In a time before The Wolf Wood grew and The Gods, who were so grieved, gave up this plane, their grace gone but for that grove. Rænör, a God as great and as good as any, longed for love everlasting.
The companion he craved was clever Cérmæ, beautiful and bold; he never had beheld a woman so wild and wonderful as she.
He cornered her one day having picked a peck of purple primrose, he proposed she be his partner and promised to be a proper prince and protect her with all his power.
Shock swept through sweet Cérmæ as his confession came crashing clumsily from his lips. She knew naught what feelings would fly from him and yet her heart fluttered all the same. Long had her love for him lived latently lurking.
“I will marry you my lord if your might and mettle may be met out in the moor. I would see from you the stag of the seasons, Saer.”
No man, wolf, or god had ever come close to catching Saer, brought forth from Freann as a fawn.
“King of the woods they called him now with tines as tall as any man for a crown. He is uncatchable” she cautioned.
The boastful god’s big belly bounced as boisterous bales of braying laughter left his lips.
“Witless woman.” The lively lord laughed “you believe some beast to best me?”
“Doubtlessly” the Divine deity dashed back
“You have one year to catch your quarry and if you can, you may claim my hand henceforth and hereinafter I will call you husband.”
The god’s great grin grew and he knelt on a knee
“I will kill this creature and carry back its coat but before I do may I dare ask from you a kiss?”
She gave him two. One on each cheek. For character and courage.
It was spring when the lord bestirred himself to set out. Resplendent Rænör, wrought in radiant ringed armor that reflected the rising sun, rode over rocky ground in search of Saer The Stag King.
At mid-day, he spied who he sought. Spear in hand he slipped from the saddle, his shoes sinking slightly into softened soil as a small spring storm smattered his face.
Rænör stalked silently to Saer who snored slightly while he slept soundly. Antlers adorned with an efflorescent arrangement of amber, amethyst, and azure.
A mild mist milled mildly over the meadow where The Stag King slept. Rænör, so sure of success, kept no longer to caution or care, he charged the creature in a furious frenzy.
Saer woke with a fright fleeing further afield in the flowers who would forfend His Majesty of meadow and glen.
Rænör, followed fearlessly after his fleeing foe to find fair Saer, a phantom, disguised among the daisies.
Undaunted, he searched and searched, finding no sign of sweet Saer. Soon spring turned to summer.
For weeks he went without track or trail, the sweltering summer heat stuck Rænör’s shirt to his skin which was slick with sweat and no matter how seriously he strove he did not see a single sign of Saer supreme of all stags, until one sweat sodden morning when he stopped at a stream to slake his thirst, a tangle of twigs snapped with a thwack, and out from the brush burst Saer. The benevolent bull bounded to the brook to bathe away the baking heat, terrific towering tines in full-bloom with foliage bigger than bushes.
Rænör could barely believe the blessed boon that stood before him. Beguiling and bewitching to behold, Saer, bull of all bulls, bellowed a Brobdingnagian bugle ignorant of the impromptu invader inspecting with an insatiable eye and ill intent.
Rænör bit back bated breath bringing his bow to bear, string stretched snug his arm shook from the strain and with a snap, his plan came undone at the seams, and Saer now spotting his spy snorted and sprinted away up the stream.
Autumn arrived as always, immaculate emerald-looking leaves changed color, fresh fragile flowers fell and fluttered as they floated away in the wind. Brilliant blue bulbs, perfect pink petals, simply stunning sage-green stems faded away and fire-fanned foliage emerged as ostentatious oranges, riotously rare reds and great godly golds took their place.
Rænör searched several seedless weeks for Saer the stag, stopping only to stoop when stumbling on a newly spotted sign of track in the softened soil. Weary was the wanton wanderer when once again his luck changed incredibly and by chance he came across the charge he so keenly coveted.
Autumnal antlered Saer supreme sovereign of wilderness stood staring at his adversary snorting and stamping his huge heavy hooves defiant at the death dear Rænör did deign upon him.
Slipping from his skin, The God of the hunt hewn away the mortal mask of man and became a beast who brayed a bloody howl high to the night sky.
Bitter was the battle as towering tines tore and terrible teeth tried to flay flesh from foe as each engagement became bloodier than the one before. Rænör and Saer stood amongst blood-soaked leaves circling one another for it seemed their fight could only end with one of them heading to Freann.
A clap of thunder came careening with a crash and their battlefield forest and all filled with fire and flame, forcing each foe to flee.
Steep slopes of silvery snow surrounded Rænör who stood in a heartbroken haze having hardly had slim success seeing Saer whose antlers had become bare as bone. Dark days descended on dear Rænör whose disappointment declined toward depression as his deadline dashed toward an end. Resignation reigned in mighty Rænör who reached the end of his resolve. Weaponless and with wounded pride he held his harp and strummed softly on the strings summoning a sound so sweet it could’ve made the mountains weep.
To his shock and surprise as he strummed his string near the frozen spring he was joined by Saer Sovereign of stags. So moved by the melody was mighty Saer that he bent a knee and knelt in front of the God with his neck open and unguarded. Rænör softly slipped a loose lasso over the antlers of Saer who proudly pranced to call on Cérmæ.
“My love long have I lived with longing to look upon your face.” Rænör called to Cérmæ.
“The deed is done and the deer is dead?” Cérmæ questioned?
“No. Even a God so great as I could not slay Saer and so I have forsaken that to you which I did swear. Woe that I have no worth to claim a wife as wonderful as you.” Rænör presented proud prancing Saer to his beloved heartsick to finally come home only to have failed.
Cérmæ kissed Rænör.
“To have a husband half as heroic as you would make me happier than I would ever have thought.”
The two would be wed and more storied would be had but this is where ours ends.
The companion he craved was clever Cérmæ, beautiful and bold; he never had beheld a woman so wild and wonderful as she.
He cornered her one day having picked a peck of purple primrose, he proposed she be his partner and promised to be a proper prince and protect her with all his power.
Shock swept through sweet Cérmæ as his confession came crashing clumsily from his lips. She knew naught what feelings would fly from him and yet her heart fluttered all the same. Long had her love for him lived latently lurking.
“I will marry you my lord if your might and mettle may be met out in the moor. I would see from you the stag of the seasons, Saer.”
No man, wolf, or god had ever come close to catching Saer, brought forth from Freann as a fawn.
“King of the woods they called him now with tines as tall as any man for a crown. He is uncatchable” she cautioned.
The boastful god’s big belly bounced as boisterous bales of braying laughter left his lips.
“Witless woman.” The lively lord laughed “you believe some beast to best me?”
“Doubtlessly” the Divine deity dashed back
“You have one year to catch your quarry and if you can, you may claim my hand henceforth and hereinafter I will call you husband.”
The god’s great grin grew and he knelt on a knee
“I will kill this creature and carry back its coat but before I do may I dare ask from you a kiss?”
She gave him two. One on each cheek. For character and courage.
It was spring when the lord bestirred himself to set out. Resplendent Rænör, wrought in radiant ringed armor that reflected the rising sun, rode over rocky ground in search of Saer The Stag King.
At mid-day, he spied who he sought. Spear in hand he slipped from the saddle, his shoes sinking slightly into softened soil as a small spring storm smattered his face.
Rænör stalked silently to Saer who snored slightly while he slept soundly. Antlers adorned with an efflorescent arrangement of amber, amethyst, and azure.
A mild mist milled mildly over the meadow where The Stag King slept. Rænör, so sure of success, kept no longer to caution or care, he charged the creature in a furious frenzy.
Saer woke with a fright fleeing further afield in the flowers who would forfend His Majesty of meadow and glen.
Rænör, followed fearlessly after his fleeing foe to find fair Saer, a phantom, disguised among the daisies.
Undaunted, he searched and searched, finding no sign of sweet Saer. Soon spring turned to summer.
For weeks he went without track or trail, the sweltering summer heat stuck Rænör’s shirt to his skin which was slick with sweat and no matter how seriously he strove he did not see a single sign of Saer supreme of all stags, until one sweat sodden morning when he stopped at a stream to slake his thirst, a tangle of twigs snapped with a thwack, and out from the brush burst Saer. The benevolent bull bounded to the brook to bathe away the baking heat, terrific towering tines in full-bloom with foliage bigger than bushes.
Rænör could barely believe the blessed boon that stood before him. Beguiling and bewitching to behold, Saer, bull of all bulls, bellowed a Brobdingnagian bugle ignorant of the impromptu invader inspecting with an insatiable eye and ill intent.
Rænör bit back bated breath bringing his bow to bear, string stretched snug his arm shook from the strain and with a snap, his plan came undone at the seams, and Saer now spotting his spy snorted and sprinted away up the stream.
Autumn arrived as always, immaculate emerald-looking leaves changed color, fresh fragile flowers fell and fluttered as they floated away in the wind. Brilliant blue bulbs, perfect pink petals, simply stunning sage-green stems faded away and fire-fanned foliage emerged as ostentatious oranges, riotously rare reds and great godly golds took their place.
Rænör searched several seedless weeks for Saer the stag, stopping only to stoop when stumbling on a newly spotted sign of track in the softened soil. Weary was the wanton wanderer when once again his luck changed incredibly and by chance he came across the charge he so keenly coveted.
Autumnal antlered Saer supreme sovereign of wilderness stood staring at his adversary snorting and stamping his huge heavy hooves defiant at the death dear Rænör did deign upon him.
Slipping from his skin, The God of the hunt hewn away the mortal mask of man and became a beast who brayed a bloody howl high to the night sky.
Bitter was the battle as towering tines tore and terrible teeth tried to flay flesh from foe as each engagement became bloodier than the one before. Rænör and Saer stood amongst blood-soaked leaves circling one another for it seemed their fight could only end with one of them heading to Freann.
A clap of thunder came careening with a crash and their battlefield forest and all filled with fire and flame, forcing each foe to flee.
Steep slopes of silvery snow surrounded Rænör who stood in a heartbroken haze having hardly had slim success seeing Saer whose antlers had become bare as bone. Dark days descended on dear Rænör whose disappointment declined toward depression as his deadline dashed toward an end. Resignation reigned in mighty Rænör who reached the end of his resolve. Weaponless and with wounded pride he held his harp and strummed softly on the strings summoning a sound so sweet it could’ve made the mountains weep.
To his shock and surprise as he strummed his string near the frozen spring he was joined by Saer Sovereign of stags. So moved by the melody was mighty Saer that he bent a knee and knelt in front of the God with his neck open and unguarded. Rænör softly slipped a loose lasso over the antlers of Saer who proudly pranced to call on Cérmæ.
“My love long have I lived with longing to look upon your face.” Rænör called to Cérmæ.
“The deed is done and the deer is dead?” Cérmæ questioned?
“No. Even a God so great as I could not slay Saer and so I have forsaken that to you which I did swear. Woe that I have no worth to claim a wife as wonderful as you.” Rænör presented proud prancing Saer to his beloved heartsick to finally come home only to have failed.
Cérmæ kissed Rænör.
“To have a husband half as heroic as you would make me happier than I would ever have thought.”
The two would be wed and more storied would be had but this is where ours ends.
