A group of young, promising officers, and their men were out hunting.

The day had been long and hot, quite odd for a day of late fall, and there was no game to be caught. They spent the rest of the day lounging about, eating in large, green fields, and then moving slowly on, through falling leaves, into forests, and abandoned, grown up fields full of dying flowers.

Finally, after a long afternoon of laziness, the group of warriors, and their two leaders turned around, on the path that they had followed all day, and drifted off towards a fortress of their own king.

After several kilometers or so, they entered into a great valley full of thorns. As they came towards an exit, they heard a close sound of trumpets.

"We are going to be attacked!" cried one of the leaders. "Blow your horn," he said to the other leader, "Maybe our king will hear it and come to our rescue!" his voice shook with fear.

"No," the second officer said drawing out his sword. "No, if I called him now, we shall endanger him."

Over the hills came a large group of pagan soldiers, fully armed. And over the hills, the hunters rushed forward, their horses dodging the thorns, running to meet them.

On the first attack they killed hundreds of men, with only a few casualties on their own side, but on the second assault, their luck turned, and all the hunters were killed, all except one.

As both armies failed, a great darkness struck the land.

The god above seemed angry at the leaf king because of his treason he had led the god's followers to their deaths.

With all his companions lying dead, along with the entire enemy, the last warrior, the one with the horn, attempted to stand.

His sides ached, and he was quickly losing blood. He was fatally wounded. He had to blow his trumpet, so that his uncle, the king, could come and receive the bodies of his servants and to give them their last rights.

The man blew with all of his might. He blew and blew until his ears and his lungs started to ache and bleed. Blood streamed from his ears, his mouth, and opened wounds, but he kept blowing his horn.

No one except the green man heart this desperate plea. He himself was on his deathbed, but he would be reborn again in the spring.

He saw the anger of the god above. He saw the terror and the fear in the dying man's eyes. He felt the chill of death surrounding himself and the king's nephew. When the young officer eventually died, the green man, with his last bit of strength he had killed off the thorns and pulled great trees up from the bodies of all of the fallen hunters.

The green man, at peace with god and the world, died, but only for the night.