20190627

Day 1,755

They say only hunters can see it - the black stag. It's an old folktale, an omen of death and very much alive in spite of everything that says it shouldn't be. Beasts of folklore rarely listen to logic though and you'd be hard pressed to find someone who'll argue it to their faces.

Nobody hunts in my family, makes us outcast a fair bit but it means the black stag won't bother us none and that suits us just fine. Can't say the same for most others in our village. They're forever bringing back a brace of pheasants or a handful of rabbits.

If there's one thing nature loves, it's equal opportunity. Everything is as much a predator as it is prey and we might prey on everything we can fix a crosshair on but we're just as likely to be the target of something that's much harder to kill than we are.

The black stag likes to walk behind hunters at first, never more than two paces away and staring unblinkingly into their eyes until they drop their guns and walk away. The forests may be littered with fully loaded rifles but nobody would dare to touch them again, not even to burn the damned things.

It's safer to leave them to rot in the ground than risk the black stag coming for you.

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