UA-52565790-16 Wild Hunt - Saga Kraft

Episode 15

Published on:

18th Nov 2020

Wild Hunt

Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends stories, comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us. As we share stories, both old and new, more than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding at times. It may be one story told by one person at times it's the same story told through three different voices.

In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm C a writer, artist, and storyteller. I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We are magical fairy godmothers in training today, we will be sharing stories about the wild hunt.

And all the magic and wildness and blessing that comes with those times. And the adventures, fires first lit for grandfathers. Feasts are still burning. They burned for a long time and these parts, not just for the one even into morning, but for the many nights that follow after. The days are short and the nights are long and getting longer yet heading into the deepest autumn, the autumn that strips the trees bare and freezes the ground solid and closed.

Preparing for winter, many souls and spirits wonder in this cold landscape and howling winds finding their way home through the thin veils of the dark season, finding their way towards their loved ones.

Those offerings and feasts are not for me. They're not for me. No feast can fill my hunger or quench my thirst. No, honey can sweeten the bitterness that burns me songs and prayers can be heard. Messages revealed between the living and the dead, a sacred time that living lean softly to hear the whispers and blessings of their loved ones.

What omens, what was done? What do they bring for the coming year? The songs they sing or not? For me, they're not for me. And no one wants to hear my cries, my house or my rage. I am the keeper of the place where the unwanted go, the banished, the wicked and the wild here they come. And I contain them. Keep them still keep them quiet and far away from the living and from the fires until this time comes when the earth stirs and a wins world.

And I can no longer keep from howling, a thousand cries and the cold wind blows from all sides. There's nowhere to run, no place to hide. This wind might find me after all, take me over, push me further out. I will be free at last free at last. But I will not go into the night. I have my rage. I have my thousand cries.

I will not be banished. I must keep guard. Ah, here they come. Hundreds of writers and to beasts and ghouls by ground and by air, they ride so many faces, flared, nostrils, and fierce eyes, tumbling and crying like one being onward and forward the ride unstoppable on confined. Oh, how wonderful it would be to ride with them to whirl and fly, to be free, to be undone.

But I cannot, I cannot ride. I must remain. I must guard. I have my rage. I have my thousand cries. It is my duty. And Diane bound, the black writer arrives. I meet his eyes. Your time has come guardian. You must ride. But I cannot for, I am bound and I hold a thousand cries. Give me your cries. He demands. I give him one and onward.

He rides the red rider arrives. I meet his eyes. Your time has come guardian. You must ride. I still cannot fry him bound. And with the rage of a thousand, I, how give me a rage. He demands. I give him one. And onward. He rides the white writer arrives. I dare not meet his eyes. He cannot see me. I must hide, but he can see all and there's nowhere to go, no place to hide.

And I still hold the thousand cries inside. I've come for you, guardian. Your time is now another rider comes to take your place to keep the edge, to keep the banished and the wicked and the wild. I cannot leave. I cannot ride. I have a thousand howling voices inside a thousand rages and a thousand cries.

Those are not yours. Those are no mine. I have come for them. So you can ride your time has come white writer go forth and ride. It is my turn to guard the land at this time. And so I ride. I take the thousand house with me and the cries I dissolve with the wind as do the cries and the rage. And we howl with such vigor, such force and joy that nobody will be left behind.

Noah will wander. No one will be bound free at last free. At last we are undone. We ride. I love that. That was so powerful. Thank you. It was fun to write. I loved that. What felt to me like dichotomous nature, the first lack, and then the, the engagement rather belonging in a totally different way. It's nature was a big part of it, nature and time.

And that everything belongs in the right order, even if it's part of disorder and chaos.

For those spirits and those souls. Yes. Until the new ones start coming. New elements that have been cast aside are sent off to that place far, far away, wherever that may be. I loved all the descriptions. I always love all your descriptions. Thank you for me. The dedication and it too. I mean, just the acceptance of what was.

And the adherence to some kind of code or some kind of an agreement and the necessity of having beings, people of some sort who will do those jobs, who will do that intense work and a lovely, very vigorous portrayal of the hunt itself too. That's great. They like the release, not just of those who are fully gone, but the idea that parts of ourselves could be offered up and can be released with that as well.

And the demonstration of how to let go and the reassurance that when we let go of something, it is in fact carried on and repurposed. And it makes me think too, of what happens when people are dying, that the things that they've been carrying often pass on to the living, and to know that there's some recourse for those who've inherited these kinds of rages or emotions or feelings.

And to know that they too can move on and be taken at certain times of the year, intense and uplifting. Thank you both for listening and having such beautiful things to say, I'm quite fond of some of these words in here. I might even incorporate them into something else because I do feel like the words came from this code and from this place of lung and wanting to be released.

And also knowing that once they've come to the edge, they're the only ones holding it back. And the trust that whatever's after can sustain it can sustain the edge when they're the last one standing. And that was the reason why they're still standing. And I like that when this voice first started coming, they really were showing me the warm places and the acceptable places that people gather or create for their ancestors and how some are simply not welcome for very good reason, because they're part of a landscape that upholds the bigger structure of it all.

And there are forces wild and free that really understand those situations. And those feelings and the illnesses and the things that must be kept at Bay to contain a balance. So I appreciate how that voice came through with the warmth and with the wilderness of the cold. Thank you. Okay. Thank you. And now C has a story.

On all hallows' Eve at midnight, their time 7:00 PM mine. The sound of distant hooves echoes through the air with a company when the lost dog sniffs his way from tree to tree smelling the stories of a million other dogs before him, the wind begins to hell low and mournful. At first, then whipping up into a high pitch scream has the worst per where group of sense.

What does one call a group of courses of flock heard elite bizarre for practical purposes, they're done eating. So one would think that satisfied would be inappropriate term it there anything, but I will call them the one thing. As soon as they land, they splinter off into subgroups, grounding the forest.

Is it hurting? It's lack of occupants. Filling the air with their Hells and screams the pounding of Koons, the whipping of brands, their leader, a tall man and a taller hat gestures in the air. As of conducting the cacophony, he gallops between the foreboding trees are full-speed unafraid wielding a spear wildly.

And with abandon in doubt, he remembers what it is or who he is then again, why would he need to, he's only playing his part. He is what we have made him just as way or what he has made us. Well, memory is selective. Anyway, it's just about who gets to select in the wee hours of the morning. They happen upon a man tucked into this victim sleeping bag and bivy sack the tall man knobs in three of the wanting, surround to the camper and begin to chant.

He goes on sleeping as a heavy rider within strands and long thinning hair, hoist the camper still cuddled into his waterproof cocoon over his shoulder before mounting his horse. Again, the two Gallup chaotically into the night. So only one of them knows it as they approach the waterfall their leader makes.

But I can only describe as a sound that isn't so much curd as experienced. It rips through the worlds, creating a jagged tear in the fabric of understanding the self appeals behind them, leaving a slight energetics in tag it's equally as appealing. They arrive at the Elvin court and after a few faint niceties present the snoring bundle to the King, his smiles, then gestures to them to dump it into the corner.

Circular tables that lie in the hall are covered with food steaming, loaves of bread and cauldrons and soup yams and soy juries have as well as those marginally burnt sausage, there was like so much, there are desert and crystal carrots of Mead ale and wine. In addition to a stunning variety of Elvin alcohols in a rainbow of colors.

All sit down to enjoy the mail. Enjoy being aware of that is utterly misleading. So they have no need of physical substance. So wanting sucked down, enormous quantities of food and drinks so quickly. I can't imagine they actually taste them. And with no sign of enjoyment whatsoever, they're not done eating.

Although their bodies no longer require that when they finished what I can retrieve of serving stones. They began licking the platters in a desperate fever, the King taps on his crystal glass with the end of the sport to call attention as the final drops is squeezed from the crafts and the squat is of the wanting licks, the final dollop of yam from the central cauldron tonight's entertainment.

The King announces gesturing to the unconscious lump of human in the corner. Three Elvis hoist him upright and pry him from his bivy sack was surprising. Grace. To hold him upright, whose head drooping forward and to the left, the third, a younger elephant exquisite dress. First fingerprints then search it's him handing the driver's license to the King who reigns the name and address John Dickinson core 28 East pine allowed Mullins later, the younger L pants that came to iPads when displaying a personal file had one showing a social media page.

The King snorts, this mouse suddenly on a half smile. Good job folks. He comments, it looks like this. One's told his fiance. He's spending time alone in the woods and called in sick at work sound eruption the room as the snicker and the wanting does a full round of high fives. Everyone in hand pulls out a camera except for the younger ELLs.

So momentarily hugs the camper then slowly shift shifts into his form, like wax melting and solidifying again. That's the wave of the King's hand, the disco ball descends from the ceiling and music clubs, the room, the doppelganger leaves a Congo line as the other snap pictures next to you, does a strip tease draping the band's plaid flannel over his sprightly, feminine L looking her cheek, other ships shift into animal form and pose literally as often as not while still more guests, documentary dimensions.

The party ratios for hours until daylight threatens to shatter the night and the elephant King rings his glass. Once again, the group slowly quiet, another successfully evening, he announces tomorrow. The tall later of the one-time suggest you bring the entertainment. We'll provide the food. The Elvin King announces is the wanting head off to return the camper to the woods while his younger elf, a friend uploads all the images in social media account.

That's amazing. What a story you painted with your words. Thank you. I love the feast. I really felt like I was there with all of your descriptions of it and the food and the Mead. And I love how mischievous everybody is and so funny. And there's that element of not feeling quite safe, ever. Which I think is an important part of these kinds of adventures.

And really this time, this time of the year, and being with these magical beings, even if they blend in somehow into present time, there's that element of the uncanny and the unknown and that anything could happen and we could be snatched away at any moment. Right. And forever changed. And I think we've lost so much lore about it, that people perhaps at this time of year, really put themselves at risk as well.

Which might not have happened in previous times where people were aware of what the potential dangers might be. And I liked the collaboration between the different kinds of beings as well, and sort of the routine that they've worked out together. Otherworldly networking

and staying on top of what's happening in the mortal world, as well as incorporating it to their own delight. What was it like to spend time with this story? I actually very much enjoyed it. I really enjoyed all of them. I guess to me it rings very true that sometimes the world can be a combination of sort of not malicious, but not safe.

Either that area of gray, where you're like, well, that's not ideal and it is kind of entertaining, but, uh, you can do it that, yeah. All right. Watch your back, I guess. Yeah. Did you have a favorite. I know you love Dell of the people in it. Did you feel especially close to one or another? The two liters? Yeah.

Well, and I guess the camper I really felt for the camper. It's true. I was quite fond of them as well.

It was delightful. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you.

Test's worried that Hilder, the goblin cat was not having an easy time with her newly transmogrified shape gone where her extra long legs now shortened by several inches. She had five toes on each pod rather than seven, and she no longer had the head to tail big line of extra stiffer along her spine.

She didn't look completely normal, but a lot of cats have that distinction. She seemed to be in a little bit of shock after the change, which great aunt hold us side was entirely natural. Give known yourself one way. And now you aren't that anymore. That's what it would feel like her great aunt had taken her by the hand, when she'd finished with her work and said, we'll take Hilder a little time to get used to this.

She may be a little clumsy, whatever she does. Don't laugh. Test promised her solidly that she wouldn't laugh, but it turned out to be harder than she thought because Hilda couldn't judge distances in her new configuration, lurching and tumbling around, which hurt her dignity more than her body. Over a little time, Hilder, the cat regained her poise and her confidence.

Tessa's mother agreed. Tessa's familiar, looked as much like a normal cat as possible under the circumstances of coming from the goblin world. And now seemed in control of her body. One fine day. It was decided that tests and Hilder could go outside together on a day that was cold and clear tests took Hilder outside for the first time.

She shot through the open door and took a great leap into the pile of leaves in the front yard test, followed and jumped into the leaves herself, twirling, happily in the wrestling red leaves. Feeling delight and awakening. Tendrils of power. She twirled first sunwise and then widdershins she did tensions.

She hadn't even been aware of reeled off of her. And she felt pure happiness. Hilter seemed to be in a similar mood and she left and gambled and generally acted like a kitten. Tess was glad she could play. She thought Hilder had been trying awfully hard to be good. And while it came naturally to tests, it seemed to take a real effort for him filter test his mother, busy in the kitchen, checked on them from time to time and seem to be satisfied by what she saw for.

She left them to it. A little wind had sprung up and move through the last of the hanging leaves on the nearest tree. A fall of autumn colored leaves snowed down on them. The little wind riffled through the pile of leaves, lifting some and flattening others, a small twister of dry leaves formed and spiraled high heels are pounced on the Juul red spiral of leaves, which lifted up off the ground above her, frustrating, her intent, a twist formed again, dancing closer to the cat and then pulling away.

The cat slunked down and stocked at her eyes. Gleaming intently, the wind twisted out of reach justice, Hilder pounced again, and missed tail twitching. Hilda became even more focused and as the wind teasing the approached Hilder pounds to the left of it, neatly landing on it, no in it as the wind twisted that direction.

Tufts saw Hilder's mouth stretched wide wider than it should be able to. And then Hilda growled and grabbed the wind with her teeth. The wind struggled furiously, but he'll just grip on. It was strong with a big gulp. She swallowed it whole, the spiraling swirl of red leaves suspended in the air, dropped abruptly to the ground.

Hilder dropped to her belly. The wind continued to struggle inside of her Hilder kept your teeth together. Hissing and arching as the wind tried to fling her from side to side. Oh, no test cried. What have you done? Tests ran her aid as Hilder scooted along the ground, moving forward and hunching up every few feet, grabbing the cat who thrashed furiously tests and treated her.

Let go of it.

She rocked from side to side as the furious wind tried to force its way out of her. When it bashed her into a chair like at the kitchen table, a little bit of the wind escaped, flowing her mother's piled papers off the table in a small gun. What on earth visit her mother asked watching intently. She swallowed a wind and she won't let it go.

What can we do old or her mother's sudden dealing by the lurching cat. Her mother was struggling with laughter and vexation. She put her hands on either side of Hilder's back, trying to feel what was happening inside the cat. As she moved her hands from her back towards her belly, the cat hissed, as well as she could through her teeth.

It was both awarding his and to help me kind of hiss the wind, which I've been rocking, killed her side to side immediately pressed for advantage changed direction and pummeling her internally from head to tail and back. Surprising Hilder who squeaked a little wind erupted from her mouth smelling of leaves on the far North and from her rear end, releasing a fart only a distressed goblin cat could make, Oh my gosh, that's terrible.

So that her mother, as Hilda catapulted out of her arms, leaving her in a noxious cloud test, tried not to giggle call auntie Holda. She'll know what to do test. As mother said, waving her arms. Test called her praying. She would be there to answer Hilda. Didn't bother saying hello. And she picked up merely saying, what did she do?

Oh, auntie she swallowed a wind surprise silence. And then cackling. Laughter auntie you told me not to laugh at her. I didn't say I couldn't laugh. Her great aunt said wiping streaming tears from her face. Where there apron, how did it happen? We were playing in the leaves and a little wind twister appeared Hilter pounced and swallowed it.

It's trying to get out of her, but she won't let it, let me talk to your mother Sibyl. Can you tell me which direction the wind is from? I think it's a...

Show artwork for Saga Kraft

About the Podcast

Saga Kraft
Myths, stories, and how to use them.
Welcome to Saga Kraft.

Myths, fairy tales, legends: Stories comfort us, inspire us, and heal us. Please join us as we share stories, both old and new.

More than anything, we are open to the story and its unfolding. At times, it may be one story told by one person. At times, it’s the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go were the story takes us . . . and we invite you to follow.

We are:
Sea, a writer artist and storyteller.
Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions.
Gabriela, an artist and practitioner of folk magic.
We’re magical fairy godmothers in training.

May our stories meet yours.