The Prince of the Bog

The mist was impenetrable and curled in intricate shapes, forming an ethereal spectacle in the dim light of the late afternoon. It danced around the sturdy oak trees, caressed the rough barks in an almost tender fashion. The gnarled branches of the trees swayed, leaves rustled, murmuring a soft melody that resonated throughout the heart of the bog. He watched and listened, observed quietly, without missing a detail. Though in motion, the landscape seemed strangely cold and lifeless. Darkness encroached from below, boldly swept across the land, and then swallowed it. Tendrils, both complex and smooth in nature, reached for the old barks’ roots, as if trying to pull them underground.

Amidst all of that, there was a tall, equine creature, slick and damp, its dark skin strangely mythical and alluring. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The way it moved was fluid and graceful, but only appeared harmonious from a distance. As it approached, the beast’s strength and presence became overpowering. It was wilful, proud, untamed; its pose spoke of determination. This bog was its territory and even the tendrils of darkness made room for it as to not hinder its path.

He felt reminded of a tempest; and yet there was something elegant, almost fragile about this unusual encounter. Perhaps it was wrong, but he had always been fascinated by the destructive and perilous. And now, here he was, faced with the incredible and unfathomable. Was this even real? His eyes nervously scanned the beast. It was much taller than him, its four legs so strong he thought its gallop might turn the world asunder. Its body was black as night, wet and slick, its mane and tail a tangled mess of grasses and bulrushes. Bulging black eyes burned, seemingly lit by cold fire.

He had to tame it, had to ride it, and feel the strange creature’s power. The darkness was calling out to him seducing him with its smooth calm. He approached slowly and cautiously, so he would not be perceived as a threat. His steps were light and gentle, echoing only softly. They were a pair of opposites, his lightness contrasted with the boldness of the beast. And for a brief moment the bog became suspended in time. Pale hand resting against dark skin, two beings of different origins became closely acquainted. It was only then that he noticed the pouring rain disrupting the subtle chant of the old oak trees. The rhythm of the bog had changed.

The rain drummed a powerful and hasty refrain, as if to lead into the battle of wills that was to ensue. Steam rose from the creature’s nostrils as it reared and moved to strike with its front legs. He, a lithe and graceful soul, moved away before the beast could crush him with its weight. With great speed and agility he moved to the equine’s flank. He mounted the beast within mere seconds, then slunk his arms around its broad neck. The dark beauty bucked and reared, trying to shake its unwelcome rider. Its snorts and blows where rough and loud, enough to unbalance the rhythm of the rain. Hooves slammed into the ground. Nobody took possession of the Prince of the Bog.

He had a rare power of his own. His strength came from within. The beast could twist and turn all it wanted, he would prevail. He shifted with easy elegance, counterbalancing the equine’s every move. Their battle became a dance and before long it was danced to his tune. In a last effort to resist, the beast tried to bolt. And just like that they were running, though it felt as though they were flying. Cold flames had lit around them, defying the thundering rain. Oh, what a strange place this was!

He didn’t know where they were going, nor did he care. He held onto his Dark Prince with all his might, enjoying the fleeting moment of near victory. He closed his eyes. The cold, wet wind blowing into his face chilled him all the way to his core. His fingers stiffened in the creature’s bulrush mane. He felt his throat constrict, now his fear rising, he tried to hold on tighter, tried to find a way to stop the force he had set in motion, but it was too late. Wherever this journey would take him, he would see it through until the very end.

He didn’t see how the bog around him was changing, but he could hear it. Dark spirits were snickering behind the gnarled trees, the rain was outright laughing at him and the wet leaves made no secret of their squealing amusement. The song of the bog had become an eerie cacophony, at last revealing the sinister nature of the place. He felt panic welling up from within. What had he done? What was this place? What would happen? His breathing came in rough and disjointed bursts; his grasp on the beast’s slick bulrush mane almost slipped. And then, all of a sudden the beast stopped. Had he won? He allowed himself a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Soon he realised that it wasn’t him who had given the creature pause. They had reached the rim of large pool of thick and murky water. The cold fires reflected strangely on this foamy mirror of olive green. The Prince reared and, as his forefeet fell, the water cleared, shimmered like a million crystals. The rider leaned forward to watch this spectacle. Before he knew it they were in motion again, heading straight towards the water. A nervous laugh punctuated the rain’s drumming and in that moment he knew he had to let go. This creature could not be tamed. As he tried to release his grasp, he found that the bulrush mane had wrapped around his hands and forearms firmly holding him in place. He struggled to rip the soggy grasses, but they were hard as steel.

As he scrambled and flailed, the creature took him into the pool of water. “Help!” he yelled, but his only response was the laughter of the dark spirits. Already he was submerged all the way to his chest. His face was wild, his fear evident, but the equine pressed on without regard for its rider. Soon the man’s screams were muted as water slowly filled his lunges. He tried to kick himself free, but made no headway in any direction. He gasped. Kicked. His eyes wide open, fear evident on the face. A twitch. Hasty breathing without any air. He ripped on the creature’s mane with his last strength, but the beast barely seemed to notice. Yet, there was a soft nickering to be heard, sounding hollow, sinister and cruel.

Eyes glassy and empty, unable to focus. Then cool. Soothing. No longer could he hear the rain, no longer could he hear the creature’s hooves thunder. All that remained was a faint echo in the distance, soft and beautiful. There was no struggle now. The creature released him into the depths. As he sank he felt weightless and finally relieved of his burdens.

As his body slid onto the clay, he came to rest peacefully underneath a heavy blanket of muddy waters. The Prince was nowhere to be seen.