Meleager : $b A fantasyVaughan, Herbert M. (Herbert Millingchamp)
Philosophy
Meleager : $b A fantasy
Vaughan, Herbert M. (Herbert Millingchamp)
Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Life on other planets -- Fiction; Science fiction
Yesterday, being the holiday of the week, I rode out a-hunting with
Hiridia and other members of my Court amid the hilly region of forest
that lies behind the city. We were engaged in hotly pursuing a wounded
doe, and in the course of our chase came upon a wide open plateau in
the midst of the woods. Across this we all galloped, and my mount being
far fleeter than those of my companions, I soon outstripped them all
and rushed forward into the forest beyond. I am not usually very intent
on hounding down a stricken animal, but on this occasion I continued to
charge wildly ahead, dodging the many trunks and branches in a manner
that would have done credit to a colonial Bushman. The hot lust of the
chase for once fired my blood, and I felt the true afflatus of the
eager sportsman in my brain, as I tore madly onward, recking nothing
of the surrounding danger or the possibility of getting lost. Suddenly
I was stopped in my headlong career by the bough of a tree striking
me full across the breast with considerable force. A quick struggle
to retain my saddle and stirrups, an unusually fierce plunge from my
excited horse, and a moment later I found myself clinging with both
arms to the opposing branch with my steed escaping from under me. I
watched his quarters disappear into the enveloping scrub, and for a few
seconds could distinguish the crackling sound of his tearing through
the undergrowth till all was silent. I now dropped cautiously to the
ground below, where I found myself none the worse for my misadventure,
save for a few scratches and bruises. My plight, if disagreeable and
untimely, was not in the least fraught with danger, for I was sure to
be sought and discovered by my comrades at any rate before many hours
could pass. I felt however no inclination to lie quietly where I had
fallen, so I decided to retrace my steps in the direction whither I
imagined my friends to be approaching. So I rose and began guessing
my way by means of the broken twigs and trampled grass caused by my
horse's late gallop in the forest. But I must evidently have soon
strayed from the desired direction, for after a time I lighted upon
a well-defined track or pad, such as used to be familiar to me in
the Australian bush; and thinking this track would certainly lead me
towards some habitation, I followed its meanderings beneath the tall
trees, whose leafy heads served to exclude a good deal of the waning
afternoon light. Having threaded this little path for no small distance
I suddenly found it emerge from the woodlands into a charming secluded
little valley, watered by a clear purling stream trickling through
bright green pastures that were thickly set with masses of the fragrant
yellow narcissus. Beyond the brook and facing me stood a house of some
size, recalling one of the mysterious Algerian _koubbas_ with its plain
white-washed walls and its low cupolas. I hastened forward with the
intention of demanding assistance, and had already leaped the narrow
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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