Afon turned an ear towards the sounds of the horns and the ensuing madness. The witch called forth his weakened apprentice in an effort to cajole the lad into joining. Fetch your longest bow and apply hexes to the tips, it is time to hunt! Don't let your lack, your weakened state stop you, blood magic is all you’re good for boy.
Hefin paused for a moment, just to consider his options. Finding no cause for alarm sedated the lad and he began to change and inscribed complex sigils into his arrowheads. He regarded his companion with curiosity and fear, using his last crimson and precious moments to carve a final curse into his last arrow. His small misguided hope.
Afon continued to gorge upon mince pie after mince pie, seemingly ignorant of everything surrounding him. The entirety of the hunt rested upon this one curse. Hefin breathed a sigh of release as he passed over the quiver, explained how to use the other hexes, and made clear that the last arrow was to be the penultimate danger.
Afon took the quiver and began to stretch out his legs. He transformed and leapt drawing his weapon of choice. Too close to the sun, but too far from his moon goddesses. Eirlys of the wheat, dearest goddess of the hunt, and most notable fair huntress. She would not give her blessing this time.