The Hunt

After the meal, the witches gathered and undressed. Phoebe was worried. They were now in the middle of the six stone circles, still as majestic among the stones under the midday sun. They were gathered together, the master arrived, and Phoebe's heart leaped in her chest.

• My dear followers, now is the time for the penultimate test. Those who win will win a reward worthy of a queen from me. With a gesture, more than twenty creatures appeared at the edge of the circle. Phoebe recognized them as centaurs, satyrs, orcs, an ogre, a minotaur, a werewolf, and elves. You will have 10 minutes to flee. If you manage to elude their pursuit for an hour, you will win the magnificent prize. Otherwise, you will belong to them for the next 24 hours. They can **** you as they see fit without harming your life, but believe me, you will find it long. Heed my signal... go.

Phoebe felt her legs tremble as the signal sounded. A hoarse scream escaped her throat as the other witches scattered like leaves in the wind. She spun around, her bare feet crunching on the dry grass, desperately searching for an exit between the stone monoliths.

Behind her, a deep laugh echoed; the ogre had already spotted prey.

She fled through the branches of the forest after leaving the stone circle, the leaves whipping against her body, when in the distance a horn sounded, the signal that the hunt was beginning.

Phoebe gasped, her lungs burning with the exertion. Brambles lacerated her thighs as she plunged deeper into the forest. In the distance, she saw a centaur and a satyr stalking her; they had obviously teamed up to hunt.

Phoebe smelled the satyr's musky scent before she even heard him gasp behind her. His hooves slashed through the humid air, brushing against her hip as she flung herself sideways into a thicket of nettles. The instant burns drew a muffled groan from her.

The centaur, slower through the tangle of branches, whinnied in frustration. His chest glistened with sweat as he parted the bushes with a slash of his saber.

She had no intention of letting herself be taken without showing them a hint; if she had her witch powers, it would be easy, but that wasn't the case.

Phoebe gritted her teeth, the acrid smell of nettles stinging her nostrils. She managed to get around them and head back towards the stone circle. She hoped this would fool them and that she wouldn't encounter any others, continuing on, but just as she was about to disappear, the centaur saw her and gave chase.

The centaur galloped behind her, his hooves pounding the ground with a **** that made the earth tremble. Phoebe felt his hot breath on her back, the panting rhythm of his harsh breathing. She zigzagged between the trunks, desperately hoping to slow him down, but he knew the forest better than she did.

Suddenly, Phoebe tripped over a protruding root, her bare hands sinking into the damp earth. A bestial laugh echoed behind her; the faster satyr was already bounding between the trunks, his hooves crunching on the dead leaves. The centaur, meanwhile, skirted around with menacing grace, twirling a net to capture her.

Phoebe leaped to her feet, her sweat-clad skin sticking to the dead leaves. The satyr was upon her in a flash, his hairy fingers encircling her waist with bestial strength. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, mingled with a raspy laugh, as he pinned her against a mossy trunk.

"Little witch on the run…" he growled, his hooves impatiently scraping the ground. They laughed because they knew she would no longer escape them; they were toying with her, making her theirs to be theirs.

Phoebe struggled, her nails digging into the satyr's hairy arms, but his strength was paltry against hers. She spent her strength struggling in vain.

• I give up, I lost, she had to admit.

They laughed victoriously. The satyr tied Phoebe's wrists, shackled her ankles to prevent her from running but not from walking. He put a wooden stick in Phoebe's mouth and tied it behind her head to prevent her from speaking. He put a rope around the loser's neck.

• Let's take her to camp. We've prepared the ground to have as much fun as possible with the losers... you're going to have fun.