The Wild Hunt

On winter nights, especially around November's end, Bretons historically avoided travel after dark. This was when King Arthur led the Wild Hunt (Chasse du Roi Arthur) across the sky. The ghostly host—dead warriors, supernatural hounds, and lost souls—swept across Brittany pursuing otherworldly prey.

The Hunt's approach was unmistakable: howling winds, baying hounds, hunting horns, and the thunder of hooves across the sky. Wise folk barred doors, shuttered windows, and prayed. Those caught outside threw themselves face-down and remained motionless until the Hunt passed.

But some joined the Hunt, willingly or not:

Thomas the Poacher boasted no gamekeeper could catch him, on earth or in heaven. One November night, pursuing a white stag into the forest, he heard horns behind him. Thinking it the lord's men, he ran deeper into the woods. The horns grew louder, the baying nearer. When he finally turned, he saw the Hunt—riders on horses of smoke and flame, hounds with eyes like coals. The white stag he chased revealed itself as their quarry. "You wanted to hunt," laughed the lead rider, face hidden beneath an antlered helm. "So hunt you shall." Thomas ran with the stag until dawn, when both collapsed. The stag transformed into a beautiful woman who thanked him for helping her escape the Hunt. She was a fairy cursed to flee eternally—unless a mortal helped her elude the Hunt until cockcrow. In gratitude, she blessed his family line with the Sight. To this day, his descendants see through fairy glamour and know when the Hunt rides.