Heart of Stone, A Novel by GJ Kelly, Master Storyteller

Sweat, forming on his brow in spite of the cold, heart pounding, fingers trembling. Shapes, in the gloom, moving, bracken swishing, hooves thumping and clumping on the well-trodden frozen ground. Dragon-breath smoking plumes, steaming harbingers, five dark shapes behind the billowing clouds, four-footed, heavy, advancing through the clearing to the stream. Deer.
   Carfax held his breath, and watched, and waited, paralysed but for neck and eyes. The deer were magnificent, unafraid, unaware, and clumped across the clearing twenty yards in front of him. Their breath-plumes drifted towards him, and he caught their scent, a strange, damp-sweat odour he'd never known before.
   Deer, standing line-abreast, on the bank of the stream, heads dipping to the cold, clear water, ears twitching. Carfax, watching from the brush, hands trembling, breathing shallow, heart pounding, muscles tense, waiting, mouth dry with fear and excitement.
   The one nearest him was big, certainly no fawn, an adult doe, graceful and tall, and standing almost broadside-on. John adjusted his grip on the arrow, and braced himself. If he attacked now, and was successful, the doe would fall in the stream and the man would freeze dragging it out. He waited, stomach churning with adrenaline, mouth dry as ashes, listening to the sounds of the animals drinking.
   The doe lifted its head, water dripping from its muzzle to splash in the gurgling stream beneath. She turned then, to her left, towards the man hidden behind the bushes, and for a fleeting moment Carfax stared straight into her face. Not a hint of recognition, no sign that she'd seen the man, and her head swung around as she turned to face the trail back towards the woods, skin rippling over flexing muscles and slender legs moving, gracefully.
   Carfax suddenly felt distant, numb, detached, and he rose from behind the bracken, muscles powering his tall frame upright. His left arm extended, pointing at the animal, and the right arm blasting forward, hurling the arrow. The moment the string snapped free of the shaft his brain knew, he knew, it would strike its mark.
   John watched, seeing the animal's head lift slightly, ears snapping upright. Heard the sudden silence of the forest as the other deer stopped lapping at the water and froze, muscles tense. Saw the four-foot arrow as it sped across the timeless distance between his hand and the doe, saw the gentle spin of the fletching. Felt the wood of the spear as he transferred it to his right hand, the bowstring dangling from his gloved wrist. Heard the deep and solid thunk! of the arrow's impact, and saw it slice deep into the animal's body, just behind the shoulder-blade.
He watched as he stepped forward out of cover, raising the spear into a throwing position, saw the other animals spring away from the stream, momentarily airborne as they blasted, muscles rippling, away from him. He heard the stricken animal bellow, a single, horrible sound shattering the tranquil forest air, and saw her head go up, neck extending.
He leapt from the bracken, two great strides, arm drawing back, and watched as the doe's front legs crumpled, no grace in its movements now, no beauty. John saw the doe's face plunge into the furrowed snow, the accursed white powder flying up around the beautiful head. Two more strides, and the other animals were away into the gloom, crashing through bracken and gorse in their terror, abandoning their companion to her fate.
Another stride, and the doe's hind legs gave way, the heavy sound of the body collapsing onto the unyielding ground mingling with the laboured grunt of the beast. He ran, then, great loping strides, and the fear and excitement and distance gave way to elation. Then he was standing above the fallen beast, looking down, seeing the breath puffing from its wet, snow-covered nostrils, seeing the one brown eye looking up at him, surrounded by white, terrified and confused.
John dropped his spear, and knelt, and pulling off his gloves, reached out to touch the doe's face. Warm, he thought, and soft. The arrow, angling out from the doe's right side and stone point embedded deep within, moved back and forth, waving like a signalman's flag with each short puff of steam from the doe's muzzle. He looked down, then, and felt the fear of the animal as it trembled beneath his hand, and his elation turned to grief and ineffable guilt.
Tenderly, he lifted the animal's head from the cold, hard earth, and cradled it in his lap, resting it on the fur tabard while he gently stroked its ears. After a few moments, the white-circled terror faded, leaving only the deep brown staring up at him as he gently murmured, crooning like a mother to an infant child. The arrow waved slower, now, and the dam that held John's tears gave way. He stroked and whispered, rocking back and forth, until, with a final, shuddering sigh, the arrow stopped waving, and the doe died.
   He held it while the tears subsided, wiping his eyes and nose and rocking back and forth in the pre-dawn light. Daybreak would come soon, he knew, the sun would slice open the gloom through the distant trees, banish the darkness once more. Birds, what few there were in this frozen wilderness, would call out their greeting to the new day, and the stream would gurgle merrily on its way. But the doe would not know the hope and joy of these things again, for John had taken its magic forever, and he knew it; finally, with his fingers lightly resting on the doe's cooling brow, he understood.
   John felt Skull standing behind him, felt the Neanderthal's massive but tender hand resting lightly on his shoulder, and when he looked up, he saw the profound recognition in the awful dark eyes and the bitter-sweet smile of a terrible secret shared.

"Where are all the forests, John Carfax? All the trees that once covered this land? Where are all the animals? The wolf and the bear once lived here, and now they are gone. The seas and rivers and lakes once teemed with fish, now they too are almost gone. There is only so much magic to go around, John Carfax, and your people are taking it all. Soon, there won't be any left, and your people will be forced to give back what they've taken. When that happens, and you are few again, then the earth will return to the way it was before, in my time, when people understood these things."