This is the third part of an epic poem that itself is based on the first printed version of “The Skillful Huntsman,” published by the Grimm brothers in 1815. To get caught up, you can find links to previous versions here:
Part 1: Intro & Second Thoughts
Part 2: Meets & Flights
4
Under the eaves of ash and oak,
Beneath the needles of noble pines,
Alone they wandered. Always westward
As the years carried them. The youth became
Every bit the bowman who brought him to
That feral forest. He found in time,
He matched his mentor’s mastery and talent.
In cunning, too, he came to copy the Huntsman,
As abundant in wit as wise in bowcraft.
They lived as the land allowed them to,
Where dangers endured: draughts and squalls,
Feral beasts, frosts and blizzards.
Yet fleeting he found his feelings for home:
Each memory lessened the more he learned
Until at last, his tutor’s lessons
He found had finished. “Fairly,” said the Huntsman,
“I’ve given and guided you, and greatly in turn
You’ve proven prudent. But pray, come close
And hear what I hope you’ll inherit from me.”
He whispered a word to the watchful youth:
One fluent breath that flitted the breeze.
“By knowing its name, you’ll never miss,”
The Huntsman said. “Hold its secret,
Along with the last I’d like to give
To you,
A student of these lands:
Aim carefully and true.”
He placed upon his hands
His bow of weathered yew.
5
Here, the pupil and Huntsman parted.
And the youth drifted. For a year and a day,
He explored the pines and pale ridges
Of the Silver Bluffs. In the southern basin
He’d learn was Lopwood, a light near witching hour
Fetched him forward. He found the glow
Belonged to three loggers, leaning against
A toppled tamarack, a teeming fire
More warning than welcome warming their camp.
Drinking and talking, the dubious trio
Never noticed the nimble youth
Holed up behind the hedges beside them.
“I’m telling you two, you’re turning away
The easiest money you’d earn in a month.
You’ve wanted that wench, I’ve watched you stare
At her in the— hey!” His hand dropped its can,
Stung by the steady strike of an arrow.
“Who else is here? Hiding from sight
Like some frightened fawn. Face us openly!”
Two careful shots. Two cans shredded.
The youth stood. “Your yelling would spook
A hundred hares.”
“A Huntsman!” Said the tallest
Logger, his comrades casting long looks.
“Have you heard the whole of our gossip?”
The Huntsman nodded. “I hoped to know
Some more of the matter. I might be helpful.”
Smiling, they sat and shared their drinks.
“We work for West Pines. We’re woodsmen, us three.
Our boss owes us backpay; the bastard won’t settle.
He owes us all some order of thousands.
We intend to take our total share.
We’ll head to his home, he’ll hear us out,
And that will be that. Although,” he said,
“Two Shepherds share a shack by the door.
We can’t get close with those canines so near.
Being a Huntsman, we bet you could help
And deal with the dogs. Once done, we’d pay you
A fourth that we find is fairly owed.
What do you say? Want to help solve
Our petty problem?”
“Just pay me fairly.
I’ll bring my bow. Your backpay’s your own.”
The loggers laughed and leaned to thank him,
None hearing the whispering Huntsman as away
They lead:
“I heard you in the dark.
‘You want that wench,’ you said.
Those Shepherds aren’t my mark:
I’m hunting you instead.”
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