ancient hunting

Humans are weird

My take on humans are weird/space orcs/Australians

Humans succeed in long endurance running and overall stamina. While some  species have better senses, stronger muscles, and faster acceleration, none of them can last as long as a human when running (it was also ancient humanity’s hunting method: outlasting prey). What if humans can run at a constant speed for a prolonged period of time that would otherwise cause other species to fatigue easily?

S’kron: human George you must rest, you’ve been running for quite some time

George: nah I’m fine, this is normal for me

S’kron: normal? You’ve could’ve died from running that long!

George: I was jogging and it’s not bad, keeps me active, you should try it sometime 

S’kron: running for an extended period of time is your idea of exercise? Are all humans like this?

George: well some can run faster and some can run longer I’m considered average.

S’kron: average? You mean other humans are faster?

George: yeah we have running is a sport for us it’s called sprinting and we do it around 100m or over in laps

S’kron: a sport? You must be insane to be running for that long!

George: no its true we even make obstacles known as hurdles to jump over whilst running

S’kron once again reread human physiology and learnt that humans were the best overall runners on their planet, he brought these findings to the rest of the crew, to their shock.

At that moment the guide to humans book was once again edited with a new note: do not challenge humans to a running contest, for you will surely die a slow, exhausting, painful death

Detail of the Little Gold Shrine found in the Tomb of Tutankhamun, which is covered in scenes of the Pharaoh with his wife, Ankhesenamun.

This scene shows the royal couple out hunting ducks together. Tutankhamun is seated behind Ankhesenamun, taking aim at the birds in flight. His wife sits in front of him, pointing to where the ducks are and heady to hand him another arrow.


Greek Xenon Ware Kylix with Laconian Hound, Southern Italy, Apulia, 325 BC

This is a beautiful kylix, a drinking cup, with two raised handles extending from near the rim and a pronounced foot. The black background has attained some iridescence from the firing process. A laurel leaf motif wraps the interior and exterior rims; in the center of the interior is a charmingly posed dog. All are in a pale orange/pink tone. This style of overpainting on blackware is known as Xenon ware, a uniquely Apulian version of an Attic style.

The dog has pointed ears, a long tail, and a body built for speed - this is the famous Laconian hound, the swift, Spartan dog known to be native to ancient Greece, used for hunting, guarding the home and livestock, and of course canine companionship.

Xenophon, the ancient Greek philosopher and military leader describes these dogs in detail in chapter 4 of Cynegeticus, his treatise about hunting with dogs.

in. out. in. out.

She repeated the mantra over and over in an attempt to slow her labored breathing. Her face flushed, her knees skinned, her shirt sweaty, she lay flat on the concrete pathway in between the forest and the Elsewhere cafeteria. She wondered briefly where her heels had gone, but dismissed the thought.

“I made it. I actually made it. I outran them,” she muttered to herself in between gasps, “I’m safe now” She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the steadiness of the stone beneath her spine and the refreshingly still night air. Her feet ached, god how they ached, and between her ribs there was a sharp pain, but despite all odds she had made it. Faintly, she heard the thrum of drums and the ancient call of the hunting horn, and the steady beat of something not-quite-horse-hooves. She was dizzy, giddy with her victory. “I made it

she was struck with a white-hot fear as she heard the call, she ran, she ran so fast, she ran like she never had before

Not-Ellie, her current roommate, had warned her about the Hunt tonight. They were on well enough terms that Blossom considered herself vaguely Favored- not that Not-Ellie was a particularly powerful Fae, but she knew when the Hunts came to Elsewhere, and she knew when it was best for mortals to find shelter.

she could hear the slow peaceful breath of the not-horses, she felt sharp teeth around her ankles, and she kept running

Despite her words of warning, however, Blossom had found herself caught between a late-night writing class and the relative safety of her dorm. Stupidly, she figured she had enough time to make it back, but her shoes (comfortable as they are) were not made for sprinting, and before she reached the halfway mark she could hear the baying of the hounds. stupid stupid stupid. Laying there on the concrete, she hardly remembered how she got there. “Running, for sure,” she relayed to herself, “lots of running. Jumped over a river, maybe.”

she tripped over a gnarled root when the loop of it hooked the edge of her heel, she fell face-first into the freezing stream. the wind around her howled mournfully, as if it knew what fate was to befall her. her hands scrabbled for purchase on the riverbanks, but the tide was too swift and the current tore her away. a moment of blackness overtook her when the jagged rocks struck her forehead, and she came back to consciousness seconds later choking on the moldy water.

“Jeez, maybe I should try out for track or some shit. Never knew I could run like that before.” Her hand flopped up to her forehead of its own accord- she felt as if there should be something there, but nothing was felt except a thin sheen of sweat. She was still a bit dizzy, though, so she made no movement to get up.

her palms stung, her fingernails were in shards, but she found the strength to push herself out of the murky water. the stream widened here, and the current slowed, and she gave herself a moment to rest. perhaps, she thought, the flowing water was enough to stop them. her eyes drifted shut-so tired, so incredibly tired, she hardly noticed the not-hooves slowing as they approached.

Blossom coughed. She slowly sat up, noting the soreness of her feet. “I really got lucky. I didn’t think they’d ever let up.” She thought about Not-Ellie and her words of warning: 

“Once they get your scent, they never let go. It’s part of the thrill of the hunt, you see,” Not-Ellie’s eyes had flashed a dangerous violet for a moment, and her teeth looked too white. “What fun would it be if they just gave up!” Blossom had laughed nervously, while Not-Ellie threw her head back and let loose raucous peals of laughter. Blossom eyed the door, wondering if the other students were listening in. “No, Flower-girl, you don’t want to be out there on the night of the Hunt. Though it would be amusing to me!” 

“Pretty damn lucky, that’s for sure,“ Blossom said. 

she was barely awake. her lungs burned, her ribs were white-hot with pain, her feet were white and cold, she couldn’t move, her words stuttered in her mouth, she was being dragged (no, not dragged, she wasn’t touching the ground) the leaves shifted in the breeze beside her

Blossom coughed again, harder. There was something caught in her throat- it didn’t hurt, but it was a bit irritating. The spinning world slowed for a minute or so, and she took advantage of this fact to rise to her feet and survey her surroundings. The cafeteria was further than she had thought at first, the dim streetlights somehow distant (as if there was fog wrapped around the fluorescent bulbs) (or her)

she was delirious. she heard voices, or just one, or thousands of overlapping tones of the wind, and they were all calling her nickname.

“what would you give? what would you give?”

her lips were too cold and numb to move, she couldn’t form the words so she just thought.

“I would give anything, I would give anything to live”

the vines twisted lovingly around her wrist, a flower bloomed above her left ear.

“would you become one of us? would you join the forest? would you give your skin and your speech?”

her mind was fuzzy, the riverwater dripped from the tip of her nose, moss began to travel up the trees where she hovered.

“I would give anything” she repeated in her mind. “my skin, my life, my name, my speech”

“you will be safe,” the forest sang. “you will be loved.”

she felt safe. she felt loved.

the vines gently set her down on the moss. dazed, she stumbled barefoot onto the concrete path between the woods and the elsewhere cafeteria.

Blossom’s throat itched, it burned like hell. She doubled over, coughing, hacking, and it felt as though something was making its way out. With dawning alarm, she scratched her arm furiously, something itched, something burned, all over her body.

She coughed, she coughed again, harder, and a leaf drifted down from her mouth. Again and again, and more and more leaves cascaded down. She watched in horror as her nails strained against the swelling of her fingers, as they popped off one by one (it didn’t hurt, why didn’t it hurt), as her hands twisted and gnarled. Her hair was wet with riverwater, and then with sap, and then it fell down her shoulders and she looked and every strand was a string of willow leaves. She reached upwards to her cheek and felt the soft pillowy texture of moss, her lips grew hard and crackly like lichen, her breath caught in her chest and she tried to gasp but she couldn’t anymore.

The baying of the hounds grew closer again, it had never left completely. She tried to call out but her vocal chords had stretched into petals.

The baying of the hounds grew ever closer.

She felt the moss spread down, down, over her neck and her collarbone, down, down to her hips, down her legs.

 She felt the roughness travel up, up from her bare feet, up her legs, her hips, her ribs, her collarbone. Her facial muscles stiffened, the bark dug underneath her skin until it replaced it entirely.

 The baying of the hounds was loud in what used to be her ear. The Hunt had arrived for its quarry, but all that remained was a tall tree (some horrific combination of flowers and bark, with long willow-leaves oak-leaves and gnarled branches and bright red berries) blocking the concrete pathway between the woods and the Elsewhere Student Dining Hall. If what used to be Blossom still had ears, it would have heard the irritated snort of the horses, or the long, mournful howl that followed. But it didn’t have ears, and so it heard nothing.


Not-Ellie grinned as she watched from the nearby shadows. She had told Blossom not to go outside during the Hunt, but she wouldn’t be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the show. Stupid mortals, she giggled to herself, one way or another, the Hunt will always get you. She waved jovially at the train of dogs and not-horses as they melted away, then peeled herself out of the darkness and leaned up against what used to be Blossom. 

“And to think, you really believed we were friends. It’s okay, I won’t blame you for not getting it." 

The tree leaves rustled, as if curious.

Not-Ellie shed her glamour like a snake sheds its skin, and rose a vine-arm to caress Blossom’s used-to-be-cheek. A flower bloomed in the center of the fae’s chest cavity. 

"Once we get your scent, we never let go. I won my quarry in tonight’s Hunt. And now, you belong to me.”

Used-To-Be-Blossom screamed inside its timber “You said i’d be safe, you said I’d be loved!" 

"Really, dear,” Not-Ellie responded, “of course you’ll be loved. Much like a hunter swells with pride at the sight of his first kill, so too do I love you, Emily. Now calm yourself, before the stress affects your branches.”

The tree, bound by the True Name it gave up so freely, shuddered once, then fell silent. 

It was calm now. It was loved. And it would never be Blossom again.

Another pseudo-horror Elsewhere drabble, I guess! This one is quite a bit longer, and probably doesn’t make much sense, but it’s 3:00 in the morning and I haven’t slept in 48 hours so I might as well submit it!


Midas, Cirneco dell'Etna (8 y/o), Horatio & Washington St., New York, NY • “The Cirneco is an ancient Italian hunting breed. My breeder brought them to America 25 years ago.”

~Statuette of Diana.
Artist/Maker: Unknown
Culture: Roman
Place: Asia Minor (Place created)
Date: 1st century B.C.
Medium: Bronze

Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, stands with her weight on one leg and reaches back over her head with one hand, while extending the other in front of her. The goddess wears a short chiton and boots, an outfit suitable for her active lifestyle, and her hair is pulled back in a tight bun. Although her clothing is relatively simple, it is shown in great detail. For example, the oval pin on her shoulder and the double braid ornament around the neckline of her chiton are carefully delineated. Diana’s boots are especially ornate. The boots are open-toed, lace up the front, and are covered in vines. They are also lined with animal skins, whose head and paws stick out from the top of the boots. Scholars disagree over the original appearance of this statuette, since the attributes that she originally held are missing. Some scholars believe that Diana would have held a bow in her lowered left hand, and her right hand was reaching back for an arrow in her quiver. Another theory is that the goddess held a mirror and was reaching up to adjust her hair.

The Majority-Christian Asian Nation (and some other interesting things about the Philippines)

Its been a while since I did a facts list…here we go:

  1. The Philippines has the highest rate of discovery of new animal species with 16 new species of mammals discovered just in the last 10 years.
  2. The world’s largest pearl was discovered by a Filipino diver in the Palawan Sea in 1934. Known as the “Pearl of Lao Tzu,” or “Pearl of Allah,” it is worth around US$40 million, and is believed to be 600 years old.
  3. The Philippines is the only country in the world whose flag is hoisted upside down when the country is at war.
  4. The yo-yo had its beginnings as an ancient Filipino studded hunting weapon attached to a 20-foot rope. 
  5. There are between 120 and 175 individual languages spoken in the Philippines, 171 of which are living while the other four no longer have any known speakers.
  6. Both University of Santo Tomas in Manila, founded in 1611, and the University of San Carlos in Cebu City, founded in 1595, are older than Harvard University (which was only founded in 1636)

Quick note: there are actually two majority-Christian nations in Asia, and both are in Oceania! One is the Philippines, and the other is East Timor.


So for all you highschool seniors Just incase you’re worried about how “”“"serious”“”“ college is, pleas know that in my first quarter of college my anth 101 teacher showed up to class one day dressed like this and marched us all Down to the soft ball field through the middle of campus while carrying targets and atladels to the softball field were we spent an hour and an half throwing ancient hunting weapons into the ground and running far away when ever a student accidentally threw the spear end up into the sky so we didn’t get hit.
He pranked us into eating salted black licorice

And He later had us wear tinfoil hats near finals (gave us extra credit for how crazy we made them) to teach us about ancient alien theories and how ridiculous they were as they devalued the ingenious of ancient, specifically ancient poc, culture(he himself Filipino) while we all wore tin foil hats with the blinds open so students could walk by and watch us.

So yeah college, obvs very serious, all profs strict you know(sarcasm)

My Horned God / Old Horn

Old Horn / Auld Hornie / Horned One / Stag King 

You are Herne the hunter, Cernnunos, Pan, Bucca, Devil at the crossroads or fairy tree, you are the trickster, shape changer, consort, Fairy Lord. You are the Wild Hunt, the ancient Stag Lord of animals the modern Horned god of summer. 

You are a god of cycles, of life and death, the very ebb and flow of the natural world. You are the fire in the head, the sun that gives life and flame that destroy. You are the primal, the animal, the dead. 

To me you are ever changing. You are a Fairy Lord, who walks between the worlds, The Witch King who teaches, The Devil who inspires, The Stag Lord of the wild hunt. 

Goat, Stag, Moose, Hound and Fox. 

He of the snake, of phallus, of horn. Who cares not gender but the pleasures of life. Who courts the fairy queen, and ruts with the bucks. 

Auld Hornie they call you, hot of blood, and full of power. 

You are the watcher in the woods.

The teacher of skill.

The hunter and the hunted.

You are to me,

Old Horn.