Original prompt by: /u/poochy

She walked in shadow.

She tried to keep her footsteps soft and light. The midnight air was barely stirred by the breeze. The full moon shone softly like a pearl in a sea of velvet black, hanging far above and bathing the land below in hues of pale white. Without the moon the land would be draped in inky black curtains, difficult to travel and track.

She cocked an ear, hoping to hear any signs of her prey. The usual night noise surrounded her. A bird chirped. The bush rustled from something unseen passing through. A hoarse grunt made her pause, made by a beast far larger than her and not one she wished to disturb in the middle of the night.

The breeze came again and she froze. She smelled something upon it. Something familiar, something sweet. Her prey.

She followed the scent, occasionally losing it but finding it once again once the breeze brought it back to her. She tried to quiet the rumbling of her stomach. A poor hunter was given away for their lust for their prey. Yet she could not deny her eagerness. It was approaching the Harvest Moon. The prey available at this time were coming into their perfection.

She paused. A ray of moonlight fell upon a sign located at the base of a tree. It glimmered in the light, a smear of a golden orange substance. It was sticky at her touch, still warm, incredibly fragrant. She breathed deep and could not resist the smile. It was a rich scent, redolent of spices and a deep richness that could only come from an orange gourd long cooked. She tasted the substance and her tongue delighted in the sweetness broken by the spiciness of cinnamon and nutmeg to cut through the richness.

Pumpkin daubed doughnuts had passed this tree. Not too long before.

She followed the trail, rewarded by her observations. A dropping of sprinkles here. Another smear of frosting there. A pattern of cinnamon dust lay delicate on the earthen ground, where several had gathered and danced.

A sound came with the breeze, not just the scents. The rustling grass from many small feet, small cheeps and growls. She finally saw her prey in a clearing. Her eyes opened wide at the sight. At least several dozen had gathered in the clearing, tiny rotund forms that danced and fought with one another.

Her happiness soured as she saw the giant iron gourd that sat at the far end. It was a heavy thing, a pumpkin swollen in size and tougher than metal. If the doughnuts escaped into the gourd then it would be nearly impossible for her to break through. Most would make it to the gourd before she could catch them. The doughnuts were small and swift.

Another large grunt broke the night air. The prey paid it no mind yet the Huntress paused. A smile crossed her lips. She knew what she could do.

Moments later a pounding beat rattled the forest. The doughnuts looked about in alarm. Some drifted to their home while others were bolder, looking for the source of the sound. Squeals of fear broke out as the Huntress dashed into the clearing. Some shook their fists at her and others scattered. They knew they could outrun her.

However she was not the sole cause of the commotion. An immense beast chased after her. It pounded on four heavy legs, it's long plow like snout lowered to skewer her. A dough mixer, a large beast that was a vital part of the doughnut life by helping to mix the rich dough deposits, chased after the Huntress. It roared as it ran, intent on punishing the girl that dared annoy her.

She ran and at the last moment vaulted over the iron gourd, hands grabbing for the branches of a tree that grew over it. The dough mixer could not stop its headlong charge and it collided heavily with the gourd. The plow nose broke the gourd, shattered it, and it listed to the side drunkenly.

The doughnuts squealed in rage to see their home and haven broken. The angriest of them attacked the dough mixer while the more intelligent and cowardly ran deeper into the forest.
The Huntress landed lightly on the forest floor, breathing hard but with a victorious smile. She collected the doughnuts that were trampled by the dough mixer. The she deftly caught the ones who beat ineffectively at the dough mixer beast, knocking them out and packing them tight in her pack. She did not chase after the ones that ran away. A poor hunter over hunted their prey.

With a light heart, an empty stomach, and a heavy pack, she began her trip home. She and her family would enjoy the treats for some time, and the rest would be sold for a pretty price. More than enough before she would hunt the doughnuts again.