Attempting to steer his horse in the direction of the sound, the steed pulled away, neighing loudly. “What’s the matter boy?” Striker asked. He could sense something evil lurking behind the trees. That uncanny sense he possessed along with the cry for help drew him back towards the woods, but his horse wasn’t having it. This horse never disobeyed before, now moving frantically back towards the town, seeming desperate to stay in the clearing under the moonlight. Finally, Striker dismounted. “You stay here.” he ordered the animal. He then turned his back on his horse and ventured into the dark forest.
The mysterious female voice guided him through the thick bushes and vegetation, growing louder the deeper he went. Finally, he came to a clearing. There, far into the forest, a lone lodge sat, with an unlit fire pit in front of it. “Hello.” Striker said, but he saw no one about.
“You came.” The voice spoke from the darkness. Then, there was a sudden burst of flame; the fire pit instantly ignited in an eerie glow. Looking around, he still saw no one, but could smell the scent of roses all around him. “Who’s there?” he asked.
Then he saw her. Her eyes were as black as the night, and her hair appeared to blend in with the darkness about it. By the light of the fire he could see her beautiful dress that exposed her shoulders and arms. Her skin was unblemished, and her lips more red than the flames that burned between the two of them.
“You called for help.” The hero said.
“And I knew you would come.” With those words her dress fell to the ground. His body shuddered and his lungs let out a gasp. It had been so long since he’d seen a woman this way. In the firelight she was only visible from the waist up, but her form was perfect, as though she were sculpted by the angels of God.
Still, Striker knew in his gut this was not a heavenly creature. The heat from the campfire pressed on his mask. Stepping back, away from the fire, he said. “You will not tempt me, woman.”
“Woman?” the beautiful creature smiled, her teeth almost glowing white. “No one has called me woman in so long.” She trotted around the fire and the hero again gasped at the truth standing before him. From the waist down, the being before him had the body of a deer.
Prancing over to him, she whispered, “When men look at me, they see a monster. I know you understand that pain.” His gaze was fixed on her two hooved feet, but she tucked her small hand under his chin, raising his eyes to hers. “You can see only a woman, if you like.” Her hand slipped around to the back of his head, and in one swift motion she undid his mask. From her hands it floated to the grass below.
His head now exposed to the night air, he took a fast and deep breath, feeling the fresh night air about him. His hands rushed upwards to cover his face, but they were caught by the soft palms of the Deer Woman, who lowered them to herwaist. Her own hands then slid up his tense muscular arms, past his shoulders, and finally pressing the flesh and bone of the hero’s face. “Tonight,” she whispered, “let me see you as just a man.”
Then, for the first time in so long, he felt the lips of a woman. Tasting the swirl of her tongue, he felt her hands on his shirt, undoing the buttons and exposing his chest. The heat from the fire touched his exposed skin as her hands slipped around to his back. His gloves dropped to the floor, and he soon felt her firm toned back with his bare hands.
Then, she pulled away. Taking him by the hand, she led him to her lodge. He removed his shirt and hat, tossing them aside, and entered. Soon, he was laying down on his back, the feeling of the soft fur rug relaxed him. He could barely see her form without the light of the fire outside, but his eyes remained fixed on her upper body, as were his hands, which explored her chest and back. Through his jeans he could feel her grinding against him. She kissed him intensely while her hands explored his torso before floating to his waist. He heard the undoing of his belt buckle and could hear her heavy breaths. He exhaled in pleasure as his denim tugged down ever so slightly.
She gasped heavily and just for a moment, he saw a gleam of light, like that of shining metal. He heard her breathe heavily one final time, before her throat released a hellish cry, a cry accompanied by a sharp sound, the sound of metal penetrating flesh. Her arms spasmed but her body remained still while a shape protrusion could be seen from her chest. His hands reached up to it. It felt hard and sharp. There was another fleshy sound as the object retracted, and the deer woman’s body fell to his side.
“Come on.” said the familiar voice of Sammy. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He lay there in shock for a moment, then, still in a daze, he wandered to the outside. Then, there was another chopping sound from within the lodge. Sammy emerged with the body of the deer woman slung over her shoulder, and the woman’s head was in Sammy’s right hand. Both were thrown into the fire, causing the flames to reach upwards. He was surprised to see her pull out a pouch of tobacco and throw it into the fire. Apparently eying the expression on his face, she said, “What? Silverfoot said she doesn’t like tobacco. Not taking any chances.” Despite the uncanny dangers Sammy had faced at his side, he always knew Sammy to put more stock in science than mythology, but there they were.
Turning back to him, she asked, “Are you OK?”
Putting the shirt and gloves back on, he answered with his own question. “How did you find me?”
“I found your horse.” she replied. “It was going kind of crazy, and then I saw this fire off in the distance. So I put two and two together. Simple math right?”
His hat now back on his head, he re-tied the bandanna around his face, and was now back to the appearance of what people knew as the Masked Striker. “We should find Silverfoot.” he said, firmly.
“Yeah, he’s probably wondering where his “mighty axe is.” The two walked back to where their horses rested, and soon rode away from the dark forest.
“Oh, my god, haven’t you had enough!”
Striker and Sammy could hear the ruckus in the room above the tavern, and saw Silverfoot’s horse still tied to the post.
“Hiyo Silverfoot, away!” Sammy heard Silverfoot’s boisterous voice, followed by the screams of a woman, and the laughter of a second woman over the sounds of a shaking bed.
Striker usually objected to his partner’s vices, but this time he remained silent, only looking down at the earth below. Sammy looked up to the room they knew Silverfoot resided in. “He can get his axe in the morning.” She muttered. “Let’s go home.”
The journey back to the farm was dead quiet, save the sounds of their horses hooves hitting the ground below. Once they reached Margaret’s property, Sammy turned to her friend and asked, “Are you sure you’re OK?”
He shook his head no. “I should have been stronger. I should not have given in.”
Sammy reached over to him. Squeezing his hand through his leather glove, she assured him. “It’s OK. For God sake’s your only human.”
He said nothing more. Arriving at the barn, they posted their horses outside before going in. They both laid down in the hay, a few feet apart from each other. Sammy lay there with her eyes open, processing everything that just occurred. Then, she heard a sigh from the man who lay near her, a man she’d come to respect and trust. He sounded so sad, and the life he was choosing to lead seemed destined for loneliness.
She got up from her spot and laid down closer to him. “Hey,” she said softly, touching his shoulder. He gasped and pulled away from her, but she drew closer still. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said. Touching his bare face gently with her hand, she brought her lips close to his. “It’s OK. You’re still a great man.”
Silverfoot missed his father, and thought nothing of being back in those distant woods where the two of them hunted all those years ago. The forest was thick and lush while a heavy fog rolled over the trees adding a dreamlike ethereal look to the environment. Beside him, his father stood strong and youthful, just as he’d remembered him. As his father looked at him, he could finally see the grown man Silverfoot had become. His father nodded in approval, then looked ahead.
Siverfoot turned to see the Deer Woman standing before them. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her, wearing that same dress she wore that one and only time he’d ever laid eyes on her. In all of Silverfoot’s travels that he’d taken since that day, he’d never seen a woman as lovely as this. Her delicate hands reached up to her shoulders from which she slid that lovely dress down her body. Silverfoot watched her small delicate feet step forward into the grass leaving her clothes behind. His eyes scanned her body from her ankles up her tanned tone calves, up the curves of her hips to her flat bronze stomach, up her slender arms and through her perfectly rounded breasts, finally resting on those deep black eyes. Silverfoot stood mesmerized before the goddess of pleasure.
But something was beginning to change, not with her body, but with his mind. Once Silverfoot grew older and learned the pleasures of women, he often thought of this mysterious beauty he’d encountered all those years ago. Many nights he dreamt of her and the passionate love they’d make. In other dreams, it was a fiery animalistic love. Now, she was standing there before him, waiting for him to come.
Suddenly, a change came over the woman’s face, shifting from an expression of longing to worry. It was then that she let out a horrible scream, a scream of both terror and pain as a flame enveloped her perfect body. The fire did not spread to the trees and the grass surrounding her, but consumed her flesh entirely. After a thick cloud of smoke ascended into the air, she was gone, not even a trace of fire or ash remained.
Silverfoot opened his eyes to the wooden roof hanging over him. Turning his head, he could see the morning light shining through the window. Watching the yellow ball that is the sun burn brightly in the sky, he found his old desires had passed, extinguished like an evenings campfire.
A ray of sunlight fell on the blonde woman’s hair making it glow like a lantern. Silverfoot saw the woman was already awake. He could feel her smooth skin while her hand brushed his chest. She purred lightly like a kitten, then, past her red lips came the words, “Ready for some more adventures?”
He smiled, watching her breasts swing lightly as she leaned over to him, but he sat up, and for the first time in his life, he said, “I’ve had enough.”
Playfully slapping his arm, Nicole said, “Really, what, are you a holy man now?”
Silverfoot looked back at the Chinese woman who lay face down on the bed, her tight firm buttocks pointing towards the ceiling. Remembering today was what white men called the Lord’s day, Silverfoot answered, “Maybe just for today.” His hand reached over and gave Yen’s bottom a nice firm squeeze before putting on his clothes and leaving.
Outside the tavern, he immediately noticed his axe was gone, but this did not worry him. Somehow, he knew what had happened, and he knew where he would find his ancient weapon that supposedly had been swung in battle long before his people’s time. The two sets of horse tracks leading back to the farm confirmed his suspicions.
Back at the barn, Silverfoot found the axe as he knew it would. Still, it gave him some relief to grip it in his hands again. It was evident that whoever used it last hadn’t cleaned it, as the blade was stained with blood. Wiping the blade in the grass, he wondered if this was human blood or deer blood, or maybe it was both, or neither.
None of this surprised Silverfoot, but what did surprise him was what he found laying in the darkness, deeper inside the barn. There, Sammy and his old friend were laying together under a blanket. Taken back by this sight, he remained still, just standing there as Sammy stirred. When she looked up, her eyes grew wide as she saw him, but Silverfoot simply nodded before turning away.
Stepping out of the barn, he heard another female voice. “Silverfoot” He knew it was a voice he’d heard before, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Silverfoot!” it called again from an unknown place. He looked into the nearby woods. A small deer ran by. For a second, the deer stopped to glance at him with its dark black eyes. It couldn’t be, could it?
“At the house, silly!” Now that voice he recognized. It was Bobby, who, along with his mother, were standing on the porch of their home trying to wave him down.
“We have breakfast,” Margaret said, “if you and your friends would care to join us?”
Silverfoot looked back at the barn before saying, “They’re, they’re still asleep, but I’ll have some.” He then hurriedly walked toward the home.
After the Lord’s prayer, the three enjoyed a hearty breakfast of sausage, eggs, and various fruits, all of which Silverfoot happily accepted. “So nice to have a home cooked meal.” He said.
Margaret flashed a smile, but then hung her head low for a moment. They both knew that no matter what may or may have occurred last night, there was no bringing Bobby’s father back.
“What will you do now?” Silverfoot asked, “Will you keep the farm?”
“I’d like to. I have some family that might be able to lend a hand, and we were talking about having my father come live with us anyway.”
“Wow, grandpa is going to live here?”
“Well, we’ll see honey, calm your britches.”
“That’s good.” Silverfoot looked back at the door from which they entered. It wasn’t entirely on the frame right and didn’t close properly. “In the meantime,” he suggested, “how about I help you fix the door.”
“That would be great.” Margaret said, “but I insist you take some breakfast to your two friends.”
Walking back to the barn, Silvefoot set the tray down and knocked on the wooden door. “Uh, it’s me,” he awkwardly announced. “Margaret’s made us some breakfast. I’m gonna set it out here.” Before he could set the tray on the ground, the door creaked open and there stood Sammy. Their eyes met, and he gave her a sly smile. Handing her the tray, he said one word. “Breakfast.”
She reached out to him, her hand brushed against his as he handed the tray off to her. “Thank you.” she meekly said as her body drifted back into the darkness.
“I’m going to fix their door.” Was all he could say before the barn door shut. Walking back towards the house, he figured she probably didn’t even hear him.
Standing on the porch, Silverfoot worked on the door frame while Bobby looked on. Excited to have company, he asked anxiously, “Did you get him? Did you kill the devil?”
“Now Bobby, don’t you be bothering him.” Margaret said as she passed by, “Let the man work.”
“It’s OK Margaret.” Silverfoot said. “I’m pretty sure it’s been taken care of.”
Silverfoot continued working on the door frame. Soon after he finished, he saw Sammy and Striker walking toward them, “The Masked Striker!” Bobby yelled out as he ran onto the porch, his hands imitating the firing of two pistols. Surprisingly, Silverfoot watched this child’s hero pretend to fire back. With one hand, Bobby held his side, his other arm raised dramatically in the air as he cried out, “AH! You got me!” before collapsing to the ground.
“Oh my god,” his mother wailed in laughter, “what are you doing boy?”
“I could tell he’s a regular bandit,” Striker said, pulling out a fresh blue handkerchief from his pocket, “and every bandit needs a good disguise.” Holding the handkerchief, his hand reached down towards his young fan. “Here you go, varmint.”
“Wow!” Bobby leapt back to his feet, excitedly wrapping the material around his face. Once again mimicking holding a gun in his hand, he pointed to his mom and announced, “This is a stick up!”
“Careful little man,” Sammy jested, “we don’t want to be hauling you off to jail.”
“Yes,” Margaret affirmed, “and what do you say to the nice man?”
Pulling the mask off, Bobby joyfully said, ‘Thank you.” before again impersonating a dangerous gun fighter firing his imaginary pistols.
“Alright my little outlaw, you go inside,” Margaret ordered. “I have to talk to our friends.”
Once the youngin ventured inside, undoubtedly to fantasize about shootouts at banks and train cars, the mood grew more somber.
“So,” she asked, “is it done?”
Silverfoot joined Margaret in glancing at Striker in anticipation of the answer.
“What took your husband, it’s gone. It took some other men down with it, but you can tell the Sheriff it won’t be coming back.”
“Thank you.” Margaret said. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask, was it really the devil?”
Silverfoot could see Striker’s eyes wander, trying to find the right words to say. “Not exactly.” He heard Sammy interject.
“What was it then, was it just some kind of animal?”
Silverfoot caught Sammy’s stern gaze as she responded, “The less said about it the better.”
“Well, I suppose it’s for the best then. Thank you so much for your help. You’re welcome to stay. I don’t have much to offer you besides room and board.”
Turning away, Striker answered, “You’re very kind ma’am but the deed is reward enough. We should be on our way.”
“Please, at least give you some food to take with you.”
It was agreed then. Margaret shared some food and other supplies with the three as payment for their assistance. Soon, the trio were on their horses ready to begin their next journey, but Margaret had one last thing to say.
“Again, I can never thank you enough, and Striker, I also wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize, for what?”
“Well,” she held her head down sheepishly, “for reacting so unkindly to you, on, on the night we met.”
“Think nothing of it. Besides,” what the Masked Striker said next was something no one expected, “you should see what I looked like before!”
Trotting away, Silverfoot lost himself in laughter. “You should see what I looked like before!” he howled. He hadn’t laughed that hard since he was a child. Sammy also laughed, and, placing his arm on the jester’s shoulder, the trio rode away. Margaret and Bobby stood behind them, waving at the three heroes in search of their next adventure.
The End
Hard Coal Studios 
