Atalanta

Atalanta could not be broken. Her resilience was the stuff of legend, surviving that which would have bested many. Her father, desperate for a son, cast the girl aside without hesitation. He sent her deep into the woods, where she was to be left alone to perish, but perish, she did not. Instead, Atalanta thrived. Left to the mercy of nature’s whims, the girl became one with the ebbs and flows of her environment. She watched as the birds parsed through the flowering fruit trees, learning which to consume and which to avoid. She learned the hunting patterns of the wolves, and from them too, learned to hunt for herself. 

Soon, the skilled young huntress caught the eye of Artemis. As the goddess of the hunt, and protector of young women, Artemis knew it was her duty to train Atalanta. With her natural skill and the guiding hand of the goddess, Atalanta became an athlete of unparalleled skill. Though she and Artemis grew close, Atalanta’s bow was her only true companion. Together, they ruled the landscape which had once been intended to serve as her grave. 

As she grew, stories of the girl in the woods began to spread through the kingdom of Calydon. The wild girl just beyond the border, faster, swifter, and more accurate a shot than any man. Anyone who dared to make contact met their merciless end at the tip of Atalanta’s arrow – she would bow to no one but the goddess who guided her steps.

No kingdom finds itself without fault, and Calydon was not an exception to this rule. King Oeneus failed to perform a sacrifice, neglecting the sacred rites and provoking the ire of the gods. In retribution, a ravenous boar was released upon the kingdom, its fury leaving devastation in its wake. The boar tore through the town’s center, demolishing anything in its path. The vendors scattered, running from their carts in fear for their lives. Where their carts had once been remained only splinters, entire livelihoods wiped out in a single crash of the boar’s enormous, monstrous hooves. 

As sundown approached, the boar began to pace the city limits. Seeming satisfied with a day’s worth of chaos, the boar stood menacingly at the village gate, daring any to cross his path onto the road. With no escape forwards, this left only the woods to flee to. As calamity spread across Calydon, it became clear that action would have to be taken. 

Meleager, prince of Calydon, began to form a plan. He assembled a band of hunters, renowned across the town for their skill. A team of men so feared that their names were rarely spoken aloud. The group was menacing, but Meleager knew it would not be enough, and so he descended into the woods. 

Meleager was no fool. He entered the woods unarmed, his hands raised in surrender. His first call – “Don’t shoot. I seek your help.” 

“With what?” a gruff but curious voice asked. Meleager jumped, for the voice seemed to come from just behind him, though he had not seen another soul since entering the woods. Slowly, he turned around, finding the tip of Atalanta’s bow just inches from him, drawn and ready to pierce his skull. 

“The town is being ravaged. A boar, sent by the gods. Bigger than any animal I have ever seen. Our hunters won’t be enough to take him down, but your skill is unmatched. I didn’t even hear you approach. Will you join the hunt?” 

“Why would I help a town that cast me aside? What’s to stop me from killing you right now, just for asking?” Atalanta said, her bow still drawn fully. Her muscles did not shake, her stance did not shift, and her gaze did not break even for a second. She had learned to lay in wait from the wolves, hours upon hours of perfect stillness and silence.

“Nothing. And I would not blame you if you did. But does my plea not intrigue you? The greatest challenge any hunter has ever faced – that must pique your interest.” 

The two stood still. Meleager watched the girl as she stood unblinking, unflinching, considering her options. Finally, after what felt to him like a thousand years, she released her tension on the bow. “Show me.”  

Meleager returned to the palace with Atalanta in tow. His men stood huddled around a table in the throne room, plotting their next move against the boar. They drew on a map, planning their attack. As the pair entered, a hush fell across the other hunters. They stood in shocked silence, their mouths agape, as Atalanta joined the circle. 

“No time to waste, I hear.” She said. With that, the men turned back to the map, and a plan began to form. 

The next morning, just as dawn broke, the formidable team began their offense. They moved in perfect unison, led by the unmatched prowess of Atalanta. The hunters surrounded the boar, forcing him around the walls to the forest that Atalanta called home. 

The villagers lost sight of the team, whispering and shifting nervously as they saw nothing, and heard only the screams of the hunters and the thundering hooves of the beast. Finally, after an eternity, there was silence. 

A moment later, Atalanta and Meleager emerged from the shadows of the trees — dirty, exhausted, bleeding, but alive. Meleager had lost all his greatest men, but in the end, Atalanta was the kingpin to the plan. She delivered a final, fateful shot to the boar, freeing the city from the chaos it wrought. Meleager announced the victory to the crowd, bestowing the boar’s hide upon Atalanta as thanks, and as a token of his respect. 

Alas, the glory could not last. Honor turned to discord as the prince’s uncles, brothers of King Oeneus himself, became consumed by jealousy and pride. The men sought to strip Atalanta of her prize, her rightful reward, claiming it unfit for a woman to have such a possession. It seemed they could not fathom a world where a girl from the woods could outfight their best-trained men, and deemed her a liar in the eyes of the court. 

Meleager, the only living witness to Atalanta’s impressive feat, would not let her be defamed. He stood up on her behalf, his righteousness turning to fury. In a fit of rage, he slew his uncles in defense of Atalanta’s honor. Though his intentions were noble, his actions were not, and he was sentenced to death for the murder of his uncles. 

Through the chaos and sorrow, Atalanta remained unflinching, just as she had learned from the wolves. Unmoved by the affairs of the Calydonians, she returned to her forest home. Atalanta would never again return to the village. It was said, though, that with a watchful eye, she could be caught flashing between the trees, always draped in the hide of the boar.