Half Wild.

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

- A Midsummer Night's Dream

I let the arrow fly and watch as it sinks into the stags side, causing the majestic beast to cry out just once and sink to its knees before toppling over onto its side with a crash.

Finally, three days of tracking vague hoof-prints in the deep and seemingly endless forest has amounted to something. The last strip of dried meat had only lasted until this morning. I hurry forward, my muscles crying out with exhaustion while my stomach snarls in hunger. This hunt has not been an easy one.

The stag is beautiful in death as it had been in life. The pure white coat and antlers devoid of chips and breaks will fetch a pretty price at market. But first comes the tiresome business of skinning and sawing off the antlers. And that's leaving out the even longer job of packing the meat, once free from the bones, into my bags. It's going to be a long night.

Something cracks to the right of me—a branch. Instantly I turn back into the hunter, rising with my bow loaded once more. This is the most dangerous forest to hunt in in the world. Why? One word; fae. If this is a fae, I am dead.

As if like me, the forest around me seems to hold its breath, the wind dropping to a mere whisper. The soft morning bird calls have faded away into deafening silence. Not even a bright emerald leaf rustles.

I crouch low and load a new arrow; this one with a head made of pure iron. It's the only known weakness these fae monsters supposedly have.

And then, the temperature dips sharply. My breath clouds before my very eyes, turning into little crystals before they drop to the floor. From the gaps in the trees high above, thick snowflakes start to fall.

They can't be here already. It's too early in the year, too warm! We still have many full moons until Winter comes!

Regretfully, I abandon my kill and rise onto aching feet clad in worn old leather boots and without looking back once, I run.

All around me the trees creak and groan, swaying as if caught in a sudden high wind. To my right, an ancient pine tree seems to snarl as it meets the ground with a loud, splintering crash. The snow falls heavier, the flakes the size of a large silver coin by now.

In the distance, I hear a horn blow. Long, loud and high-pitched; the sound of Winter.

Too far away. I am too far from certain safety. For now, shelter is my only option as Winter takes hold.

With a cry I slow down just enough to dive into the sizeable hole in the roots of the silver birch, praying to whatever God is listening that it goes deep enough to avoid the wave of ice.

It is. As I burrow further and further into the dank, dark pit, mud tumbling from the ceiling and onto my head, I rip the blanket from my satchel and throw it over me. It's too thin, a Summer blanket, but it will have to do.

Outside, I hear whoops of laughter. It sounds nothing like human laughter, but high and cruel like the bitter cold of Winter itself. A roaring wind starts up now, blowing snowflakes and freezing temperatures into my hiding place. I shiver violently and draw the cloak more around me, praying I don't freeze before the monsters leave.

There's nothing to do but wait.

It takes hours until the roaring subsides and silence falls once more, but when it does, I draw out my blade into blue and shaking fingers and set to work on the thin layer of ice that has formed a seal before my den. At least the wind has blown in the opposite direction or instead of ice, there would be a mountain of snow blocking my exit. I've heard what happens from other hunters if you're caught in a hole when Winter blows through the forest, and it's not pretty; most people suffocate just trying to dig their way out of their icy prison. In the Summer their bodies are found frozen stiff despite the burning sun, their faces contorted with cold and fear. And that's if they're found. What a grim death.

When I break through the ice and return to the forest, everything has changed; the world is pure white, silent and almost ethereal. The trees are bare, frosted over completely, their shapes reminding me of long brittle finger bones. Icicles as long as my arm dangle precariously from the branches, shiny and glinting in the bright sunlight. There is no green left in the forest, no leaves to be seen.

Winter has taken hold in the middle of Summer.

There is no point going back for my kill now, for the ice will have left my stag a hunk of frozen meat, impossible to find under the snow that reaches the middle of my calves. And even if I did find it, it would be beyond difficult to cut it up and take it home with me. Only the antlers would bring in some currency now.

A few measly bronze coins is not worth freezing to death over.

I wrap my blanket around my head like a shawl, tucking it tight around my face. The cold seems to be eating its way into my very heart, the air stinging my face like needles.

What is happening? How can this be happening? First the hotter than usual Summer, now this? Have the Fae finally lost control over their own kind at last? It's the only thing that makes sense. How else could Winter be here already?

Now comes the hardest part; finding my way home through trackless forest before some monster finds me first. The Winter Fae are the worst of all, everyone knows that. Where others of their kind will just kill you, they will freeze you into living statues to adorn their gnarled dens and palaces of ice. The King of Winter supposedly has a room filled just with beautiful men and women, frozen forever to serve him as decoration. As trophies.

My hands shake as I pull out my compass and place it in the palm of my hand. Home is due West and I am facing North. From the sun's position in the sky, midday has just passed and I have to return home before the sunset, no compromise; If I am still wandering about the forest during nightfall, I will die from the cold.

Pushing away the pangs of hunger, I start my journey home empty-handed.

A/N: Welcome to my newest writing obsession... and that is high-fantasy and fae. I LOVE reading high-fantasy so much you wouldn't believe. And fae. Don't you just love their ice-cold souls? So yeah, I've decided to turn a novel idea I've been working on into this fic instead. You've had rock-star Jace, war-torn Jace, now? Dangerous (and very sexy) fae Jace. Don't worry about Chasing the Sun updates! The next chapter is actually almost finished, and the rest of the story has been plotted out. So come May after my Camp NaNoWriMo novel is done, it'll be back.

Drop a review if you want more! By the way, does anyone have any good faerie book recs? Throw them at me! I'm addicted!

This was a long AN, whoops! Sorry! Anyway, review! x

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments, (sadly.) Only the story is my own.