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There is a reason the hunt is central to so many narratives. For all that humanity professes to delighting in its own sophistication, it longs for simplicity, for when the world can be deboned into binaries: darkness and light, death and life, hunter and hunted. It is this desire, perhaps, that drives so many to seek spouses among the inhuman and the immortal. Valkyries who cloak themselves in swan feathers. Long-throated crane wives, foreheads slashed with scarlet. Fox girls with bloody mouths and carnivore grins. Dryads, fairy women, the huldra with spines of gnarled bark. And mermaids, of course, hunger and glimmering scales, like nothing the air might ever produce and nothing the land could hope to keep.
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