”

Lesnik replied: “I’ll take a snog.”

I kissed my walking cane and said: There. Now solve this.

The hunter finally managed to throw a log, hitting the boar directly, and the 400 – pound beast leaped, charged – and vanished.

I fuck you not. There was no breaking of trees and branches, leaves flying, screaming, shooting. There was just half a second of forest noise, hunters shouting – and nothing. How an animal of that size is able to break out of a circle that prepared is uncanny. Supposedly it charged my way, but I saw absolutely nothing. Lyra was sitting next to me, we were at a safe distance, and she didn’t react at all.

Really, I’m telling you. Totally worth the kiss.