Jean Paul came across the girl at the edges of Broceliande Wood. ‘Have you seen the white stag?’ the beautiful girl, Morganza, asked him.

Jean Paul shook his head. ‘I’ve not seen one,’ he said. ‘But I’ve heard the rumours.’

She smiled. ‘Maybe I know where you might find it. Would you like me to show you.?’ Wanting to spend time with this lovely girl, and anxious to be the first one to bag the fabled beast, he agreed.

Then she frowned with slight disapproval. ‘You won’t need that,’ she told him, pointing to his hunting rifle.

With reluctance, he concealed his rifle under the cover of alder saplings and followed Morganza as she led him through dense foliage.

Ten minutes later, she veered off well trodden paths and, as their search continued, she explained about the flora and fauna that grew in the wood; a knowledge, as a seasoned hunter, he already knew, but listened, without interruption, enjoying the melodic flow of her words.

Now and again, she stopped. Turned and looked at him with eyes the colour of violets flecked with grey. Her smile, he thought, was the smile of a beautiful enchantress and, as they progressed, thoughts of the white stag diminished.

When, at last, they entered a glade, they both stood still listening to silence. ‘Do you want to make love to me?’ she broke the silence with that hushed, breathy question.

Taken aback, wanting to tell her that of course he did, he could only nod like a shy schoolboy. ‘They say if you make love here, in this glade, the white stag will appear.’ She took a step towards him, undoing tiny pearl buttons on her soft blue dress, letting it fall to the ground.

Up above their heads, an oak tree stirred its leaves, like a sigh of expectation. Wordlessly, Jean Paul’s arm went around her slender waist. Gently, Morganza pressed her slender body against his, and he could smell the aroma of lavender in her long, dark hair.

Then Morganza stepped away from his embrace, saying with a teasing smile, ‘Your turn.’

Groaning at the sight of her beauty and his longing for her, Jean Paul scrabbled at his belt and the zip of his jeans. After he stepped out of them, Morganza waggled a playful finger at him, saying, ‘Now your shirt.’

Undoing the buttons of his shirt, he shrugged it off and as he did so, a white stag burst through the undergrowth its antlers upon a noble head as straight as Jean Paul’s erection.

‘Here is what you're searching for!' Morganza moving towards the beast, kissed its his snout and whispered into its ears.

‘You killed his mother,’ she said, turning to Jean Paul who stood naked and helpless staring in horror at the stag. ‘You shot her. Skinned her. Ate her.’ The white stag snorted and pawed at the ground. ‘You shot his father. Sold his body to a butcher.’ Rigid with fear, Jean Paul was unable to move. ‘Now it’s time to make amends.’

Morganza stepped aside and the stag charged, the tips of both antlers piercing Jean Paul’s stomach and chest. Roaring the beast tossed him into the air, like a feather, and his body landed in a bloody heap against the trunk of a birch tree.

During Jean Paul’s final moments, he saw, through a haze of agony, Morganza, still naked, climb upon the back of the white stag. As his last breath bubbled red from his lips, they both galloped away into the darkest depths of Broceliande Wood.