The silvery vixen sprinted through the leafless autumn woods. She wasn’t familiar with this edge of the birch forest anymore, lost orientation and looked around; though, they soon had reached her.
Despite their approaching, it was awkwardly quiet and only the sharp screech of a raven passing by echoed through the frozen air. Right in front of her, the so called Black Forest began. Being surrounded by a thick wall of thorn bushes, this burnt down part of the woods had gained a mysterious character over the time.
The vixen sighted and tried to find her way through the thorns, when the ravens up in the trees started yelling loudly. Unable to move, she remained still, as it felt like a warning. The screams began sounding strange, distorted. But feeling a throbbing in her sore paws, she rushed forward in one last dash and found herself back on a burnt ground. There was this dizzy feeling again, as if the world was out of the place in one strike … she trembled, stumbled across a branch and fell.
A furious fight of two chasing colours began - black, red. Shadows slowly began shaping into grotesque forms, loosing themselves manically laughing in her mind.
A striking pair of hollow eyes appeared out of the shadows right in front of her and approached, starring the frightened vixen down. Just as Hunter tried to draw back, she found herself surrounded by trees. Hunter hold her breathe. Her heart pounded even more rapidly. The hammering in her head intensified. ‘No, this can’t be real’, she whined. As the forest began spinning upside down anew, the pitch-black creature raised its dreadful sounding voice and hissed into her ear: “Doubting dream and reality? Just look what you have become … “.
“Who … are … you?”, the shaking vixen wanted to know. It seemed, as if the breeze was colder than ever before. “You ask what I am? I’m nothing than the outburst of your reality. I’m not here, I do not even exist. You’re losing your mind“, its large muzzle formed a pointy snarl.
Just another little ink picture about my story "Landjäger". Not even slightly how I imagined, but a nice practise. I want to paint more in ink this year. Somehow, it became my favourite technique in all its dirty expression.
Tools: Ink, inking feather, bamboo brushes
Hunter & Ruska (c) me