Ulrike Galiena smiled as the howling of wolves filled the void of silence in the air.

The sky was a clear night--dark and misty and with a full moon you only see in the movies.
It was cold, and quiet--deadly quiet in the small parts of Freiburg im Breisgau, nearing the Black Forest, Baden-Württemberg. The name itself was enough to make her stomach rumble and lick her lips, remembering a dark chocolate cake--dripping chocolate flakes and rich with the oozy smell of chocolate--with similar name.

It was as if they knew that that night was the rare nights of the Wild Hunt.

The child in bed shifted in her sleep.

Her room was coated in a layer of bright pink, toys of princesses and castles at one corner of the dimly-lighted room. A small shelf hung from the walls, beside a small princess mirror. A table with a guide for the alphabets stood nearest the bed.

The child looked like about 4 years of age, or maybe even 6, Ulrike had a hard time telling in the dark.

But the way she clutched her teddy bear--the way her breathing was steady and her face was calm and peaceful--left her satisfied and equally in peace.

I wonder if Galilea is sleeping this peacefully tonight.

She remembered the smile, the laughs, the bright glint in the dark brown eyes of that 5-year-old daughter of hers.

She was healthy, fit.
Perhaps inherited her gift and Tacitus' to see what no one else could.

I wish not.
It would be best, in her opinion, for Galilea to grow as a normal girl.
If I can raise her like one.

But she could release her breathe.
For now.

Because just like her Galilea, her kind, the child was safe.
Secured.
Comforted and protected from bad dreams.
And the dead alp's eyes were still wide open beneath Ulrike's feet.

It was small, scrawny, in the form of a demonic-faced dog. Black hair rose from its chin. Its eyes, full of horror and emptiness, were dark and hollow.

She found it creeping to the child, black and dark blue smokes of nightmares between his fingers. Thinking no one saw it despite its loud cackle.

Well, it was wrong.
It picked the wrong night.
Because that night, Ulrike was around.
And no monster could escape from Ulrike Galiena.

She rubbed the sickly black blood sticking to the blade of her knife on her pants, then sheathed it in place by the belt around her waist.

There should be at least two or three native sicht for the Black Forest, but they were certainly busy elsewhere or with another business.

The scratch marks of the alp burned through the skin of her right calf. It was an easy kill-it was not expecting her, and it was one of the tamer, amateur demons-simply sliced in the chest.

No one would see the dead thing, but it wasn't proper-- wasn't noble--to leave it dead near its victim.

She sighed, crouched down, and scooped the demon by the neck. Its form slowly shrunk, dried like bones of a corpse.

The line, the mark it left-shone in rich gold before slowly fading, like the golden dusts of the velvet cake she ate last two days. A low hum buzzed in her ears.

The child was smiling.
Her heart fuzzed with warmth, despite the temperature. She wiped her hands on her shirt with a small smile upon her face. She forgot about velvet cake.

A shrill howl through the air shattered the mood.

Can't stay here for long.
She stood up, and tossed the alp across her shoulders. Ulrike gazed at the girl for one last time, whispering a prayer for her to be blessed with sweet dreams.

She faced out the window, the howling getting louder. Ulrike glanced around in all direction, estimating the distance, then jumped off the window. Her left foot stuck to the edge of the wall, her fingers tight around the poles and cold steel railing. She reached up, and closed the window panes silently, picking the lock back in place.

Her short brown hair flew in the wind, the breeze tickling her skin. She emitted the odor of earth and cement and pine. The corpse bothered her nose with a stink of a scent. She could feel the weight of the sheathed blades and weapons in her pockets and belt and hidden in her clothes. The pressure of a water bottle in her pocket clung to her. Her ring with a golden stone stood out in the gloomy atmosphere.

She took the alp with her free hand, and thanks to the light weight, flung it to the very Black Forest. It appeared like a heap of black, tumbling down the black-topped trees.

That's done.
Now, what I'm really here for.

The German flag waved among the buildings. The Black Forest-and the woods nearer to the small town-stretched far and wide to the hills beyond. The tree tops were always dark--but it looked even darker at the time.

No chirps of crickets.
No croaks of frogs.
No clicks of lizards.

"Well," she muttered to herself, keeping her eyes by the right edge, the entrance, of the Black Forest. "They knew, too, I guess."

The last howl, loudest of all, sent shivers through her spine.

Then no more.
Barks took place.
Barks of hounds and the tramples of horses and roars and chatters of ancient languages.

Inhuman language. Ancient language.

A light--warm yet cold--blue and red at the same time flickered by the corner of her sight. It was like a tiny flame you could spot in fantasy films via CGI, floating in thin air.

They're here.

She let go.
She let it be.
Let her body fall, counting in her head, before feeling the impact, and rolled over. She rolled and held herself up by the elbows.
Her palms pressed against the metal roof she sat on.
She heard the shouts and a scream, and thundering footsteps.

Ulrike laid low, her cheek against the cold tiles, her eyes wide open.

She'd seen the Wild Hunt twice in the past. But it was always a new thing to see-a wild, chaotic chase of the demons and beasts and creatures of the German mythology after a prey. Usually it was a deer or a wild horse-- and it had always fascinated her, and scared her, at the same time.

A mortal that saw the Wild Hunt would usually mean bad omen-resulting in them being pulled in the chase or as a sign of their nearing death.
Seeing one mythological figure was already quite a shock to the people of the modern days. Seeing a whole hunt of faeries and kings and elves could kill them out of heart attack.

But Ulrike was no normal mortal.

She could see these things since she was 7.

She killed these things starting at 10, trained by her sister who got the same gift in her blood.

She was a sicht.

As the sounds were getting louder and wilder, Ulrike pried a cylindrical object from her breast pocket. She shook it, and pulled the tip from the glass side, forming a small telescope, enough to look at the scenery closer.

She could see them.

It sent shivers to her very bones. It sent goosebumps to the hairs on her skin. It sent a sickly churn in her stomach, and it was for once not because of the lack of food. It caught her breath. It made her fingers trembled-out of excitement or fear, she didn't know. It made her giddy as a child. It made her eyes widen. It made her smile and release a low, hollow laugh.

Beasts of all shape and size-some dark, barely visible, some shining and Illuminating bright light. One was in a humanoid size, skin of a human, with fangs and claws and elven ears, leaves covering its bottom part and unnatural hair out of its back. One was gigantic and naked-more of a shadow than a solid thing. One was small, the size of a toddler, in red and with a pointy head, its nose insanely long in swirls, crawling on fours.

Fascinating, she thought. There's the Buschgroßmutter, leader of the forest spirits. And there's the moss folk.

Some of them carried sticks, others with tridents or poles or swords. Some with staffs and magical flames from their palms. Most were barefoot, and weaponless.

Who is the leader?
What is their prey this time?

In her first time, it was Woden, the ancient lord of the wind and the dead with his long beard and staff. At the second time, it was the legendary protectress of agriculture, Frau Holda, beautiful in gold and flowers in her wild hair.

She dragged the telescope to the far left. To the front of the pack.
There.

On a white horse, was a muscular-looking man with a short combed blond hair. He was well-built and well-armored, a flowing red cape from his back. There was a pointy thing-maybe part of the armory-sticking from his chest.

Ulrike Galiena didn't like reading the tales. She had enough trust in her observations, experiences and stories from the mouth of her grandparents which she recalled back when she was 6.

That man-
She thought she'd met every mythological creäture of German ever existed, given her skills.

But she was wrong.

Who is he?
Who is this man?
Why is he leading the Hunt?
What is he hunting?

A loud scream shrieked from the woods.
There was a strange, cold thump in her chest.

She moved her telescope further.

An unknown sound came out of her mouth. Her face turned pale. Her telescope dropped to the ground.

And she didn't care.
Not one bit.

She leapt down, rolled in the dirt for decreasing the force acting on her, and rose up to her feet in a blink of an eye.
She ran, her legs swinging hard, into the Black Forest. Her breath was heavy, panting. In the clutch of her hands were two drawn blades.
She ran on her heels-hoisted herself up to the branches of the trees, stepped from a branch to another, then back down on the ground.
She made a slight ruffle or two.
Other than that, she was silent.

Who is that leader?
The only distinguished feature of him was the point sticking from his chest.

She slid under a bridge of fallen trees.

I've never heard of that before.
And he is leading the Hunt for a human boy.

The image was clear in her mind right before she released the fordable telescope--a boy, or at least the scream sounded like a boy's, about the age of 12, barefoot and wounded, and screaming, running from the dangerous pack.

What did he do wrong to deserve that?

Even the worst of crimes shouldn't be punished like that--chased through the woods by a whole league of inhuman creätures he'd never seen, most cannibalistic, unheard and scared.

"God save him," she prayed.
If not, she would save him.

She'd been observing them-enough for a fight or two or thirteen.

I can take the lackeys down.
I've fought their kind.
But the leader-

The one thing about being a sicht, the lesser you know, the harder it would be. And she started to regret refusing the old German Fairy-Tale books Tacitus offered.

Nonsense.
I can probably take him down, too.

She sliced a big branch blocking her way.

Twenty-four weapons. That's all I have.
Probably 40 something of them.

A flickering flame appeared in her vision. She gritted her teeth.

Well, one for two of them, then.
More for the leader.

She hid behind a big, sturdy trunk of an oak tree. Her grip tightened around the hilt of the sharp blades.
The hungry shouts in ancient, forgotten languages were practically behind her. Their steps buzzed in her ears. The smell of metal and iron hummed in her nose. She could see their shadows from the sorcery flames, tall and odd and cruel.

Maybe it was a mother's love.
Or simply because she was a human being.
And every human had heart.

Whatever it was, she wasn't letting them kill the boy in such a horrific way.
Oh, she'd seen how it's done.
She'd seen the multiple attacks and magics and slaying and shredding.

The blood.
The guts.
The heart-

She whispered a prayer.
Licked her lips.
And pounced straight out of her hiding place.