The Trophy Hunter

The trophies that decorated Sven’s house were extraordinary, as Sven would tell you himself. On his walls hung the heads of some of the most elusive creatures: a sleepy giant, a wolf who claimed to be big and bad, a large bear with a hankering for porridge. In some circles Sven was revered, though others felt he was ruining the essence of Fairytopia.

Sven longed for adventure. None were surprised when he answered the ad in the local gazette: “Hunter for hire. Target: Mystical unicorn. Only the best need apply.”  To be sure, his literacy surprised them, but not his ego.

Sven traveled miles, picking off game, satisfying his hunger and whetting his appetite. When he arrived at the worn-out brick castle, Sven did not think the tall, silent, porky man, wrapped in a  brown cloak was unusual, Sven barely thought at all. He took the offered picture of his prey.

“I have one condition,” Sven said sneering, “I get to keep the head.” The cloaked man nodded solemnly.

Sven set off in the nearby forest tracking the path of the unicorn, following hoofprints in the mud; finding the occasional pearl white hair; noticing the rutted trees.

“Too easy,” Sven bragged, as he saw the beautiful beast on the other side of the river.

Sven raised his gun and aimed; a shot echoed through the forest.

Later, at the worn-out castle, three clever pigs celebrated, drinking their beers. A brown cloak far too long for a single pig hung on a hook nearby, one hunter’s head hung on the wall.