The sun shone brightly on the clear blue sky, the sunlight piercing through the dense canopy of trees in Far Chetwood. The seemingly undisturbed peace and quiet within the forest could fool almost anyone that it was devoid of life – but Maevelen knew better than that. Despite the dark stories and rumors regarding the forest, Far Chetwood was teeming with wildlife – it was all a matter of knowing where to look and knowing to listen; the fine tracker senses the elven huntress possessed also helped greatly.
For three days, Maevelen had been hunting a beautiful white-tailed doe that would fetch quite a bit of coin at a taxidermist. Chasing it all the way from the Eastern Bree-fields, she managed to goad the animal towards the forest, where she would finally be able to end the hunt and collect her prize.
The doe was grazing peacefully on the bountiful woodland grass, unaware that her predator was close by. Maeve was watching from a cluster of bushes fifty feet away, with her bow readied in her hand and an arrow in the bowstring.
If anything, Maevelen was very careful – she knew that one wrong move could scare off the doe and she would have to spend another day tracking down the doe. But she also knew that she had to be careful where the arrow would hit – the shot had to precisely hit a tender spot in the doe’s neck. That way, the carcass would be in a pristine condition but would also kill the animal instantly and painlessly.
From where she was standing, the angle was perfect – Maeve raised her bow as her eyes fixed onto her prey’s weak spot. She steadied her breath and pulled the bowstring steadily, adjusting the arrow in its notch. She breathed in and let her elven marksmanship training take over – the next moment she’d exhale, her prey would stop breathing and fall dead on the forest floor, never knowing what hit it.
……….
Suddenly, the doe jumped up from its spot and darted with a surprising burst of speed in a single, blurry motion before Maevelen could let loose her arrow.
Eyes widened in shock, she exhaled, not believing what happened – something must have scared off the doe and had just rendered three days spent carefully planning and patiently waiting fruitless.
All thoughts of elven marksmanship training had been emptied from the hunter’s head as she started cursing in the Tongue of Men, words that would make even a drunken dwarf blush.
Maevelen angrily stomped towards the spot where her prey once stood a few moments before, trying to figure out what scared the doe. She listened attentively around her surroundings, but the forest was as quiet as ever. However, there was a feeling of anxiety surrounding the forest that Maevelen couldn’t ignore – ever since arriving in Far Chetwood, there was a lingering aura of dread that has forced most of the wildlife into hiding.
Maeve let out an exasperated sigh and laid on her back, feeling tired. She rarely had moments of respite in her great pursue of the doe, but whenever she tried to rest, a faint sense of dread was nagging her from the back of her mind – the dark aura lingering in the forest was affecting her as much as the local wildlife.
Yawning, Maevelen rolled on her side and clutched her bow in her hand tightly. A sudden urge to fall asleep washed over her and being unable to resist, she closed her eyes and doze off.
……….
Maevelen winced as the setting sun’s rays pierced through the forest’s crown canopy and landed right in her eyes. Unable to open them, she stood still as she tried to adjust her senses – the deep sleep had dulled her hearing, but she could hear the sound of grass being stepped on, getting closer and closer to where she was laying.
Maeve tried to open her eyes and stand up, but something made her freeze in her place, making her unable to act. Not able to fight the weight holding her down, she shut her eyes tightly, feeling her heartbeat quicken with each approaching step, hoping that whatever was coming her way would be harmless.
……….
‘Mrrf?’
Maeve felt something soft, warm and wet touching her forehead, followed by a sense of relief as whatever dark energy was pinning her down had suddenly dissipated. She opened her eyes and saw her reflection in a pair of familiar brown doe-eyes.
‘Hello?’ she said softly as she extended her hand towards the doe. The animal nudged its head on her hand before lifting its gaze towards the trees, staring purposefully into the distance.
Maevelen sat up, puzzled by the doe’s behavior – wasn’t this the doe she tried to kill a couple of hours ago? She looked in the direction the animal was staring and everything finally made sense – the missing wildlife, the aura of dread surrounding the forest and the mysterious force that had pinned her down.
In the higher branches of the trees, there was a flock of black birds staring down at the two creatures on the forest floor. While men, dwarves and hobbits would assume they were crows, Maevelen saw and knew better – wretched crebain, with mean, glowing red eyes, were spies for the Enemy, spread out in all the corners of Middle-Earth, feeding information on the Free Folk to their dark masters.
The doe looked at Maevelen with pleading, almost human eyes – while the reason why the crebain were spying the forests of Far Chetwood was unclear, she knew what to do. In two heartbeats, the elf was standing with her bow in her hand and a second arrow ready to fly after the first.
……….
It was close to midnight in the Bree-Lands when the last crebain let out a shriek as an arrow shot through its torso, the moon standing vigil over the forests of Far Chetwood.
Maevelen picked up the bird and muttered good riddance before pulling out the arrow. She returned, bird in her hand, to the clearing where the doe was anxiously waiting next to small makeshift pyre, surrounded by eleven other crebain corpses.
Fighting against the Enemies’ forces for so long has left Maevelen with a touch of paranoia – one cannot be sure that the foe you have slain a few moments ago would rise again, at the behest of dark powers. She always had a few bottles of file-oil, ready to ignite and burn in a single spark. Throwing the carcasses of the birds on the pyre, the elf poured a whole bottle of oil before starting the fire with two pieces of flint.
The doe jumped up and fled as the pyre burst into greedy flames, consuming the wood and crebain-corpses in a matter of minutes. The frightful animal slowly approached Maevelen and nudged her arm with its muzzle. She smiled and patted the doe on the head reassuringly that she had no more intention of hurting it – after all, the animal had practically saved her life, in a sense.
With the fire finally dying out, Maeve made sure to cover the ashes with dirt before departing, her bow hanging on her back. While walking out of the forest she couldn’t help but smile at the outcome of her hunting trip and ended up wondering what she’ll catch for dinner – salmon or perch?
