Hunter rushed in haste from the breeding room, slamming the door shut and leaving behind his girls, still recoiling from their state of shock. His Valkyries would instruct the nurse-maids to tend to them. Still in a slight daze he stopped in the dank corridor. A dancing flame from a burning oil lamp cast his black shadow against the wall, twitching and contorting like an epileptic puppet. He took three deep breaths to ease the pounding of his heart, wiping his forehead and adjusting his attire. In the corner of his eye movement scuttled across the wall, and with instant reflex his riding crop slammed a huge huntsman spider into the burnished granite. It free-fell to the ground and writhed to a slow, motionless death.
Hunter was now keen to see his aged grandmother, and so it was that he made his way to her bedroom. It was a long, lonely walk that gave him time to gather his thoughts, which were themselves a collage of instant replays, forcing him to wonder what his grandmother might declare. He came to the heavy, oak door, knocked three times and then observed as a delicate, young woman opened it. She was heavily pregnant with large bosoms that were thinly veiled by a damask tunic. He strode into the large chamber, made cozy by a hearth full of flickering coals. Huge tapestries hung from the walls, intricately depicting battle his father and grandfather had fought against warring clans in ages past. A huge bear-skin rug smothered the floor, its giant head gaping open with pearl-white canine teeth. It was said to be the last Bear of the Isles, before they had been hunted to extinction. A huge rosewood, four-poster bed dominated the room. "Is that you, my son?" a feeble voice emanated from under the heavy blankets.
"Yes, Grandmother," Hunter replied. The old lady was in her eighties and bed-ridden, constantly antagonised by partial blindness. He strode up to the side of her bed and kissed her cold cheek.
