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 Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:22 pm
T h exxP r o l o g u e It had always been about family. In a pack or alone, panting or shivering, night or day . . . it was family that mattered in the end. A wolf was never born alone, no . . . a mother always present. The Father? The father was missed, was missing . . . What comes subsequently from birth is something else entirely, not always a moment of absolute togetherness as is found in the process of giving birth. Brought into the world because of a mother’s power, yes, but what guarantee came that life would be easy from then on? None of course . . . always to fight from the womb, even, for the next breath, the next heartbeat.
For life never has a true constant to its name; if someone tells you otherwise, then they have simply adapted too well or no longer have the senses to hear, smell, see, taste, and feel the minute changes still going on around them. Even the predictable seasons have their mysterious ways of surprise, the cycle with a hidden ace up its proverbial sleeve. Early snow in autumn. Prolonged summers. The like. And the wolves? The wolves adapt to each coming day, very few blessed to have power like seers and shamans to even glimpse at what is to come – but they manage. They must, even knowing that the unknowable can be a most frightening thought to think about for too long.
A single mother with a roving pack of pups and a small shelter they called Home, left on the fringes of the forest where they thought peace would be found – this is the beginning of one ongoing story, one of many. Young Adam’s tale begins somewhat like this:
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:30 pm
T h exxW a r m t h In the beginning the realm was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss. A mighty and warm wind swept over the land with terrible intensity, howling with the cries of many. All helpless, all meek, all clinging to life.
The Warmth spoke words he could not comprehend, words that a newborn could not possibly hear because of its inherent deafness, yet he could: “Lettherebelife,” The Warmth said. Soft, gentle, pleading. The howls around him continued ceaselessly, sometimes as one cry, mostly as various pitches and volume intensities. His world shifted with a prod of something cold and wet that sent a small shudder through him. It was growing colder despite the warm wind, the first sensations felt in this strange new world beyond the more comforting wet and dark he had been in before. Cold, and now slowly nothing once more . . . If he could return to the nothing, then he would no longer be in the noise that hurt his ears, or feel cold anymore, or wet . . . Sounds grew muffled in ears that could not, should not be hearing so soon after birth.
”Letthere belife,” said The Warmth again, voice cracking with weariness. How he could hear her among the other voices so clearly, he never knew. But why was it . . . now not cold but warmer . . . Cold on one side, warm on the other. Cold in one spot, repeatedly moving him closer and closer to the something soft. Scrabbling noises began to replace the squeals from before, and he felt something nudge against him that wasn’t cold and wet, but warm and wet. More prods, a sense of quiet urgency.
Then something came unplugged from around his head. Something furless pressed against his mouth, and without warning life sprung into his limbs. Nostrils flaring with its first breaths, he blindly sought out the object, latched on with a toothless mouth, and sucked with all his might – very little at that. Warmth came again and splashed upon his tongue, fighting back the slight chill of the wind as if it were nothing, running through his body as if it already knew all of its twists and turns. Air flooded his lungs in intervals, nearly having him choke as he drank. He wanted more of the warmth and the air, and of the loving voice that nuzzled him now, crooning more sounds he did not understand, but understood enough. The Warmth looked at what she had helped made, and she saw that it was good.
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:33 pm
T h exxD a r k n e s s When he began to realize it, he did not know. Yet still without names, as was in the tradition of The Warmth – Mother, as they knew her now as – it was almost time to earn these titles of identity. Days had seemed to pass by with so little change beyond what he knew; now, Mother was asking them to step clear of their worlds and into the true one she stood in, as did they all. It was a frightening idea, but it sent his siblings abuzz that at last their eyes would begin opening. How did Mother know this? he questioned. But The Mother was The Warmth, and The Warmth knew all that was needed to be known; her ways were not always theirs. At last, they would see their caretaker for who she really was, and together embrace one another as they were, flawed in appearances or not, as one whole family.
His siblings were a strange mix, he found, all already beginning to form distinct personalities despite their inability to see one another. The litter seemed to grow particularly sensitive with touch, each rubbing against one another and finding that the simple motion could easily tell them who it was without the use of smell. One had smooth fur, like down feathers; another stiff, as if always afraid or wary even in the company of family; a third was plastered closely to the skin, thin and frail; the next wispy, light-weight, with a little curl at the ends; the last tough beneath the coat. What did his feel like? He prodded himself on numerous occasions and found that it only felt like plain, simple fur; so his “name” was Simple. Lame.
The six were playing a game of Marco Polo in the wide-cavern den that was once a bear’s when The Warmth called. Blindly, yet very attune to each other’s position, the six toddled out to the mouth of the cave and nuzzled up to their mother in greeting, each yipping in their excitement. Simple did not join them, finding no need to voice his eagerness when it showed openly in his expression. They were nudged into a line according to birth order, and one by one they were called up.
He could tell simply by their scents and presence of warmth who was where: First was Tough, then Feather, followed by Wispy, next Stiff, fifth Thin, and sixth himself. Each would one by one step forward at a different angle as The Warmth directed, thus each pup was given the first glance of something different. Exultation would be heard as Simple’s littermates each drank in the beautiful area around them, each seeing something totally different and describing it with a babble of small words. He could feel Mother’s smile growing with each one, her aura almost seeming to lift a burden off her shoulders with each cry.
It came Simple’s turn, and he felt the familiar cold, wet nose of his mother touch his forehead, between his eyes, and finally his nose in turn. “Let there be light,” she intoned softly, joy most evident in her voice. “Open your eyes, little one, and let there be light.”
So he did, but surely he had done it wrong. There was no light, but darkness still like looking into the lids of his eyes. Perhaps he had opened them incorrectly, so he spread the lids wider. Still blackness. Was The Warmth making him look into the cave? Simple never realized how black it was. He blinked for the first time of his very young life as Mother uttered a soft gasp.
“No . . .” Why did she sound so worried? Hushed, stunned, disbelieving. “ No . . . !”
She was beginning to worry him, and thus Simple attempted to ask what was wrong. Something like a soft gargle came out of him, and hot air. He wondered vaguely how the others learned how to talk and attempted it again, this time with no sound evident. Sensitive hearing could hear, even amongst the joyous romps of his littermates, that The Warmth had stepped back from him: the air seemed to tremble for a moment, and he felt her stare most uncomfortably down at him.
But the pup was so confused. Was The Warmth playing some sort of trick? What was going on? Where was the light? Where was the sound of his voice?
Where was his name?
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:41 pm
T h exxI n v a l i d At first it was only blackness for him. Simple had found it useless to open his eyes because, well, what was the difference? He was weak and treated as such, and it bothered him immensely to know that The Warmth had not yet given him a name days after their little ceremony. Simple was rarely allowed to leave the den, forced to feed only after everyone else was through, and in the end was basically left to his own devices while everyone else played. If he so much as sneezed, Mother would rush forward and demand to know if he had disobeyed her and left while she wasn’t looking, gone and sniffed something wrong or ingested something he shouldn’t have. Of course not, Mother. Where could he go anyway? Two steps out would have him tripping over the smallest of rocks.
In the least, this forced imprisonment made him quite the observer. Simple listened to his siblings run amok around the outside of Home, attuned to each one’s scent and voice. Even with new names, he still knew them by their old ones – from the time they were all blind and unconcerned by it. Thin always stood by Tough no matter what, and Tough was somewhat of a burly bully among them. Feather’s high-pitched squeals told Simple that she was once again being the target of one of Tough’s pranks, her scent covered with something like mud . . . only much more stinky. She had stepped in something Tough had purposefully hidden with leaves and grass.
“Toooooough!” she whimpered. Simple wondered if she used their old names purely to make the invalid more comfortable, to irritate Tough, out of pure sympathy for her youngest brother, or some weird mix of all three. She was one of the nicer ones, he found, even if she was a wimp, and Simple stood up with a silent growl when Tough continued to mercilessly tease her, Thin adding a few jibes here and there.
“Go join your blind baby!” Tough taunted. “Or wait . . . here he comes, the little savior!”
“Stumbling, stupid baby!” Thin put in, and though Simple couldn’t see it he was grinning like a toad. Simple stood before Feather, hoping he was glaring at Tough and his sidekick. As it was, his gaze was a little skewed, for the two guffawed at his misdirection.
Feather whined, “Lil’ bro, please . . .Go back inside before you’re hurt,” and tried to nudge him away, but he remained steadfast and obstinate about protecting her. She raised her voice to the other two. “Momma told you to watch us while she and the others were gone! You’re a horrible at following directions and a really bad watcher!”
Feather had never been the best at sounding mean.
“Hmph. I’m not the one with bad eyes,” Tough quipped, and Simple felt the other’s hot breath upon his face for a moment, could hear the grin in his voice. “Hey, Blind Boy. Try and watch this.”
He never saw the teeth coming.
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:45 pm
T h exxS i g h t The days were growing longer. Sweet scents sometimes wafted to him from where he stood just at the mouth of the bear cave. Sometimes Feather brought him sweet flowers and Wispy would name them for him: this was a Blue Funnel Lilly, this one an orchid of some sort, or that one willow weed . . . He would sniff them each in turn and memorize the scents. They brought life to him in this world, and the siblings’ kindness let him know that there were friends still even in this piece of nowhere.
Thin was beginning to grow more and had enough robust health to go out on his first fishing trip with Mother; thankfully, she also took Tough and Stiff with her, as the three had been begging to do so for so long now that she eventually had to give in, lest her ears be talked off with their whines. Feather and Wispy stayed with Simple in the meantime, showing him various flowers and making him guess at each. His sense of smell was better than theirs, able to detect minute differences between each flower’s scents.
“Good, good!” Feather congratulated him after his twentieth correct guess in a row, and was nuzzling him affectionately when they heard pawsteps. Simple could identify them before his siblings and turned his head, sniffing; something he had never smelled before in his life was approaching, mixing with the aromas of his mother and other littermates. They had caught something!
“I did good,” commented a very smug Thin as they entered. “Real good.”
“That’s ‘better’,” Wispy corrected mildly.
“Whatever.”
Simple opened his eyes slightly and frowned a little as they set the catch upon the floor, the other five already fighting to show the most dominant one among them; three guesses as to who would end up top dog. But curiously, when Simple tilted his head about, he began to see something beyond blackness. There was . . . lighter blackness towards the mouth of the cave, and the darker forms of his siblings broke that pattern as they tussled. One large mass of black stood near the catch, watching them passively and ready to intervene if things got too violent.
No, more curious still . . . when he looked upon the little form beside Mother’s paws, he could see something that was neither darkness nor light darkness, but something different entirely . . . like a light, but not the right shade. He crept closer from behind The Warmth, eyes narrowed with concentration. His heart skipped a beat when he pressed a paw upon the strange light-thing, feeling it wet and give in slightly beneath his weight. It almost slipped out.
The largest form among them shifted, her head turning when she spied a movement at the corner of her eye. Her jaw went slack, and the siblings paused when they saw that someone was already at the fish – the salmon, they were told later, unusually bright-colored.
He nudged the fish closer to his body protectively, positioning himself using the strange light-patch as Simple simply mouthed one word: “MINE.”
”My God,” his Mother whispered, trembling.
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 12:53 pm
T h exxN a m e Simple began to use his sight more often now that he was beginning to . . . well, “see” was the wrong word to use, because he still was technically blind. Many things appeared in meshes of white, gray, or black, and all the hues between them. But sometimes, if something was bright enough in color, it would stick out like a sore paw. He delighted in hopes that maybe he could regain his sight, with practice and time!
Feather, Wispy, and Thin (when Tough wasn’t around) would help him learn colors. The sky was blue in the day and turned many pretty colors at sunset and sunrise; the grass was green, but also changed colors when it came autumn, his mother said; the moon was white and silver as well as the stars, and the sun could change colors also but was usually yellowy-orange – of course, don’t stare at it too long!
Or what, he thought wrly. He’d go blind?
But at last it seemed he was getting just a little more respect from his littermates, although Tough still was as hard to please as ever. Mother, though . . . She became more affectionate towards him once it was evident that he could have partial sight. Simple wasn’t sure how to receive this.
One night as his siblings slept at the back of the den, she called him to her side. Roused easily due to his impeccable – irritatingly so, mind you, as often as it was useful – and keen hearing, Simple rolled away from one of his sister’s warm fur and yawned quietly. Mother beckoned him to the mouth of the den, her form a bright silhouette and readily defined in the moonlight. He padded quietly to her side, blinking curiously. Was he in trouble?
“My love,” she began, nuzzling him warmly, “can you forgive a mother’s foolishness? Her adherence to old, ingrained tradition?”
He merely looked up at her, ears docked.
“Do you know why I never named you, nor gave you my own?”
Simple shook his head.
“My family . . .” Mother seemed to have her breath catch in her throat, and she swallowed it down before trying again. “My family is rooted in pragmatism and have practical approaches to many things, little one. It is common practice that if a parent is unsure of whether a pup will live on past its weaning stages, they withhold both naming the youngling and giving their own name to it. This . . . please understand,” she implored him, growing teary-eyed. “Please understand that I did want to invite more hurt into my life. To name someone is to form a bond, and if the pup died, the bond would break . . .”
She lifted a paw and brought him closer, shoulders rising slightly; her form quivered with barely held back tears. “It is horrible to lose a nameless child. Imagine one that you already knew by name. My faith in God wavered, and I-I am ashamed, little one . . .” Mother licked his head tenderly, eyes overflowing; he could see them almost glowing pure silver in the moonlight. Warmth, warmth once again everywhere as he fell against her flank . . .
“He gave me you as a test, and I have failed Him. Now I must atone and begin anew,” Mother said, voice quavering but with resolve behind it. “Please, forgive me little one . . . My little Adam . . .”
The name caused his ears to perk up. Simple – Adam peered curiously up in the direction of Mother’s bright gray eyes, confused. The story of the first created thing in God's image - before humans, mind you - the very first wolf whom lived in paradise. But why, when he was last born . . . ?
“You remember that story I told you and your brothers and sisters, yes?” she asked, and he bobbed his head. “Yes, that Adam . . . My piece of Eden here on Telk, my beloved youngest.” More nuzzles; he nearly suffocated in the love, felt the tears sliding down and plopping on his head. Mother whispered, “How could I have denied someone created in my own image . . . ? Oh, Adam, please . . . please, forgive me, God . . .”
And Adam could tell that she was genuine in this, and returned her nuzzles fiercely for someone so small. He was not outside but inside once more, enveloped in the womb, resonating with his Mother’s hums as she carried him and his siblings Home.
Comfort. Love. Acceptance. His vision grew blurry.
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Posted: Sat Sep 19, 2009 3:35 pm
T h exxV i s i t o r Every other day, it seemed his color-special vision grew more clear, one interesting instance very clear in Adam’s mind. It was on no particular day while he was playing hide and seek with his family that they were greeted by a strange sight.
At least, Adam’s half-blindness allowed him a view of the stranger before she even arrived. The pup had never seen anyone so . . . milky. It was the only way he could describe it. This wolf’s form was not clearly defined somehow, with swirls of vivid and pale color on her fur that he could easily see; like a small rainbow, only with less colors. Most notable for the young one was the heart-shaped mask upon the stranger’s face, held low as if tired. The entire form swayed with each pawstep, and his keen ears could hear her battered breaths. She was fading!
Without thinking, Adam ran towards the odd scent and its wearied owner. Blood, he realized, like from a kill – blood marred the fur, mixed with the pleasant scent the wolf normally had. Mother called after him, and as a unit his family swarmed the grounds. The bright foreigner moaned and toppled to the ground inches within the borderline of their home. Curious yips were abound as the pups gathered about the new wolf, sniffing her and showing various degrees of disgust for the blood and open wounds on her. Mother quickly organized a small herbal search for several of them, and the rest (including Adam) helped drag the poor soul inside the den. She rested for the whole day and night, seeming in a deep, deep sleep, her sides barely rising. Mother worked hard through the night to keep her alive.
With morning the stranger roused herself blearily, and all but Adam and Stiff came to greet her warmly; Adam because he was suspicious of strangers, Stiff because . . . well, Stiff was afraid of everything initially anyway. The wolf introduced herself as Oathkeeper (though, she added quickly, she didn’t mind them simply calling her Oath), a traveler who had accidentally enraged a bear while walking around. This somehow managed to impress most of them, even though Adam thought it pretty foolish in the first place. Wasn’t like making a bear angry was very easy to do!
Oathkeeper stayed for two days to recover and entertained the children with her presence, but upon the third morning announced that she had to go; the wanderlust had kicked back in unfortunately. She did promise to come visit again sometime. Mother and his siblings – even Stiff – were reluctant to see her go, but Adam was the only one who watched impassively, secretly glad the girl was leaving.
She was simply too different. It bugged the pup the way she moved with unearthly grace, how her very aura radiated with something he couldn’t put a paw on but knew for sure he had never felt before, and the way her eyes always seemed to land upon his with something more than curiosity yet would never say aloud what went through her head – always looking when she thought he wasn’t staring blankly at her!
In short, Oath was an utter weirdo in his book.
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 9:47 am
T h exxF a t h e r A question had always nagged at the young pup, as it sometimes did at his siblings, but they avoided asking for many days. Mother was a strong fae, yet the mere mention of her former mate could have her will crumbling. This was highly disturbing to Adam most of all, and sometimes the subject would be discussed amongst the six, each with their own interpretation.
Tough was particularly sure, for instance, that their father was nothing short of a brilliant warrior. He was suave, dashing, and with the brains to score any meal he sought out. He was a pureblooded mountain wolf whose scent sent villains fleeing with their tails tucked!
Thin and Stiff’s perspectives agreed that their father was a tall, bear of a wolf, with paws so large they left pawprints that two adults could stick their paws in comfortably. He had a piercing stare that could make any predator back down, and his fur was so long it looked as though he wore a mane – heck, they were sure he was part lion somehow!
Feather, being the romantic that she was, depicted Mother’s mate as a wandering poet who was inspired by nature, singing songs and giving lyrics to those whom would deign to listen. Ever patient, kindly, and with beautiful pelt colors, it would be no wonder that Mother had fallen in love with him.
Wispy, ever pessimistic, was the only one of them that was pretty sure their father was a monster, and that Mother was smart to leave before he did anymore damage. But no-one ever listened to Wispy anyway, so that opinion didn’t matter. It’d be the same as calling themselves spawn, and for sure none of the others wanted that!
Adam decided he had no opinion on Father because, well, all the good ones were taken! Father was Father was Father was Father. If he wasn’t there, there had to be some good reason – one way or another. If he ever did show himself one day, well, then he would answer the pup’s sole question: “Why?”
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 10:34 am
T h exxN a t i v e s It was supposed to be Adam’s first hunt. His exemplary behavior and growing flexibility with his half-sight lately made Mother a little less uneasy about taking him away from the den. Thus the young one’s tail swung with vigor at the happy news when he awoke to find out that he was to be taken on a hunt with his sister Feather, who also had little experience hunting. The rare sight of Adam’s smile was enough to make Mother smile warmly in return, brightening her day.
She set Tough in charge and took the two with her a little northward where food was more plentiful, and Adam began to note as they walked that the grays and blacks and greens began to have bald spots in their meshes. Prodding his mother to point this out, he saw that his mother’s twin spheres of gray twinkled. “Two-leggers,” she explained, ears pricked in case their foots steps could be heard. “Partaking of the wood for their resources. They leave behind small patches in the forest sometimes.”
Stealing from trees? Feather was horrified by the thought, and Adam made a face at their bravado. Mother quickly went on to explain that these two-leggers were of the kindly temperament for the most part. “This village thanks nature for her gifts and honor her well,” she went on to say. “They are polytheistic: they believe there is not one God, but many in the form of spirits who watch over the land.”
“B-Bla . . . Blasfer . . . Blasphemy!” Feather exclaimed after several tries of remembering the word. “Does God punish them?”
“Dear one, we do not frown upon any living creature for their beliefs if they are pure and well-intentioned. Learn tolerance young and you will find many opportunities to learn from those who have different faiths.”
“Yes, Mother . . .” Adam could sense Feather’s flushed face. “Can we go see them?”
“No. You are all too young still; perhaps when you are several months older.” And before Feather or Adam could protest, Mother reminded them that this was their first hunt , and they could get to try and work together to pin small-sized prey. The growls of their stomachs soon hushed any interest in the humans that day, and though the two were unsuccessful Adam's curiosity lingered on.
Mother had said these two-leggers were kindly. Did that mean there were others?
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 11:17 am
T h exxI n v a d e r s So caught in his curiosity, the next day Adam decided he wanted to go see the humans for himself. He was confident enough in his sight that he could travel a little bit and return without anyone making too much of a fuss. Already his littermates were beginning to explore on their own anyway. So while Mother napped one afternoon, Adam quietly slipped away from the stone den and began making his way through the forest.
What he didn’t know, sadly, was that his direction was flipped: he headed not north, but south.
This would not have happened normally, for Adam had an excellent memory for the layout of the land. But that involved treading said land, and the pup had not yet wandered far from Home up until this point. Somehow, he did not feel very afraid of being on his own in spite of his disabilities; in fact, he thought himself pretty courageous.
He paused at the fringes of the forest, however, when something came to his nose. Some astringent, others a touch sour, and salty smells were among the many his brain processed. Sounds like voices came to him, and he smelled for the first time in his life metal; it wasn’t very pleasant.
He could not see the camp very clearly, but he could see the metal with distinction. Shining, silver things that were long, cylinder-ish – like branches, only more sleek. The sight made him shiver for some reason; it was too unnatural. But from the camp he could smell good things, like meat . . . only for sure he knew it wasn’t raw, because it didn’t smell right at all. But what had they done to it? It still smelled good . . . even with the weird two-legger scent.
The pup began to grow anxious, and for the time decided it was time to get back Home. He stepped back without looking and became off-balanced by the entangling branches in the brush he had been hiding in, creating a small cacophony of noise as the leaves protested his flopped weight. Noises arose from the camp as several of the hunters noted an animal near their camp.
He heard the metal thing go click. Heart pounding, Adam fled as fast as his puppy legs dared, stumbling and tripping and falling many times in his escape. He never felt so afraid in his life, and never did he share the experience with his family, too embarassed and guilty for disobeying Mother’s orders.
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Posted: Fri Sep 25, 2009 3:02 pm
T h exxP a c k Sometimes he wondered if what he saw was hallucination on his part. But then, he’d argue, blind wolves couldn’t just make up colors they’d never seen before.
The group had left as a whole for just some family togetherness outside of Home, following a tiny brook simply because it was there, when Adam spotted something strange: moving colors of the brightest he had seen up to date: yellow, blue, red, hints of green – pure colors, mind you, not the mixes or the streaks or dots or whatever he was used to. Literally moving, veritable rainbows! They were far away from the group’s position, but Adam found that the distance didn’t affect his vision; he could see the colors move away in spite of all the forest brush that would normally cover them up for the average wolf.
The pup mentioned this to Mother with a few indications of his muzzle, but Mother began to move them away from these distancing pinpricks of color, ears flattened and hackles stiff as if alert for something. She had misinterpreted his actions? No . . . Adam could smell something just on the edge of his senses – like many scents coming as one, like many wolves coming as one. Was that a family? But they didn’t smell the same at the same time . . .
Thankfully Feather was a curious as he was, and she proposed the question for him once they had been on their merry way for several minutes. What was the smell? Mother seemed to struggle with an answer for a moment before speaking. “What you smelled were wolves who are part of a family, like we are. Theirs is a different one, however, because they’re not all related to each other. But they come together to help one another and survive in numbers rather than travel on their own. It’s what is called a ‘pack’.”
The idea intrigued Adam immensely. But upon prodding – literally and verbally – at their mother further as to why they didn’t go join a pack themselves, the six pups received a strange silence and an even stranger gaze imperiously silencing them. No explanation was given, only a rather stiff request that they go out and enjoy the beautiful day: they had, after all, reached the small lake the river fed into.
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Posted: Sat Sep 26, 2009 8:29 am
T h exxD r e a m This was a most unusual smell Adam found one day. Wispy and Feather had a tendency to stick together, as did Tough and Thin, and when the two pairs left on their own tiny adventures he was often stuck with Stiff. Stiff was the closest pup to Adam as far as size and health, but that didn’t mean that Adam particularly enjoyed the guy’s presence most of the time. Wispy might be slightly pessimistic, but Stiff was the whiner.
It was a humid afternoon when the two were left near Home as the other four explored. Adam was still resistant to leaving, being on the recovery from the two-leggers with the metal branches from before; he was playing sentinel duty about the cave, making sure none of them came close. Stiff tagged along to his dismay: Adam had hoped that his brother would have the sense to know that he wasn’t wanted, because he rarely was whenever games or serious duties were involved. Guess not.
Surprisingly, Wispy didn’t say much of anything for most of their patrol. They rounded the cave several times at a sedate pace, each facing opposite directions for maximum coverage. Adam might not have been able to see, but he sure did have other well-attuned senses to match his brother’s combined ones. As they passed the napping form of their mother, Stiff whispered to him. “D’you ever wonder what the others are doing when they leave us here?”
Nope, not really. Adam could guess at what the pairs were doing right off the bat: Wispy and Feather were probably off flower sniffing or collecting, and Thin and Tough were probably sparring or trying to pounce on the nearest small creature. But for Stiff’s sake, he nodded a little.
“I want to go on adventures like them someday,” Stiff went on, seeming ashamed to say so. “You’re the messed up one –”
Oh, well thanks, bro.
“ – and the smallest –”
This pint-sized pup could take you –
“ – but you’re still braver than me.” Stiff twiddled his internal thumbs in the ensuing silence, Adam not sure how quite to respond to that statement beyond pausing to look at his brother curiously. He could tell Stiff didn’t like looking at those two black eyes of his, and it prolonged the silence for a few more seconds.
Then: “Um . . . I hope I can be as brave as you, Adam. I wanna prove I’m not always a’scared of everything. I, uh . . . I hope you know that you’re sorta an inspiration.”
It took a lot of guts for someone like Stiff to say that. But Adam had never considered himself anyone’s rolemodel, much less a cowardly momma’s boy like Stiff . . . He docked his ears with some surprise. Not being able to respond verbally made scenes like this sort of awkward. Adam showed his appreciation with a little smile and a prod of his nose into his brother’s flank, and this seemed to relieve Stiff. The two went along on their merry way patrolling once more.
It was funny, how even little adventures could happen just within several steps of Home. But Adam shared that longing for excitement beyond that little bear cave of theirs. Tomorrow, he resolved, tomorrow he would try to convince Mother that they needed to explore beyond what they already knew.
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Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 2:20 pm
The Omen It was a gloriously bright day when Adam realized that someone was coming again. Far in the distance, when he was playing once more “Guess the Flower” with Feather, he smelled the distinct smell of . . . gloom. There was no other way to describe it. White-furred doom, with plentiful colors and strange textures and a familiar voice – no, more like a whine . . . He frowned and sat up, the abrupt pause to their game causing Feather to blink with surprise.
It was Oathkeeper. Mother set forth to greet her warmly, but her face quickly turned sullen when the visitor spoke. Low and quick, Oath’s tone might have been hard for his siblings to catch, but for Adam’s keen ears might have been right next to Mother when it happened.
“You must go,” she murmured, a strangely frightened look in her eyes. “You must go now, before the fires come. They have been spreading on the plains like disease.”
“How?” was all Mother could manage, a strangled sound.
“The invaders left a campfire overnight. It grew hungry when they did not feed it, and now its passion consumes the forest. Go, go!” Oathkeeper advised feverishly, her pale face pressing against Mother’s with sympathy. “You must leave before the night is up.”
Mother had a strange look to her eye that Adam could not see. “We cannot.” That was all she could say now. “We cannot go.” Oathkeeper stared at her when she retreated her head, confusion etched into the horror of her expression, but before she could explain to them the brevity of the situation, Mother told her gently that it was probably time for her to go. She might have stayed had it not been her self-given duty to warn the other creatures near. With deep reluctance, Oath left them, seeming defeated.
Mother looked tired as well despite her solid rejection of the warning. Adam couldn’t understand why they needed to stay, though. But who should he listen to: Mother, whom he always trusted, or Oath, the stranger who knew more about the outside world?
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Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 2:31 pm
The Fire It was a brilliance he had never seen before. Like living color without a regular heartbeat: in, up, out, there, here. Vivid, passionate, alive. Red, orange, yellow, black, gray. Brown, brown everywhere . . . Great contrast again the nightsky, scattered suns with the strangest smell (he would later learn called smoke) that cloyed his lungs and made it hard to breath and harder to see. Screams, shouts, whimpers, and burnt fur. Home was invaded.
“My children!” Mother called over the wildfire’s cackles, over the chaos of the birds and the deer and the other wolves or bears, or whatever called these days near them that he had never known. “My children!!”
Mother! But he was turned about and his head was rolling with the scent he could not get off his tongue, out of his head, nor the noise in his ears. The very earth trembled beneath him, and he wondered briefly why, oh why . . . Where was God? God? GOD! Adam shrieked in his head, leaping over the bright tongues of flame, feeling them sear his belly anyway. Why could Tough jump over so easily, as he did earlier to try and stop the fire himself, but his youngest broth couldn’t?
Where was everyone? Why everywhere but here of course.
Fire, fire, without safety in sight or thought. Just family . . . Always had been about family, Adam was taught. Stay as a family, it always meant safety, never alone, never left behind. SAFETY! But it had flown away with the birds, and now he smelled more fur burnt – his fur burnt- and his breaths grew shallower as he saw blurred figures of color beyond the fire streak away. Were they his siblings? Where they others? Why wasn’t he among them . . . But he didn’t have the strength to move on from the floor, and from the red and yellow and orange and the white of the stars in the sky – all faded to black, letting unconsciousness take over as the fires crept away from him with insidious intent upon Home.
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Posted: Wed Sep 30, 2009 2:39 pm
The Beginning When he awoke, it was as if from a dream. The strange smell was still around, yes, but otherwise it felt as though he had yet again been reborn from some ungodly womb – yet a womb that kept him safe nonetheless. Movement was slow as his brain brought itself back to life: one leg, then another, the third, the last. “The last shall be first and the first shall be last.” What a peculiar phrase from his mother to remember now. Adam took his first breath and dwindled into a fit of coughs, as though soil has marred his tongue and lungs.
He blinked his eyes slowly, feeling them watering; his face was also wet. It was odd, because he could barely see anything now in the land about him. He was yet again in the darkness of his early childhood, but he still had sight, senses to tell him that the fire had eaten its fill and was gone now.
But what had it taken with it? He marveled at how something so beautiful and so precious to the eye could be so destructive . . .
Was God real? He could not call out his mother, his sisters, his brothers. He could not ask anyone to help find them verbally. He could barely locate them by name as it was. Scent, then, yes, scent . . . Like the phoenix reborn from the ashes, so too did Adam begin a new chapter in his life as a lone pup. He grew wary of the day and wandered by night to stay safe, his mismatched pelt a hindrance to his survival. Carrion was his preferred choice of meat when little else could be found, and Adam grew thin and haggard despite his stolid health.
He began to lose his faith in God as the days passed, and yet . . . a glimmer of hope came to him in the form of Kalama. Was this what God meant for him to be? Thrown from his family forcibly and forced into poverty?
Adam rose to the challenge. If God willed it, then he would accept and astound Him.
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