Old Hunter G Parfums 2020

For days the old hunter strode through the forest, he had not entered his little hut at the edge of the forest. For a long time they had lived there alone, he and his son, for his wife had passed away when their son was still half-grown and young in years. A fever had carried them off when once the autumn storms came early, and the relentless rain tried to whip all strength from the creatures of the plain and the woods. The boy had grown up fast. He had to, for the inhospitable loneliness of the endless taiga took a merciless and deadly toll of any who could not resist its dangers with iron. Now the old man was searching for the same, lonely and desperate, the smell of a small fire in his nose. Though long extinguished, the sharp breeze pointed him through the underbrush to where his boy, on one of his first hunts alone, seemed to have camped. He broke out into a small clearing where he could see the extinguished remains of the fire. The smell of the incense which the men of the deserts and the steppes sold annually in the little villages to the south assailed his nostrils. Softened by the wind - and yet the old man smelled that his son had accidentally dropped too much on the embers before. Not much farther he found him. Cruelly disemboweled by massive paws, the remains of his faded son lay among the grasses and bushes of the forest floor. The old man began to dig, deeper and deeper, until the roots of the larches and birches obstructed his path. He lifted the corpse, closed the young man's vacant eyes, placed a final kiss on the forehead of the bizarrely dislocated head, and clasped the tattered hands. Wrapped in his own old cloak, and with his father's bow upon his breast, he buried him. A small cross of twigs adorned the churned earth. Only now the old man collapsed on the grave, weeping and pained, drew his knife through his palm, and swore cruel vengeance on the blood seeping into the earth. He glanced about him, and immediately saw some bloody tufts of fur on the bark of a nearby tree. Bear fur. The cloying swath of incense had been his boy's undoing, the bear's paws and teeth merciless. The old man stalked off, bloodthirsty and senses sharpened. The hunter's spirit had given way to the instincts of an animal. The buzz of bees startled him. A hole in the trunk, bulging honeycombs. So much more tempting than the boy's deceptive incense. But the direction of the wind had taken the decision from the bear, the spirits of the forest sealed his son's fate. Darkness descended over the surrounding area, only the occasional glow of the moon breaking through the barren tops of the trees. A rustling, the cracking of small branches. A chalk-white beam hit the beast. With bloodshot eyes it glared at the old man. The injuries, punishments of an unjust fight, and hunger had turned Master Petz into a bloodthirsty monster. It rose up on its hind paws, raised its head, and let out an infernal roar. The old man leaned against the back of the log, letting the bear come toward him. They did not see each other, but both felt the presence of death. Cruel and unrelenting, the beasts were to clash as the old man spun from cover, stabbing desperately towards the heart. The only stab he had, for as the knife slid through the ribs, the claws tore through the man's chest. Together they fell to the ground. As the man's lungs filled with blood with each gasping breath, the warm, sweet blood of the bear flowed over him as well. The old man's beatific smile froze. Retribution.

A warm, woody scent with very nicely integrated incense. Young Hunter in calmer and better, may they both find peace anyway ;).