Of a Myth and an Ass

Great Antlers watched the massive wooden box hauled on ropes by six State troopers, as it was clumsily dragged through the forest. A miserable looking and heavily laden donkey followed them. Even the most miserable looking donkey was a highly valuable asset.
“I hear something,” whispered Rain in his ear.
Sure enough, Great Antlers could detect the unnatural hum and purr of machine engines in the distance…but drawing ever closer.
If the State were prepared to deploy precious petrol powered machinery to meet this package it was a package worth stopping, he thought, and not only that, but he may be able to destroy some of the demon machines at the same time!
He nodded to Rain, who drew her blades instantly, and disappeared into the ferns in a low crouch. Then, he waited, as the BUORR-BUUUUZZZ of the engines drew closer. Below him, in the valley, the six State troopers who had been dragging the box had dropped their ropes and now, awaiting relief, were casually chatting with one another, their metal weapons lowered. One was even smoking a cigarette. The box rocked slightly, back and forth, seemingly of its own accord. The donkey stood silently, thinking donkey thoughts.
Just as the MMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNNNNRRRRRRRRRR of the motorbike hit its apex, Great Antlers brought the cowhorn from around his neck to his lips and blew.
At exactly the instant the State troopers heard the blow of the horn and desperately grasped for their weapons, four hidden and unseen Forest-kin brethren pulled tight the ropes that had laid over the path. The riders of the two motorcycles rushing towards the resting State troopers were flung forcibly from their mounts, which skidded off into the undergrowth as their riders flew to the ground, one into a ditch filled with ferns, where he slept, mercifully ,for many hours; the other into a solid oak, against which his unprotected skull gave way with a crunch and decorated the tree in vibrant crimson.
Great Antlers himself drew his might bow and fired a shot towards one of the State troopers guarding the mysterious, and now seemingly agitated, box. Absorbed utterly by the panic around him, the State trooper never heard the arrow as it quietly arced towards him, and gracefully, elegantly, ended his life. Several of his colleagues almost simulateously suffered a similar fate, as Great Antlers’ troop emerged from the undergrowth and fired.
On the opposite side of the valley, Weed called out to one of the state soldiers:
“Hey, Bozo!”
The trooper swung around towards her and raised his assault rifle, just as her crossbow bolt smashed into the armour covering his chest.
“Ha,” the State trooper laughed, tugging at the bolt to remove it from the webbing over his chest, where it had landed, harmlessly, “so primitive…”
“Aint’s ya just?” spat Weed, as the bolt exploded sending the State trooper’s body hurtling backwards into the trees.
Rain was already down on the valley floor, her knives quickly and silently dispatching the State troopers who had fallen but survived her comrades’ arrows. The wooden box now rocked ominously from side to side on the pathway: whatever the state had been transporting, it was alive.
Great Antlers arrived at her side.
“You could have left one alive to tell us what the hell is in there,” he admonished her, gently.
“Not worth it,” Rain shrugged disdainfully.
They turned to the rocking wooden box, and each instinctively reached for the axes at their belts. As they did so, the wooden panels nearest them burst apart, and a giant of a man collapsed through the splintered wood onto the ground before them.
As Great Antlers and rain wiped splinters and wood dust off themselves the figure rose, and rose, and rose…
“You took your goddamn time,” it said, in a voice like a tombstone being dropped on concrete.
The man, for despite its’ size, it was a man, stretched his limbs and cracked his knuckles before drawing himself to his full height, at least a foot taller than Great Antlers, his eyes being equal to the tips of the antlers the Forest-Kin warrior wore.
“Who are you?” asked Great Antlers.
“Huh”, the giant replied.
“What did they want from you? Rain asked.
“Ha!” the giant laughed.
“You might be more grate…” began Weed, appearing out of the undergrowth, but before she could finish, the gigantic man had grasped her throat within one of his massive hands and held her aloft, choking her as he did so.
“Do you REALLY believe I required your assistance?” he snarled, and threw the woman towards her Kin.
“Are you…” began Rain.
“No,” Great Antlers, interrupted, signalling his Kin to stay behind him, “he is not. That’s just a myth.”
The giant threw his head back and laughed a vicious bark of a laugh, as he walked to the back of the procession, where a confused and tired donkey stood amongst the carnage of its escort .
“Oh, yes,” he replied, “I am just a Myth. Got on, tell your children: there is nothing to be afraid of in the night. Myths are not real.”
From the saddlebags of the horse Myth drew a Gatling machine gun, and swung it towards his saviours.
“I am no Myth, tree huggers,” he said, as he opened fire, “I am a Legend!”