There was once a young woman who found her self lost in the woods. It was a chilly October, and the huntsmen were about chasing deer so the young woman had worn a cloak as red as April Cherries to distinguish herself from all that was in the forest. Like a child, the woman adored the texture of her cloak and the way it spread out from the nape of her neck when she walked with hastened step. It was warm and encasing, like a pair of wings.
One might ask why a young woman would travel alone in the woods on a late October afternoon. There are many possibilities -- she may have been coming from an engagement with a suitor; or she might have been traveling to market in the city to the north -- but in this case, the woman in the cherry-red cloak was collecting herbs for her ailing grandmother, the crone of her village. She had done this dozens of times since her grandmother had fallen ill and knew how to look for the best leaves, the best blood-red berries, the best bark.
This was a simple pretext, though. The young woman -- shall we call her Rose? -- would graciously volunteer to gather the plants her grandmother needed because she -- Rose -- had an adventurous soul. She would carry wards and a dagger into the woods, but soon stash them just off the trail because she enjoyed the sense of danger it brought to her. And she would go deeper into the woods than her mother had ever let her go. Deeper than her grandmother knew. Deeper, they said, than was sane. But deep she went to find the plants that would cure her grandmother's ailments, and the ailments of the villagers. For Rose was destined to become the wise woman of the village.
There are two dangers in a forest, even if you wear a red cloak. The first is the hunter who does not want anything but death. Other hunters shun him, or her, because a proper hunter hunts for food, and clothing, as well as for prestige. These scurrilous hunters hunt only for the prestige to prove their power. They are doe hunters.
The second danger in the woods was the wild beast that roamed the woods and killed the men and ate the children. While Rose had never seen this supposed beast, she knew that other had. They had been the only surviving members of hunting parties, and they had wild and terrified faces when they told of the horrors the beast had reigned. Rose's grandmother told her not to pay much heed to the tales, because the beast was surely the forest's protectors, and anyone who had been spared had only been spared to carry on the guilt. The hunting party had surely killed a doe, or a sow, or worse a bitch.
It was this beast that inspired Rose to an adventurous spirit. All the villagers warned her not to fail the path, but she paid them no heed. She loved the forest. She wanted to live closer in. She wanted to meet the beast face-to-face and tell him she loved his land. So she went to the forest for her grandmother, heart pounding with freedom and fear.
Today, this late October day, with the moon reaching its pregnant apex, Rose was determined to find the beast. Though she had started collecting roots and berries early that afternoon, she had been searching for the beast for almost three hours by the last sun of the year to no avail. And, as will happen when you wander the forest for hours on end, she was lost. She had no idea where she should go, but she could not cease her wandering. A strange tug in her chest compelled her.
As she walked, something slipped from beneath her feet, and she found herself upside-down, hanging by one ankle, skirts under her chin. If she hadn't stashed her knife on the edge of the wood, she would have cut herself free, but instead she hung there in mid-air with the blood pooling in her head. She got giddy, then dizzy, then sleepy and when she woke up, her bum had hit the ground with force and there were two men standing beside her chuckling.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
"It looks like we caught us a coney."
"Hm, coney is right." He leaned down beside Rose's dazed head, and sniffed her hair. "Smells delicious."
Rose made to stand up, but they pushed her down on her bum again. Sneering, they circled her like vultures closing in on a dead thing.
"Let me up!" demanded Rose.
"Oh, and it speaks too! Tell me, little coney, if we let you go will you grant us three wishes?"
They laughed.
"Yes! " Rose promised. "Whatever's in my power to give. Three wishes."
"I don't know, can we trust a talking coney?"
"I don't think so. We may as well keep it and take those three wishes any time we want. A caged coney is better than a free coney."
"No! Please." Rose knew full well what they wanted. Many times, she had wanted similar things. But she did not know them. They stank of unwashed skin and rotting flesh.
"Get up then," one agreed. Rose stood, but as soon as she did, the one behind her back grabbed her hands toward him and fastened them together with a length of leather. He didn't even give her time to brush herself off.
"There's how you tie a coney, son," he said, showing his partner the handiwork. "Now, let's see you skin it."
"What!" protested Rose.
"Be quiet, now, little coney, and stand still. Or this'll really hurt."
The younger one, the hunter's son, removed his dagger from its sheath and placed it against Rose's cheek. With a grin and a guttural, inbred chuckle, he pressed gently and a drop of blood sprang to her face, trickled down her chin like a tear. It was, of course, soon joined by proud silent tears from Rose's eyes.
Soon enough, the knife left her face. The scary boy licked her cheek clean of the blood while she whimpered, but more came forth and ran down her face again, dropping onto her dress. These blood stains were of little consequence, as we will soon see, because the boy's knife was cutting through the leather lacings of Rose's bodice. As each was cut away, she felt her breasts fall forward from their casing.
The urge to squirm and run caught hold of her mind and did battle with her reason. She twitched her hands and jerked her arm away, but the older hunter from behind was wily and quick, and she was soon held fast again. His son placed the dagger beneath her cheek bone again, and drew a more definite line -- she would be scarred -- then went back to her bodice.
With the point of the dagger, he punctured the hem of her bodice where the skirt of the dress met it. With a sawing motion, he sliced through the stitching until he could fit his hand between her skirt and her undergarments. This he did, and ripped the skirt away from her front. Meanwhile, his father performed the same task from behind. The ragged skirt fell away from her bodice and left her legs exposed. With no time wasted, her undergarments had soon joined her skirt, and her nether-bush was now exposed to the air.
Again, Rose's instinct to run fought a difficult battle with her reason. She needed to escape; they would do dangerous things to her in this woods, where she was lost, and they would leave her for dead. Unless, she reasoned, they took her to their cabin in the woods and made her their slave. Then she would live out the rest of her days in captivity. But alive.
She was thinking this, paying little attention to the denudation that was becoming her fate. Her breasts were exposed to the chill Samhain air, a breeze teasing her nipples hard with icy fingers. The men were chuckling and murmuring lusty nonsense. Then she felt a rough hand on her breast and yelped. Another hand -- dirty and smelling of sewage -- closed over her mouth. The filth on his hand stung her cheek. She could feel the other three hands on her body, working her like a thresher works the land, but careless.
Rose could do nothing to stop them, no matter how she struggled and squirmed. They had her fast. The leather strap around her wrists bound her well; she could not untie herself. The hands groping her body also held her in place; she could not move and when she did, they smacked her. They moved her to the tree that had been her downfall, placed her back against it, twisted her arms. The young one -- who was older than she -- held her by the throat now, not the mouth. She rasped a plea for mercy, but they did not hear.
"You want her first, Pa?"
"No, son. This is your first kill. You can have her."
