monday-promptspiration

This week, IT’S A DRAW! Because both names received the same amount of votes, I’m using both ๐Ÿ˜‰

Thank you once more to everyone who’s voted. After this week I’ll be off on my Christmas break, so the next vote will be happening today – on Twitter as well as on here! ๐Ÿ˜‰ It’ll be Christmasy and published on the 26th ๐Ÿ™‚

But onto today’s prompt! As always, if the prompt speaks to you feel free to borrow it. Please link back here if you publish it anywhere so I can be nosy ^-^

***

Diana

(f. Divine)

Denham

(m.; valley village)

“My Lady Diana, Pack Leader of hunters, please grant me the courage to do what must be done.” Denham bowed low, his forehead inches away from touching the cool stone base of his Goddess’ shrine. He wasn’t a pious man, but he knew when divine intervention was needed. The crisis his pack brethren faced now was such a time.

From the corner of his eye, Denham noticed the faintest of movements. “My, my, look who bestows me with his presence.” Herย every movement was slow, deliberate, and graceful. Her voice was smooth silk. She was the huntress, leader of their pack, in every respect.

Denham shot up, staring at the Goddess before her. Was it rude to stare, or had she come to expect it? He fell to his knees by the hem of her flowing dress, and shut his eyes tight.

“Forgive me, my Lady. I didn’t expect you to show yourself to me.”

She chuckled. The sweetest sound in this world and the next.

“Why, but you don’t think highly enough of yourself, my hunter. Stand.”

With shaking legs, he did as she asked. No hunter in his lifetime had ever seen the Lady herself stand before them, but it wasn’t unprecedented. The last time must have been two, three hundred years ago. He only knew about it from story books, and from the tales their story crafters told around camp fires. He hadn’t truly believed them until now.

“Tell me why you’ve called me.” Her soft voice had anย edge to it. She asked nicely, but she would be obeyed.

“My Lady, a great peril has befallen my pack brethren. A necromancer has summoned the dead to hunt us. His forces outnumber us almost fifty to one.”

“Impossible odds indeed. What would you ask of me?”

“You’re the mistress of the hunt. If anyone can help us fight them and emerge victorious, it’s you.”

“Denham, look at me.”

He hadn’t realised that his eyes had fallen to the cold stone floor again. He had always believed that he’d meet her as an equal, should he ever be so lucky. Now that she had shown herself to him he didn’t know how he had ever believed himself her equal. There was no one alive or dead who could match her.

Denham looked up, and held her hazel gaze. Her skin was sun kissed, her hair long and dark to match her eyes. An elegant bow was strung across her shoulder, and a dagger sat at her hips. He felt tiny and foolish in her presence. All his life he had been the wolf, the bear, the prowling cat. Next to her he was the mouse, the prey caught in her snare.

“I cannot help you. The necromancer will be defeated, but not in your lifetime.”

His heart sank. “Why not?”

“Because he is not meant to be defeated by you, my hunter. His actions, dark as they may be, will cause a great many things to change. Many for the better. His deeds are necessary.”

He no longer felt inadequate. He was angry.

“I can’t let them die, they are my brothers. Your children! Do you feel nothing?”

His Lady Diana reached out with one slender hand, and cupped his face in her smooth fingers. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do anything at all. There’s one thing I can give you.” She leaned in, and kissed him. Nothing made sense under her gentle touch.

“You will not defeat the necromancer. But your child will. Come. Lay with me.”

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All writing belongs to the author, Sarina Langer

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