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 Posted: Sat Sep 04, 2010 9:05 pm
 
Storytime contest! Are they enemies, are they lovers? Soon to be friends, comrades? Competitors?
To win Red:
Write as her, from her perspective, about how she perceives The Wolf.
To win The Wolf:
Write as him, from his perspective, about how he perceives Red Riding Hood.
Winners will be judged based on creativity, effort, and writing quality!
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 12:18 am
do we post the storyline here? o u o;
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 12:35 am
[ Writing from the perspective of Robin Lee Red. (The name Red by itself is...silly. And I like this name.) ]
A young girl with kind eyes dared to brave the dim forest with dark, overhanging branches, for it was her duty to help her dearest grandmother. The events that splayed out before her after that fateful entrance were ones that she now recounts with sadness and horror. Naught but once, though, did she blame that wolf -it was only her own foolishness that led her to such a terrific and horrific conclusion on that day. Had she not looked on with such a glazed mind and hazed eyes - perceiving the world to only be kind and safe, then perhaps to this day her dearest grandmother may still be alive. The wolf had been a lesson to her, a lesson that the world can be cruel and deceiving and given the chance it will tear at your weaknesses, taking anyone naive enough down along with all their childish hope. Naught only that, but she believed the wolf to have been a sad, lonely creature, being feared and hated can turn a heart twisted and make oneself vengeful, using hate and violence to seek revenge in response to years of cruelty. The wolf might have been jealous of her humanity, the ability to be loved and treasured by her beloved parents and grandparents. The wolf probably resented this, his lonely heart crying out in desperation, mayhaps thinking, 'If I can't be loved, then neither will this girl' . Red would've liked to believed this as the reason for her grandmothers death, "How was I so blinded by my own childish stupidity not to notice quickly that it was naught my own grandmother, but the wolf?" With sadness and pain, her eyes glazed over in memory of that moment, "Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!" the sound of her own voice reverberated off of the walls of her own mind. It hurt her heart to think of what a horrible mistake she had made. "That poor wolf...because of me..." One tear slide down. "But at the same time, Im very glad for my own safety...still though, I wish he could have been saved." It had been a couple of years since then, but even now - staring out the rain fogged window, the memory still haunts her, "I would have shown him kindness"
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 8:27 am
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Lily. The people in town called her 'Red' because she wore a red hood, and they weren't very creative. One day she had to bring her annoying and ungrateful grandmother some lunch because she was just too darn lazy to get up and cook her own food. Red had never liked her grandmother, as she was always telling her how she should settle down and find a man, even though she knew Red was trying to already. This made Red self-conscious so she knew every trip to grandma's house was bound to be awkward and embarrassing. However, in her small village, letting grandmother make their own damn meals was apparently a social faux pas. So ever since her grandmother got arthritis, she had to bring her food every single day.
To make matters even more annoying, her grandmother just couldn't move into town. She had to insist on living in a cottage deep inside the most dangerous woods for miles. Every time Red offered to find her a house nearer to the village, her grandmother said that she had to protect Red's inheritance. Red did not want to inherit a useless property in the middle of a woods that only lumberjacks were brave enough to go into.
This was a trip Red had to put up with every day, until one day, something amazing happened. She was peeking into her grandmother's cottage as usual, when she saw that there was nothing in there but a wolf and quite a lot of gruesome mess. Red stood at the doorway while the wolf eyed her apprehensively. She could do either of two things. She could go get help, or she could just leave. She walked into the room and put her hands to her cheeks, overdramatically exclaiming, "Why, Grandma! You've changed! I'm so glad you look so strong that I will never have to visit you again." And with that, she patted the wolf on his head, standing on tiptoes to do so, and left while he was still looking bewildered.
Thank heavens for hungry wolves!
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Posted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 5:25 pm
The Wolf whistled a merry tune, or what seemed to be a merry tune in his own mind, as he walked. In all actuality, the tune was rather flat and uninteresting to anyone else who happened to have been listening to it at the time, horribly at odds with the expression its composer attempted to wring from the melody. Fight with the music he did, adamant that the tune was merry (though it was not) and appropriate for his walk to grandma's house. He didn't particularly know this grandmother at all, besides that she was the grandmother of Red, that small, young, and sumptuous looking girl he'd met on the path earlier. Something about Red's youthful, innocent, and energetic nature piqued something deep down inside his gut, made her irresistible to him. It awakened him in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d only met the girl once and he was already thusly captivated that his thoughts couldn’t wander. He guessed this feeling came from deep down inside himself, possibly originating somewhere close to his pancreas. So he was on his way to intercept the girl at what he'd learned was her grandmother's house. He really wanted to meet her again. Not having known his own grandmother, The Wolf had no concept of what a grandmother was besides that lil' Red's seemed to reside in the house up ahead.
The cookie he'd managed to persuade from Red's basket settled in his stomach. It wasn't pleasing, filling, or in any way gratifying, but the weight of the small thing incessantly reminded him of young Red. He felt a peculiar compassion toward the girl, gratitude for her kindness, love for her gentle heart, and a horrible pang in his gut whenever he thought of her. The cookie had strengthened these feelings he felt for her and drove him mad, if being driven madder was at all possible (he Wolf figured he’d abandoned sanity a while back, accidentally burying it somewhere, likely along with a nice bone). It sharpened his appetite, as some might say. If asked, The Wolf would likely say it was his appetite for love that had been brought forward. He wasn't really sure what it was entirely since these feelings were somewhat new to him. Simple matter was he couldn't stop with only this small token, a piece, a morsel, not even a fraction of what he wanted. You see, he'd been starving for a while now and couldn't quell this hunger in his heart (and other hollow organs). He was a wolf of compassion after all, always having been set apart from his fellow peers for these exceptional qualities. His mother had always told him he'd had a heart and guts, and he'd come to realize that he most certainly did.
Unfortunately mal-nourished guts. Shaking his head at the turn of events he'd brought down upon himself over these last few days, he quickly decided not to dwell on his aching innards and to move on, focusing instead on the hopefully profitable events ahead. As he approached the house, he stopped his whistling, taking in what he saw. One more accustomed to living in such places would have noticed the slight disrepair the house was in from not having been looked after. The axe used for chopping wood was extremely rusty from being left in the rain, there were small gaps in the seams of wood that should be chinked, some roofing tiles that were in need of replacing, and weeds sprouting and taking over the remains of what had once been a breathtaking garden. Someone used to living in such dwellings could come to expect this of a house whose only tenant was an elderly bedridden lady. The Wolf didn't see any of this, not having ever permanently lived in such a place. He was more of the... how should I say this... wanderer-slash-traveller-and-or-vagrant type. The Wolf didn't notice any of this disrepair and proceeded in through an open window rather than the front door (since he wasn't accustomed to turning doorknobs either).
Disappointment spread across his face as the scent of old (an odd scent that always seems to go hand-in-hand with lace doilies and antique furniture) drifted in its peculiarly slow but overwhelming fashion into his nose, danced around in his brain, and never found something to connect with since he'd never smelt this smell before. From beneath a thick set of bed sheets, The Wolf spotted a pair of eyes belonging to a frail and elderly lady. So this must be grandmother, the intended recipient of cookies and basket goods. She didn't strike up the flames of his compassion at all (yes, compassion is FIERY o 3o ) in the way lil' Red had. His guts seemd to be occupied elsewhere, dwelling on other sweeter and FIERY thoughts.
After a scream and a quick scuffle I don't care to go into detail about involving a broom, sock, flowery bed-sheet, and potted petunia, the grandmother was shut in the closet and The Wolf was sporting an extraordinarily flowery night gown and cap. Not a moment later did The Wolf hear a knock on the door that immediately sent his heart racing with the returning prospect of seeing or smelling lil' Red once again. Darting into the bed in just the position the grandmother had been, The Wolf grinned a very toothy smile, canines protruding and gleaming in the most appropriate and polite of manners. Only the very best smile to put Red at ease. “Come in!” he called, in the sweetest voice he could manage that most closely imitated that of the grandmother (which wasn't very similar at all). Oh, how strange it was how he wanted so badly to be in lil' Red's presence once again! The Wolf writhed in anticipation, his heart hammering, his stomach aching, and his other organs doing whatever it was that they did best or thought was best for the moment. He really looked forward to seeing more of those cookies!
(( I hope the last bit with the grandmother is alright. I know it's supposed to be how he percieves Red Riding Hood, but I see some are throwing in a little RPing too @___@ ))
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Posted: Thu Sep 09, 2010 8:48 am
Rosa loved him, she really did. It didn’t matter to her that he was of another race, or that his dark skin looked nothing like her pale skin. Hell she didn’t even care that he wasn’t the nicest person out that, and that he had committed a few felonies in his time. She loved Wolfgang, the good and bad parts of him. As she walked thru the woods that was all that was on her mind, after all it was on this very same trip to her grandmother’s house that she had meet Wolfgang years ago. He had tried to scary her, and she just laughed at him, and that was the start of their relationship. They had became friends and he ended up walking with her to her grandmother’s house and even coming in and having dinner with them. Even though she knew she could never tell her mother of Wolfgang, her grandmother understood and even liked the strange boy.
As she walked towards her grandmother’s house she could hear him coming. She slowed to a stop just in time for him to jump out and try to scare her like always. She laughed and shook her head. “Oh Wolfgang, you know you don’t scare me. Why must you always try?” She said with a laugh. He smiled and shook his head. “One day Rosa, one day I will scare you.” He kissed her forehead and ran off, leaving Rosa to wonder where he had gone. She shrugged, knowing that he would come back when he felt like it. Maybe he was running ahead to grandmother’s house?
Wherever he was going she was sure that she would see him later, she always did. She continued skipping towards her grandmother’s house, taking not too much longer to get there. When she did get there the door was already open, strangely, but she went on in anyways. As she walked in and over to her grandmother’s bed she noticed that t wasn’t really her grandmother in the bed. “My what big ears you have, and big eyes.” She exclaimed. “The better to hear you with and see you with my dear, come closer.” And Rosa did come closer. “My what big teeth you have!” She exclaimed, slightly frightened at this point. “The better to eat you with!” her fake grandmother said causing her to freeze with fight As it got out of bed and started walking towards her.
Just as she was about to scream for help the fake grandmother started laughing, but she could also hear the laughter of her real grandmother somewhere! As her grandmother came out of the closet and Wolfgang took off her grandmother dress they couldn’t stop laughing. “Told you that I’d scare you one day.” Wolfgang said between his laughter.
And that was the day that Wolfgang finally scared Rosa, the day she knew that she could love no other like she loved him.
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Posted: Fri Sep 10, 2010 9:37 pm
It's not that I don't like her per se, but she is disgusting. I can't help that. She tracks her little, dirt-covered shoes into my nice, clean foyer; she eats cookies over the couch and always leaves crumbs; she feels this incessant need to pick up every object in my home and move it slightly out of its place. Chaotic. Why do I even let her visit? It isn't out of love, I'm fairly certain.
She's sitting on my couch, picking at an upholstered flower. Some days, when she drops by, she will have tea. I can never prepare ahead, because she always changes her mind as to what she wants to have, not to mention the time she will arrive. Again, small frustrations. I like things to be tidy, efficient, organized. Red... Red is everything I am not. It goes beyond neat and messy, to our personal skills. Out in the woods, there is a lot of time for meditation and study. There are things I do to survive, as well, of course. I cut my own wood, I repair my house when it's needed, and I grow my own food. I do love meat, but apart from small game, I don't tend to hunt. Occasionally, Red will bring by some slab of meat she got from her boyfriend, a huntsman. It's always delicious, though I wonder how she justifies bringing me a gift of something her boyfriend killed.
I reach up and scratch twice beside my ear, a quirk I can't seem to lose.
"Keane, that's such a gross, weird habit. Like you have fleas. You think too much, too," Red says, wrinkling her nose at me in disgust. She has untied her cape, and draped it over the back of my couch. I hadn't noticed that process. Maybe she's endearing in a sort of irritating way. The only hobby we really share is the reading of stories. Sometimes she will have me recite poetry or lore aloud for her, though I never sit with her. She takes the couch, and often lays down. She won't even take her shoes off for that. I always have to clean the dirt off the armrest. As a result, the one side near the door is more faded than the other side. "Keane, stop ignoring me," Red shouts my name, then lowers her voice again when my eyes refocus on her. If scratching beside my ear is my annoying trait, I can't even count all of Red's. The one she's doing now, for instance, involves tipping her head to the side and narrowing her eyes. She does this when she is annoyed, curious, listening or accusing me of something. Basically, it covers her entire range of emotions.
"I wasn't ignoring you, I was thinking of other things, possibly more important," I reply, "But seeing as you screamed at me, I have no idea what those thoughts might have been." Not true. I have an excellent memory. I just resent when Red monopolizes my precious attention.
"You were thinking of reading me a story," Red says, shuffling through the papers on the table beside the couch. My eyes narrow at her.
"You don't say."
"In fact, I bet it was..." Red stands, digs a book out from the shelf behind the couch, and holds it out. I scratch beside my ear again, and she grimaces. "Stop that, take the book. Don't touch me, I don't want the fleas."
I sigh, and take the book, flipping open to where she marked it last time. That's another irritating habit: Red likes to dog-ear my pages, and write things in the margins. It's exceptionally frustrating that she defaces pretty much everything I own, basically. Walking through my life and stirring up trouble. I know I could just ask her to leave, but I can never bring myself to do that. I changed so much about myself, in order to become the studious, composed version of myself I currently am. Maybe I need her touch of chaos, to remind me of what I used to love. The message she wrote in the last page says, I love you, mister wolf. xo, Red. I raise my eyebrows. I assume that it's a joke, and scan the page for where we left off.
Before I can even read the first line, Red has flopped down in my lap. She smells good, like lamb roasted with potatoes, or red wine in the evening. No, she doesn't, how could she smell like that? That's the old me, the one that wants to tear into things. Tear into Red. I stiffen up. "Get off. Your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate that. You think I want to be hunted?"
Red gets up and slaps me. It stings, and I growl a little. Red's voice is raised, she's almost in hysterics, "You're so stupid, you just sit out here in your cottage with your books and your tea. You're like an old man," she says. She wrinkles her face, narrows her eyes. Walks back to the couch and swipes her jacket up. That's how Red leaves me, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as she's gone, I rub my face in exhaustion. What am I doing? That stupid girl could ruin everything. If this is love, then love is inconsequential. It can't be that, and isn't. It's a kind of perverse attachment. Who else is there, in the woods? It's too quiet, and I can't live in silence all the while. Next time Red comes by, I should just lock the door. I can pretend I'm out. Asleep. Dead.
But I won't.
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 1:16 am
Small noises came from a blanket pilled up on a small round bed that sat nestled under the window in a quant two story cottage The sound of sweet slumber for the fair-haired girl was all that could be heard upstairs in the…oh so… Oh man completely messy room. The clothes of the girl were all over the place along with other things I do believe that is dead bird. Wait it moved almost to perfect in matching its owner’s personality. The small noises continued from the small blanket almost lovely and serene if it were not for the overwhelming disgust of her living space. There were some aggravated noises below and yelling then booming like stomp as it came from downstairs all the way to the disgusting young girl’s room.
A large burly woman stood with rolling pin in hand her hair pulled back in a scarf, apron around her waist in a questionable frock. The woman looked furious or that may have just been her normal face as she stomped over to our fair-haired girl’s bed. No movement seems to have only upset the woman more she pulled the blanket off only to find another blanket and a ferret sleeping onto of that blanket. It angrily greeted the woman and flung by the woman scaring her and her responding by turning red swearing and what not as the creature ran away.
The woman threw everything off the bed clothes, food wrappers, blankets and even the little girl who only landed on more clothes and wrappers. Another bed for the girl to sleep on as she didn’t seem to stir until the older woman belted out “GET UP!!!! RIGHT NOW RED!!!” The woman screamed loud enough for the whole forest to hear there was certainly birds flying out of trees near the cottage. Red shot up only to be hit in the face with some old hard cheese. How, in the known world did she find a way to make cheese hard is overly bizarre and a mysterious to normal people. The woman went into a fiery rant “how many times have I told you to clean this room….” Red was drifting in out tired of hearing her mother’s mouth. Only catching the last of her mother’s sentence she had to actually get up and take a basket to her bitter, spiteful old grandmother.
As red pursed her lips in protest a rolling pin whizzed past her head as a warning not to speak only to get up and do as she said. The woman left and red grumbled as she sat up getting ready to leave on her forced errand. Only to be surprised by house slipper to the bum for grumbling and red ran to the bathroom. As she continued to grumble in her head mostly about how uncreative her parents were. Red for a name is absurd and it’s not like her siblings name were better Silver, Maroon and Periwinkle. Color names what horrible name for children but there was nothing she could do. Except the coolest thing ever and name herself Dahlias which are these awesomely pretty flowers like myself. It always amazes herself how clever she can be. Red came out of the bathroom to find her room clean and a red outfit on the bed with the basket. She rolled her eyes and got dress and grabbed the basket hoping out of the window onto the tree then to the path away from the house.
Dahlias yawned and wondered along the path taking the long route not wanting to go to her grandma even if she was early or on time the old bat would complain. The woman hated Dahlias simply because she looked more like her father’s mother than anything. “Bitter old bat” she mumbled to herself “this why your husband left you for that woman” she groan feeling a sudden chill. Turning around quickly there was nothing there and she turned around to be confronted with a wolf? No it wasn’t a normal wolf clearly it was a constellation, yet he had ears and a tail and was good looking. She snapped out of her thoughts and threw the basket at him and dashed off before he could say anything.
Dahlias however ran in the wrong direction and ended up getting lost and injured while she tried to find her way back to her grandmother’s place. Dahlias gasp as she stepped through the bush her knee was bloody with a cut her elbow had scratch, mud all over her clothing, and her hair tussled with twigs and mud. The fair-hair of hers wasn’t so fair anymore and Dahlias was extremely exhausted from her overall ordeal.. Dahlias gasped and grunted as she reached for the door she looked around her person but had no key. She grumbled and complained as she went to the window. Opening it she flopped in crashing to the ground “I hate this family” she sighed and pulled herself up with he help of a table almost causing it to come down on her. She dragged herself to her grandmother’s bedroom door and opened it only to be stunned beyond belief. “Oh ******** me” there was her grandmother and she had the wolf doing chores for her. Dahlias was stunned and struck with a vase because of her foul mouth which took her out for the count.
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 12:13 pm
This was not the first time I met the wolf. I met him before, four years ago.
I remember walking through the woods on my way to my grandma's house when I first met him, the wolf. I had stopped to pick some flowers for my grandma when I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. He came out of nowhere I almost jumped out of my skin. It was slient for a few minutes as he just stood there staring at me like I was the most scumptious treat he had ever seen. I wanted to run but couldn't. It was like his black gaze burned over me holding me captive. He licked his lips.
"What is a pretty little thing like you doing here in the woods all alone?" His eyes flicked over my body drinking me in.
"I'm on my way to my grandma's house" I turned to leave only to bump into something. I look up to meet the wolf's eyes. Wait wasn't he just behind me? Confused I look back to where I first saw him, how did he do that?
I turn back towards him, noticing that he's a little too close for comfort. Is he smelling me? His face was only inches from my head but with his eyes closed it looked like he was actually smelling me. He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "Your grandma's house you say, It would be better if you stayed on the path instead of taking the woods, there are dangerous creatures, predators looking for prey." I swallowed. It sound as if he was describing himself to me. "If you want I can walk you there." He gave me his best "wolfish" grin. I wished he would stop staring at me like he might devour me in one utterly delicious bite. His gaze sliding over me like he owned me, possessed me. I took a step back. "I always go through the woods to my grandma's house, its a lot faster. You don't have to go through the trouble of walking me there, her house is close by I can see it from here."
He leaned in and started to once again sniff as if he was trying to capture my smell to remember it at all times. "Ok I'll let you go for now... but remember my face I believe we will see each other again in the future, fate will bring us back together... bye for now little red." And with that he was gone.
Four years later I run into him again but this time in my grandma's house, in her clothes....
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 1:10 pm
I’ve traveled through the forest often enough to call it my second home, by now. Not that I choose to make each trip – Mother decided long ago that she’d doted on her kin long enough, and it was time to pass the chore to the “younger, more capable” person. Still, I can’t complain too terribly much – it is enough to guilt her into making me Strawberry Rhubarb Pie (my weakness…) for each time I return. Besides, the walk through the forest isn’t so bad, and at least Grandma isn’t senile enough to tell me stories repeatedly, and she generally understands that I’d rather be doing other things.
This is how I first came to picnic in the forest; Grandmother, recognizing the fact that though I was obliged to see her, I wasn’t quite happy to, came up with an idea and eventually began to insist that I be out at least part of the day, and would fix me a meal for my ventures; she prepared me a sandwich, an apple (or, occasionally, one large stem of grapes), and now and then she would sneak in a small sweet thing, perhaps a cookie, and sent me on my way. I also carried a canteen of water.
By the time I met the Wolf, I had been in the schedule of visiting Grandmother for some time, but had been in the habit of taking these lunches for only five months or so. He found me on a forest path with a large basket in-hand – I was bringing Grandmother a French loaf, a dozen gingersnaps (her favorite cookie), a small brown bag of plums, and some pastrami and turkey (just try and tell me that we don’t take good care of Grandma). I couldn’t guess what it was he might have smelled first – the sugary cookies, fruit, meat, or possibly just me – but about halfway through my journey, there he was, following me. Of course, he was trying to be sneaky – he claims that he usually does a MUCH better job of sneaking up on people – but on this day he was distracted, or sleep-deprived, or just plain clumsy, and he ended up tripping over a large fallen tree branch. Honestly, I don’t understand how he missed the thing, but somehow he DID, and down he tumbled, rolling almost to my ankles.
I know you’re already expecting me to say that I was of course very scared and I ran, screaming, all the way to Grandmother’s house. And all I have to say is that you shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your typical little girl who will faint at the sight of even a mouse, thank you very much. I merely stepped out of his reach and let my hand rest on a small switchblade I’d acquired in town, and after a moment of his stillness I stooped to peer at his face. He was fine, but I am sure that his face should have been beet-red (as it was, his dark skin wouldn’t allow for much of a blush). Neither of us said much for a moment, but I finally told him, “I hope you don’t think that just because you tumbled over yourself I’m going to ‘soothe your pain’ with cookies or anything.” He sighed, and grumbled, and mumbled some sentence that I could not hear and that he would not repeat, but eventually picked himself up and apologized – I’m sure he wouldn’t have apologized if he hadn’t been forced into my acquaintance by the tumble he took, but we’ll just pretend that he’s a decent being.
Despite the fact that it was perhaps the silliest thing one could do in such a situation, I invited him to walk along with me, warning him that if he stole a blessed thing or tried to harm me in any way, there would be consequences; by then, though, I think his pride was so wounded that he wouldn’t have tried any sort of mischief on me for the world. He declined and started turning to walk the other way, but eventually paused, turned around on the path, and as awkwardly as possible agreed that he did, actually, have to go the way that I was walking after all.
And this is how we came to be friends. Of course, there’s more to it – interaction between any two beings requires many things to be in tune for them to become friends. I can’t quite tell you why it is that I enjoy his company so much, though. I mean, in all likelihood, I should be extremely wary, and on any other encounter he should have every reason to avoid me, but that doesn’t happen. There’s something different about him. Sure, he’s a vicious, terrible, cunning killer to you who don’t know him, but I’ve never seen that in him (then again, how could I when the first time we met he tripped over a tree branch?). He has that drive, of course, now and then I see his ears perk and his eyes sharpen and narrow when we hear a rustle in the woods, but he certainly knows better than to maim something in front of me – especially given the fact that I am not the greatest carnivore. There’s just so much more to him. He lives in the forest, he knows just about everything there is to know about it, and I find that fascinating – he teaches me all sorts of things, and not just the things he says, but everything else. Despite his first clumsy impression, he usually moves so quietly and… well, gracefully. He’s swift when he needs to be, but alert and cautious and able to restrain himself as well. He’s not just a dumb, blind killer – he’s got instinct, yes, but he’s a healthy mind as well.
That all being said, I have no idea why he agrees to join me for picnics. Perhaps he does plan on winning my trust just so that he can one day tear me apart. Or, perhaps, I entertain him in some way, by offering some good chuckles or some quality interaction… Well, you’ll have to ask him about all of that.
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 5:45 pm
Cheerful birdsong fills the air as I sit on the root of an elder and pull my cloak closer around my shoulders. Trying to tell myself that it's the chill and humidity that causes me to shiver and not anticipation is difficult. The soft velvet smells faintly of home, of fresh baked bread and dried flowers, and the deception almost works. Then again, maybe I'm just that desperate to believe.
This isn't me, I tell myself, and it's true. I'm not waiting for him. He doesn't tug at my curiosity. Nothing I come up with can tell me why I'm here, obviously waiting and just as obviously proving that I really am a horrible liar.
Something rustles in the bushes nearby and I freeze as I watch and wait, caught between the instinct to run and the anticipation of what's out there. A rabbit breaks its cover, scurrying from one bush to another, and I can't help laughing at my oversensitive nerves.
“Poor thing looks like it's terrified,” a deep, familiar voice says behind me. Cheeks heating, I nearly trip over myself when I turn to find a dark constellation who looks too pleased with himself leaning against the tree's trunk. His hand darts out to grab my arm, and my skin burns at the touch before the contact is broken.
“I suppose you'll have to suffer my company alone,” Kael adds, still amused. I run my hands over my dress with a little huff and try to gather my dignity, though I know it's pointless to do so. He sees through me so easily that I feel more like a child playing dress up more than anything. Why he continues to humor my presence baffles me, but I suspect that he has his reasons. I just wish I knew what they were.
“Of course it's terrified,” I retort with a small smile. “You're here, aren't you?” It's meant as a joke, but in truth, I feel like that rabbit. The need to run is battling the desire to know why my body reacts the way it does around him all over again, and my heart nearly trips over itself as I back up. His eyes narrow at this, but says nothing as I glance over him for some sign of color, or perhaps an extra fold in his clothing. He's as mysterious as ever, however, and if I want something, I know I have to break down and ask. If I don't, the treasure may stay hidden for another day, and I don't want to have to wait for so long. Already my heart burns to hear and know.
“Did you bring it?” Hope lifts my voice as I change the subject, and I can't help the delight that fills me when his grin broadens. I've never seen Kael actually smile, and can't help but wonder what he must look like when he does, but the thought is quickly shoved aside as he pulls out a thin, dusky book and holds it out like he's tempting me with a treat. We both know he is, but I decide to be fair and offer my own in return. Or maybe I just want to enjoy myself while we're both comfortable.
“I brought a picnic for us.” Pulling out the blanket from the top of the small wicker basket, I shake it out and lay it over the soft grass, setting the simple food out for us as he takes a seat at the edge of the blanket where I'd been sitting. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, pale eyes flashing as he regards first me, then the sprawl before him.
“Oh, and this.” A small earthenware jar is tucked in the bottom of the basket, and I gently hand it to him. He looks confused, nostrils flaring as if trying to determine what it is.
“I remember when you told me last time that you get sliced up pretty badly when you're out in the woods, so I made something to help.” Again I feel overwhelmed with the feeling that I'm being foolish, but instead of letting it get worse, I ignore it. We barely know each other, but there's no harm in helping others, right?
“Thank you, Corry,” he says with a small nod, tucking it in the folds of his shirt. Immediately I note the nickname he's given me, and can't help yet another cursed blush as an awkward silence falls over us. Until now, he's always called me [I ]Corynne, my full name, just as I've always used his. The familiarity is promising and new, but also a little scary. Then again, so is picnicking with a mysterious stranger in the middle of the forest for a chance to get a glimpse of the world beyond the same forest.
That book and his tales are what drew me, and if I'm honest about it, then it's the truth. He drew me, not the other way around. New to the wooded country, he'd gotten lost and hurt himself along the way. I'd found him a few hours later and had helped him the best I could and in turn he'd admitted to being unfamiliar with the area. It led to him telling me not only who he was, but also about some of the places he'd visited. Always wanting to know about the world beyond, I was hooked by the first sentence, and when I helped him home, he returned with the thin album of paintings and pictures he'd done himself of the places he'd been, showing them to me and matching them up with his stories.
Today is no different as he tells me of a city by the sea, and I can only begin to imagine what he tells me of soft sand and a sun reflected by the sea. Time passes easily, several hours disappearing before we realize it.
“You know, you're gong to have to tell me of the mystery of who you are one of these days,” he drawls, stretching until the sound of his back popping echoes. The awkward silence stretches for several seconds as he pointedly waits. It was true; for all he'd told me of himself, I'd barely reciprocated. But something about him makes me hesitate, a warning bell in the back of my mind ringing frantically. Maybe because what he tells me could be made up; but then, why go through making a false journal, too, or had he merely found it? Or is it something inside me keeps me from talking?
I'm out of time. I see his expression close and feel as though he's taking the world away with him. I have to act now while I still have a chance.
“There's not much to tell, really.” It's the wrong thing to say, another way to stall, and the sight of him tucking the book away along with the jar nearly makes my heart stop. I have no choice but to tell him, and though it's difficult at first, the words eventually come easier. Mentally I wonder at my own audacity, telling my own life story to please a stranger, to keep a hold on a dream that is dangled in front of me as a sure way to keep my complacent.
And I know that I will keep going for that bait, time after time, until there's nothing left.
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 10:22 pm
Insipid, pale light washed over the rippled surface of the pond. The small body of water was a rare escape from the dense canopy that swathed his forest home in darkness. The moon’s calling brought about a flash of Wolf’s silver eyes as the constellation gazed up to admire its simple yet illustrious lure. A glow that lit the world and secretly encroached upon all of the night’s mischief. That was perhaps what he liked the most about her. The moon was a woman who knew all the world’s dirty little secrets. But secrets and insight to the world wasn’t as cracked up as it seemed to be.
Wolf leaned up against the knurled tree trunk, his legs sprawled out before him as he sighed heavily. A surreptitious lifestyle only lead to one thing, really. Solidarity. Yeah, yeah, being a lone bad a** was a great concept, but being a lone wolf? Well, that was just fricken unnatural! When there was no one you could share things with, no one to take part in the wayward life you lead, what was the damn point? There wasn’t one. Sure, he could revel in the shocked or terrified faces of the other constellations after his games or larceny, but no one else could. Wolves were meant to…to be with a pack!
A pack that wasn’t a manifestation of his own subconscious. Stepping out from the depths of the gloom, Wolf was nudged lightly by what he could only call a shadow wolf. The creature’s being billowed, ever-shifting form of a wolf, so the nudge could really only be described as the feeling of a downy essence parting as it meets one’s flesh. So, in other words, not a major comfort so much as a slight, hindering annoyance.
“Go away…” He waved his hand at the shade, the appearance of a wolf breaking up into little shadowy puffs. Growling in irritation, he hit the back of his head against the trunk and reached up to scratch his forehead twice habit. The last thing he wanted was a practical imaginary pack. Though, they were good for his stalking. He saw through their eyes and could surround his prey without actually having to be everywhere at once. It was quite useful, just not…fulfilling.
He wanted to actually stalk with someone. To run through the woods with a pack and howl at the lady of the moon in victory, knowing that she, and she alone, was witness to their tomfoolery. A wolf needed a pack! It was just…weird to him, he supposed. Going day to day as he did. Even his mother had felt the need for a pack and then she had a single pup litter. What did the woman do instead of coping? She gave him the most ridiculous name this side of the Lost Woods. Willoughby Onslow Laramie Faramond. If you ever want to give your kid a sense that he’s not enough, call him by the names of the brothers he never had. At least he had sense enough to just call himself Wolf.
He couldn’t even imagine introducing himself with that name. Like to that girl? A slow and fiendish smile crossed his lips as he thought back to the girl he had seen in the woods today. Now that was a potential partner in crime. His tongue flicked over his canines as he remembered the taste of the air about her. The subtle musky, yet sweet scent of her hair that had wafted so delicately to his nose as he hid behind a tree had paralyzed him. It was as if that scent had pressed a button in his mind and flashing lights started to go off. She had just been another target. Another…innocent…that he was about to mug as she walked along his path. Not anymore.
All day, he had followed her. His wraith-like shadow wolves keeping to the fringe of her senses as they watched her move, heard the gently swish of her layered skirts, the rustle of the hood and cape that were, without a doubt, perfect for her. Not because the deep, blood red against her skin was hot. No. It was the fact it called attention to her attitude. Here was this girl: a supposedly nice little girl walking through the woods for--what was it? Yes, her grandmother. She had grumbled about it enough. But that was just it. She had grumbled. Whined…no, bitched. Yes, that was the only way to describe what she was doing. A girl who could talk with that mouth certainly wouldn’t be wearing a white hood.
That red hood was almost like a glaring sign that screamed, "I’m no little girl," to him. Sin, passion, bravery, anger…blood. He was so sick of the good little constellations that came through here that the loneliness had been worth it. But now…now that he knew she was out there, Wolf wasn’t planning on remaining a lone pack member. Little miss Red Riding Hood was just the right amount of spice. He never thought girls needed all that sugar in their recipe, anyways. Any girl he could watch swiping sweets and pastries from her own grandmother’s care basket was just right for him.
But how to go about meeting her? Wolf adjusted himself against the tree, his eyes now looking past the moon as if he could see a vision of some courting through her eyes. He couldn’t simply rush in and pounce her, the little basket falling to the ground, exposing the goodies, could he? No. This had to be done with character and charisma, not what his brain told him to do when his eyes fell upon hers. Not that what he had in mind wouldn’t be fun. Daydreams never really worked out the way you wanted them to, anyways. Besides, there was the grandmother to deal with.
Perhaps that was the key. If she hated the old crone as much as she seemed to, then maybe she would appreciate a little help eliminating her burden. It was obvious that she couldn’t do it. Her own grandmother and all. Willoughby Onslow Laramie Faramond probably couldn’t do it, either. But Wolf…Wolf was more than capable of freeing up her schedule a bit.
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Posted: Mon Sep 13, 2010 11:40 am
This is an entry for Little Red Riding Hood. c:
The feel of the sun on the young girl's skin felt pleasantly warm as she strode through the forest, cape folded neatly between the basket lid and handle as she carried it in the crook of her arm on her way to her Grandmother's house. It was a walk she did every day and could easily travel with her eyes shut, though the giggle that arose at such a thought meant she would likely never do it. Too interesting where the trees and brush and too wary was she of the things that creeped and crawled, the ones that bit and maimed. The predators of the forest were what she had always been warned of, and so Little Red Riding Hood would never walk, skip, nor ride through the forest blindfolded or with her eyes shut. Even if the thought was amusing. Her soft boots made barely a noise as she skipped along the path, brilliant crimson eyes glancing back and forth from left to right as she moved always on the look out for something nasty or unpleasant coming her way.
A few times the girl had noticed something lurking just beyond the next tree, a dark shadow, one she had never been able to define. The youth was both intrigued and frightened of this being, never once had they acknowledged her even though she could always just make out the hint of silver in the piercing eyes. For once, she decided, should she see these moonbeam eyes she would call out, Little Red would be the one to take that first brave, daring step and speak to the bystander. After all, surely someone who had not yet attacked yer or harmed her could be bad, right?
The young lady's free arm raised to adjust the basket on the opposite arm, tightening into a grasp and holding it for just a moment as the worrisome thought crossed her mind that perhaps bothering this lurker was not the best of ideas one could follow through on. Then again, as the hand dropped back and swung to and fro as she resumed her skipping pace you never knew if something was a good idea until you tried it anyway. Plump lips turned up into a smile as the birds started to sing their greetings and she happily returned them as she passed where she thought the sounds were loudest.
"Hello, birdies! Its a beautiful day, isn't it?"
Slowly, the sound of the birds stopped and the forest grew still as she reached the longest curve in the path. Red's feet stopped their pleasant rhythm and began a more cautious approach. Very few things made the birds stop singing, usually a predator of some sort. Though when her soon to be new friend came around they often grew silent as well. This thought made her perk up, her head lifting up and her eyes narrowed as she searched more carefully in the brush and darkness. Somewhere she'd see the glint, and when she did, she'd call out this time for sure.
Seconds passed, though to the young girl with the basket full of food they felt more like minutes and hours before she caught the silver gleam. One hand flew up into the air, nearly upsetting her package as she called out in a singsong voice, "Hello there!"
At first, no response was heard from the hidden person. Soon, though, her keen ears picked up the sound of the underbrush being snapped and squished as someone walked through it. The sound grew steadily louder before at last she saw the dark shadow growing clearer as it slunk out of the trees. Her heart beat just a little quicker at the sight and one foot stepped forward unconsciously before she stopped herself. Little Red did not know who this was, after all, and she was nervous about his presence.
The dark figure exited the treeline and slowly stalked closer to the girl, a pristine set of white teeth openly displayed as a rumbling sound escaped his throat in what could only be described as a growl. Again without knowing, the young girl took a couple steps back, preparing herself to run and run fast as one hand flew up to her chest in surprise. It was the Wolf! The Wolf was the one who had been hovering around her of late! Suddenly the stillness of the forest made more sense and as the Wolf grew ever closer Little Red's bravery and curiosity failed as she ran quickly down the path to her Grandmother's house, for she was closer to that then home and surely her Grandmother would hear her if she should scream at this range whereas the other way was unknown. No one had been along the path when she had come down this way, which meant there would be fewer people to aid her if the need arose.
With this in mind, Little Red steeled herself as she brushed past the now silent Wolf barely noticing the surprise on his face as she cried out and thrust the picnic basket in his direction. A small smile brushed her lips before disappearing in a look of concentration as she felt it make contact. At least he would be stunned while she ran, giving her more time to get away, or so she hoped. What the little girl did not notice in her rush was the steady sound of padded footsteps behind her as they approached cautiously, her own heart's thumping her chest drowning out all else.
When Little Red made it to her Grandmother's house she paused briefly to fling her red cape around her shoulders, tying the knot in a blur of fingers before taking a deep breath to calm herself. Her Grandma could not know of her brush with the Wolf - she had been warned, after all! But when she turned around, taking one last furtive glance behind she noticed the Wolf standing there, alone and quiet, almost look apologetic or sorrowful that Little Red had run past. As he brought one hand up to bear in a simple wave before striding back into the forest, Little Red's mind worked furiously at the facts, knocking on the door as she did so.
The Wolf had had the perfect opportunity to hurt her - but hadn't. He could have overtaken her in her run - but chose not to. For all the bad thing he could have done - he did none of them but look like a dangerous boy.
As the door opened and she smiled in greeting to her Grandmother, offering up the picnic basket her mind worked over the possibilities and decided that the Wolf would be her friend, though she feared him. If he could overlook the possibilities of her being his meal, then she could certainly overlook the chance of him making her his dinner. At least for one day.
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will speak to him. I will not run away this time!"
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Posted: Tue Sep 14, 2010 12:52 am
Red is glaring at me. It is not a pleasant look. In fact, if anything, it's definitely her worst expression, and believe me, I have been on the receiving end of way too many of these unpleasant glares. It's like she can see straight through me - not exactly a warm and cheerful thought right there. If anything, the fact that she is so observant makes me shiver in fright. I am afraid she can see into my heart with that look.
And now she is invading my space by sitting on the log beside me. Oh, dear, this is going to turn into one of THOSE moments, isn't it? The kind of moment where she decides we're going to 'discuss our feelings' and 'talk things out.' Why is it that girls always want to talk about 'feelings?' Why -
"Seth," Red says dryly. "You're thinking out loud again."
"Oops."
"And I'm not going to ask you to 'talk about your feelings', anyway." she adds, arching one eyebrow, but her lower lip juts out in a pout. "I'm perfectly aware of the fact that you've been just too busy to see me."
He crosses one leg over the other. Stops. Switches legs. Then sighs, uncrossing his legs to rest his arms on his knees, leaning forward. It's been too long since he's last seen her; a good three months. He's been avoiding her, pretending he's sleeping or away when she's knocked at the door. Cethian has studiously ignored the fact that the woods seem quieter without her footsteps crunching on the autumn-dried leaves, without the whispering gust of her breath, visible in the cold fall air. No, he tells himself sternly, you do not miss her. You do not miss her at all.
But that is obviously a lie.
"How long are you going to keep calling me 'Seth?'" he asks, resting his head on the palm of his hand and turning to look at the girl beside him. "I've told you; my name is Cethian."
She gives him a dry stare. "Because Seth is a lot nicer sounding than Cethian." she answers, and the tone of her voice is similar to that of a parent speaking to a slow child. Cethian's eyes narrow and he glares at her, his face flushing.
"I happen to like my name, thank you very much." he says testily, his voice as cold as the frost that will soon come. He doesn't like being toyed with, and Red has always been the one who makes him lower his guards. The faint blush on his cheeks when he looks at her is evidence enough of that.
This is why I don't tell her what I feel for her. Because she takes everything as a joke, or treats me like an infant. Her patronizing attitude towards me was evident when I first met her, in the winter of last year, but I thought it somewhat endearing at the time because of the redness of her cheeks when she would speak to me; like she was trying to compensate for being unsure by being overly confident in herself. But now it has grown tiring, even though my feelings for her have not.
If anything, his feelings have only magnified in the past year. He had denied it, of course, especially at the beginning. What wolf would fall for a human anyway, especially one as petite and feisty as the one sitting next to him? But she had told him from the beginning that he interested her - though not in a romantic way. She was a writer, a storyteller, and wanted to use him as a subject matter for her newest piece, and at first he had stubbornly refused and had tried every way possible of getting out of it, including committing a rather humiliating act of pretending to be her grandmother to scare her away. But to his surprise, she had proved to be just as (if not more) stubborn than he had thought.
So he had let her in. Once. That was it. Just one time, he told himself. Just this once.
He has been saying that same thing for over a year.
And now, here he is, sitting beside her on a log in the forest nearby where her grandmother lived. Red is talking, jabbering on about something that he isn't sure of, mostly because he has long since stopped paying attention to her words. His eyes trace the curve of her jaw when she speaks, the way her eyes light up when she is excited about something. Without realizing what he is doing, Cethian reaches over, taking her hand.
Red stops talking abruptly. She looks down, staring at his large hand over her much smaller one.
"Seth?" she says, her voice a question. He smiles at her.
"You finally stopped talking." he says, and leans close without giving her a chance to move away. Her lips are warm and soft beneath his own, and it is just a quick kiss; light and hardly there. When he pulls away, he is certain his expression is that of silly happiness, even if hers does not mirror his. Red's hand is up to her mouth, her expression unreadable as she stares at him.
"Sorry." he says, and does not sound sorry in the least.
She stands suddenly, nearly knocking him over. Clutching her cloak around her neck, she walks away, her feet crunching the dry leaves beneath them. Cethian's heart drops as disappointment sweeps through him. He twists his hands together, looking down at the forest floor.
The footsteps stop. Then -
"Aren't you coming?"
Within seconds he is by her side. She walks on in silence, her expression determinedly neutral, her eyes narrowed.
But her fingertips brush against his own. Red does not look at him, but there is the faintest tinge of pink to her cheeks.
Cethian smiles.
Ahhh, what can I say? She does intrigue me so. If I could, I would follow her everywhere, just to see -
"Seth."
"What?"
"You're thinking out loud again."
"Oh. Oops. Sorry."
".........I didn't mean for you to stop."
......just to see if she loves me as much as I love her. And by the way that she is looking at me now, with that stubborn pout upon her lips...
She does.
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Posted: Tue Sep 14, 2010 11:36 pm
Nimble fingers held the chunk of wood delicately, almost as if it were made of glass. A hunter’s knife, long having lost its previous owner, moved with agonizing slowness over the surface of his work. Shaving by thin, spiraled shaving the block began to take the shape. First a basic, almost ridged outline of a hylian. A head, two arms, a torso, and finally a pair of legs. Soon the smaller, unique features were added on the tip of the knife. Patiently and expertly a pair of small grooves for eyes were fleshed out followed by a small, rounded nose. Two pointed ears were carved free from the small gap in between the figure’s round, gentle face and the edge of the hood. Tiny fingers were carved into the hands and little toes from the feet.
The boy looked curiously at his creation, silent and still as the boughs around him. Down below a collection of shavings laid in a pile, half scattered by the faint breeze that occasionally whispered through the wood. Down below a pair of sleepy golden eyes opened up and drifted upwards to regard him. His ‘brother’.
While there were tame wolfos, there were still a good deal of wild beasts to roam the forgotten corners of the land. While not entirely savage, they were far from the domesticated pets of the civilized world. It had been a world that had both terrified and intrigued him. His birth mother, a woman who he had never met, had been lost in the wood due to a wrong turn and a lapse of judgment on her part. A shortcut between villages had turned out to be much longer than she had anticipated. The pack had trailed on the heels of her horse, keeping downwind and well out of sight. The worst mistake she could have made was to panic. It had been the hair trigger that sent the pack into attacking her.
In a way, his mother had spared him from the fangs of the pack. He had been flung from the horse in the small basket she’d cradled him in. It wasn’t until the pack had filled their bellies that he’d been found by a young female. Posing little threat, and perhaps less flesh for their already satisfied hunger, the she-wolfos had taken him as a pup rather than prey.
He grew up watching his own kind fall to the fangs of his pack and wearing the clothing that they left behind. Seeing himself as a warg, and not a hylian, he thought very little of it. Death meant life to them, and any prey that was foolish enough to wander through their wood without the sense to defend themselves or keep from their hunting trails was inviting their end.
However, the ignorant bliss of a pup only lasted for so long.
Unsocialized and uncultured, the boy -now nearly a man- had encountered the two-legged girl in red shortly after his family had left for a hunt. She was…different somehow. He tried to keep out of the pack’s way during hunts. While he was not incapable of taking down game, he was often given the silent order to keep watch over their den. That particular evening he’d been nursing a wound in his arm, given to him by a passing rogue who had come a little too close to their territory. The wound had begun to fester. No amount of licking seemed to help. If it continued to worsen, the pack would turn on him. They couldn’t afford an injured member eating their food supply or attracting disease.
At first, it had been smell that had driven him to investigate the edge of their territory. With knife in hand, a tool he’d found on one of the fallen travelers, the wargboy happened upon yet another two-legged traveler. She had fumbled the small burden, carried in a bundled basket. The smells hit him first, delightful mouth-watering smells. Intoxicated, and curious, he had inched his way closer to the road. Even his pack knew better than to stray too close to the worn earth, those that traveled upon it were often seasoned fighters, some carrying long ’iron fangs’ much larger than the small one he’d ferreted away for himself.
With her back turned, hylian worked at picking up the small wrapped bundles that had scattered over the packed dirt. Luckily for him, a large bundle had rolled to the edge of the road. Some of the cloth, now dotted in dry dirt, had opened on its way down, revealing a puffy golden morsel.
He slowly leaned forward, drawing in the scent in short, quick sniffs. It wasn’t meat, but it was definitely eatable. He was sure of it. Tongue lulling from the side of his mouth, he reached for the golden thing, only to have something else land on his hand. The paw of the hylian.
Snarling, he lurched back, his posture tightening.
The girl wasn’t afraid. She seemed, like him, more curious than anything. They remained locked in a standstill for quite a time- her knelt down in the dirt staring with him bristling on his knees, one hand slowly reaching for the bread. Whenever she’d move- whether it was to reach for her bread or withdraw again, he’d give a warning snarl.
It wasn’t until she took a slow few paces backwards that he relaxed in the slightest. With watchful, dangerous eyes, the boy had inched out, snatched the bread, and leaned back to take a large bite from one end. The aggression wavered slightly. It was…wonderful! Heavenly. Something moved again.
He turned and snarled, sending breadcrumbs flying from his lips. To his surprise, the girl was holding something else out to him. He looked down to her hand, then her, then to her hand and back. It had to be a trick. With another snarl- he held his prize close to him and vanished into the brush.
Curiosity and hunger drove him back to the path time and again. Once every few days, she’d come back with more food. She seemed to be expecting him as much as he expected her, and every time she would offer food to him. For the first few meetings she was forced to throw it his way, only to get his retreating back in response. However, as the days went on he remained, watching her curiously from one side of the road while she sat on the other.
His wound got worse… it pained him to hunt though he went to great lengths to conceal it. He’d wrap it in bandages, rinse it out in water, and lick it whenever the pack was busy with the hunt. As the wound grew worse, he spent more time by the path, watching for the red hooded girl to return. She always wood, either going one way or the other but she always brought food to him. Now and then she’d try communicating, babbling in a language that, to him, sounded like a lot of jibberish. It wasn’t a terrible noise, but it held no meaning to him.
It was a late afternoon when he and his cloaked provider were sharing yet another meal that she took notice of the dirty rag wrapped around his arm. With some coaxing, and a few extra lumps of cheese, the girl managed to convince him to reveal his wound. With even more coaxing and her entire lunch, the girl managed to keep him still enough to clean and dress the wound. She wrapped it in a clean, white cloth, and helped cover it back up with his sleeve.
Her touch was…strangely gentle. While the wolfos weren’t cruel to him, they weren’t coddling either. His ‘mother’ had passed away years after he’d become old enough to hunt. Some of his brothers had been killed by passing travelers or neighboring packs, it was just the way of things. The soft tone in her voice and the gentle, alien treatment of his wound pricked at a small part of him that had long been hidden away.
Confused, and perhaps terrified, he’d fled from her once more.
He’d not returned for nearly a full moon’s cycle. The wound had healed, leaving only a large scar behind. The pack had ignored the smell on him. By then they were so familiar with the smell of his changing wardrobe of victim’s clothing that they hardly noticed.
He was well, he was fed, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to go back to life as normal. The small carved figure was gently added to a growing collection. He’d carved himself a few times, wargs, and a few other creatures he’d seen. Why? He couldn’t really say. It was yet another small, odd part of him that he kept mostly to himself. It wasn’t necessary for survival, nor was it practical to the pack.
He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, eyes slowly drifting eastward, back towards the road. Maybe… maybe she was on her way back north?
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