1. Loner

The first chapter in Watcher of the Wolves.

            Twilight gleamed in the center of a vast ocean of the evening sky that glowed a lovely shade of purple. The soft, rhythmic chirping of a cricket was the only sound that broke the still silence hanging like a spider’s web in the cool, breezy air. All was peaceful, and not a footstep or a voice interrupted the winter grasp.

            Deep in the heart of a forest laid a small, snow-blanketed clearing where the frozen breath of a wolf came out in short gasps, floating in a cloud towards the sun’s dying rays like moths drawn to a flame. Tree leaves rustled softly from the cold winter wind that blew in from the north and a small brown hare sat up and pricked its ears.

            The wolf, called Marrok, had been waiting for this. He widened his deep blue eyes that had always reminded him of the ocean and ceased his breath as to keep the hare from noticing him. He could pick it out not only because its white winter coat hadn’t developed, but because it smelled strongly of its mate and babies at home. Marrok felt a small tinge of envy that this low-lifed creature could have such a wonderful family while he had nothing.

            Shaking the thoughts off with a nearly untraceable flick of his ear, he shivered and dropped to a hunting crouch at the edge of the trees. The hare was nearly three bounds from him in the clearing he faced. The well-muscled back legs of the hare twitched and its ears flicked back and forth like flames flickering in a bonfire, and Marrok knew that his timing would have to be impeccable to catch such nimble prey.

            The hare relaxed its erect ears and lowered its head to nibble on the grass under the snow when Marrok shot forward. He would have caught the rabbit if he hadn’t stumbled in mid-lope and let the prey dance just out of reach of his teeth. Quickly catching himself, Marrok tried to lunge again but he couldn’t help letting out a short cough that alerted the hare that it was still in harm’s way. The hare bounded off in to the gorse at a speed that Marrok swore could match pace of a fleet deer. But it was over. He was without prey.           Marrok sighed and dropped his gray shoulders in defeat. His deep blue eyes matched his dull fur that had lost its gleam ever since his mother, Lyall, had died. That had thrown his whole world out of balance, so now he was alone- and starving.

            Lyall had been the world to him. He remembered her as a white she-wolf, and despite being elderly and easily angered she had been so special to him. He grew up with her, and being the only of four pups to survive, developed a special sort of bond with her. She was always so protective of him, despite her short temper.

            But now she was gone. She had gotten bit by a wolf with ruffled fur and eyes wild as thunder that had foam as white as the sea’s spray oozing from its mouth. Marrok had not been harmed by the rogue wolf, but Lyall had come down with a heavy sickness that had left her very ill with the same sea-like spray coming from her mouth. One night, Lyall got up and started on her own way. Her son tried to ask her what was going on, but she ordered him back. A lonely, long howl cut off by a strange gurgling had announced her passing to the next world.

            Marrok shook the settling snow out of his fur and threw up his head, letting out a loud song of weakness and of prayer- hoping for a good hunt the next time. This was a custom for wolves after they lost a good catch. Now, he needed help more than ever. Marrok staggered a little towards the forest, and a sharp pain stabbed his back paw.

            Afterwards, there was a numb, dull feeling of pain in his left rear foot and saw that the snow around his left leg had started to dot with scarlet blood fresh as the blanket of white on the field. Hopefully, he pricked his ears and glanced downward. Maybe I’ve stepped on a bird’s nest? At least that would be something to eat. Still, he doubted it. And he was right to.

            It was simply a jagged black thorn driven in to his pad. Marrok sat down on the now tinged scarlet snow and strained his neck to turn around and reach the thorn. He was painfully inching his head further back when a burst of strength allowed him to reach the thorn and clutch it in silver front teeth. Marrok struggled to drag it out of the raw flesh and finally held his prize in his teeth- a blood drenched thorn of midnight black.

            He licked his paw sympathetically for a moment before standing back up. It ached to put weight on it and the cut could easily become infected. Under normal circumstances, Marrok would be too proud to admit to pain and walk on it proudly until Lyall scolded him and had him wash out the wound with snow and hold dry yarrow leaves to it until the wound had been well. She was always so protective, but sometimes… it was smothering.

            But these are not normal circumstances, are they? Regret flooded Marrok’s mind involuntarily as he let out an agonized whine and let himself collapse in to the icy hold of winter.

            So many emotions were locked in his mind- anger, fear, grief. Marrok wasn’t sure whether to feel ashamed, sad, regretful, or anything else. He felt like calling for help, howling out for someone who would lie by his side with him and catch fresh hare until he was plump and muscular again instead of this wretched creature lying in a meadow of now dirtied snow.

            He wasn’t sure whether to hate her for leaving him or to feel sad that she was gone.

            Shut up, he told himself silently. You know she’s not coming back. Stop dwelling on the past and turn to the now!

            Marrok agreed with that. He couldn’t keep thinking about what had already passed when there was nothing he could do about it. He had to turn to the now, and now, he needed food and shelter.

            Staggering to his paws seemed to take forever, but in reality it barely took him a minute. Marrok finally reached his right foreleg out on the ground and used his left hind leg to steady himself. The wound still hurt slightly, but now it was only a dull throb. After an adventurous climb to his normal stance, Marrok raised his head and sniffed the air. It was time to find shelter.

            He had been without his mother for only a few days so finding shelter wasn’t as much of a challenge as if he had never been with her. She had explained to him that certain ferns that dangled overhead but low to the ground would make great shelter while some pointed leaves would hurt or cause a red rash of itching up ones body and were best avoided. There was one type of leaf, she told him, that hung wobbly over you and if found on a low tree would shelter you nicely. What had she called it? Oh yes, willow.

            Limping towards the edge of the clearing, he wondered what it would be like to have a real shelter now. Lyall and him had lived under some long ferns that danged just over a wolf’s head, but for the past moon he had been living in old fox burrows that he had roughly attempted to widen out or under jagged tree root caves. A good willow den would be nice right about now. Marrok dreamily thought of the warmth that came when he was pressed against the bushy leaves and his mothers’ body. But that would never be the same again.

            Quickly realizing that he was going back to think about his mother, as he had done for the past moon, Marrok tried to turn his thoughts away. He had already decided not to drift his mind back there, but it was harder than he desired it to be.

            Marrok flicked an ear thoughtfully and sighed heavily. His eyes were droopy as the so familiar weakness returned to his aching muscles. His gray fur was wind-blown and hadn’t had a proper groom in days. He had tried frequently, when his neck muscles weren’t painfully sore, but the vile taste of muck and filth always made him wince when he tried to use his rough tongue to rake the mud out of his fur.

            Finally, he gave in to the weakness that overcame him. Marrok collapsed wearily on to dead paws that could no longer support his weight, despite the fact that he had lost a good quarter of his body mass ever since Lyall had gotten the Sick, as he called it. He lusted to get it, too, and then die a death that would keep him from suffering under the grasp of nature’s threats. He knew the legends that the Humans had about nature- that it was a gentle, beautiful motherly figure that danced around when the sun shined and wept bitter tears as it rained. His mother had once lived near a Human pack, she told him. Marrok wanted to laugh at their silly legends.

            The searing pain that enveloped his belly with every movement ached in a burning cramp once again. Marrok’s face grew pale in a wolfish way and he started to lurch in violent convulsions. Turning on to his side so that he wouldn’t smell even worse, he let out all of the grass he had tried to digest during the past while in a painful vomit. The smell and sight of his stomach contents was vile, and Marrok couldn’t stand to look at it.

            Come on, just get up you lazy mouse! He grumbled warily in his mind. Don’t think of the pain. Easier said than done, he argued with himself.

            Marrok finally gathered up the strength to reach out one weak paw- to his dismay, freakishly close to the gross spew- and reach out another paw to stumble on to all four.

He groaned as the jagged thorn wound stung by the multicolored vomit and grimaced at it. Great, just another bad smell to add to me.

            He blinked wearily for a few moments before staggering towards the edge of the clearing. Marrok finally reached the tree cover and raised his head to sniff the air. Most of the smell that came back to him was a foul odor, like a mix between fresh vomit and many layers of untouched mud. He winced and realized that most of the unusual stench was coming from himself.

            Marrok felt like he wanted to keel over and throw up again, but something held him back. The raw hunger gnawed at his stomach painfully still, and he half wanted to curl up right there and die. The grasp of winter would overcome him soon, anyways.

            Ice tickled the edge of his nose as it fell from the sky, which had erupted in more silver bursts of snow flakes. Great. Marrok thought ruefully. He pricked his ears for the smell of any more prey and noticed a faint wolf odor. Maybe he had trespassed in another wolf’s territory. Or a packland. The smell was distant so they were probably further away, but Marrok was still anxious to find out if they were as unusual as some other packs Lyall had told him about- cannibalistic, kind, or proud. He made a mental note to himself to avoid cannibalistic.

            I might as well settle down here for now, Marrok shrugged blankly. He knew that a proper den was a necessity when he could find one, but it was tougher than he thought to hunt for himself. Half of Marrok wanted to confront Lyall, angry, and yell at her for all she had left him to do. She hadn’t taught him the proper ways to hunt or how to avoid encounters with other wolves. He only knew all he had because of observation. Was that good for defense? Probably. I think. Marrok shuddered.

            He parted his jaws in a wide yawn. Pink tongue lolled out and teeth were frozen by the falling snow as he inhaled a large gasp of air. Marrok closed his mouth and blew out his lungs contents as to breath. A couple more yawns helped him conquer the short breath he was getting in the icy winter air.

            The sun was just past setting distance and the sky was getting darker. Wolves on their own didn’t have much of a defense system when they were raising themselves in the middle of a dark night. Marrok knew that he would need to find somewhere secure to sleep. He rose to his highest point on all fours and pointed his muzzle in to the air, sniffing for a fox den or a young willow tree.

            I guess this is it, sighed Marrok silently.

Author's Note

Hey there! So, please read. Do you think this chapter has any potential?

Reviews

[Kylen]

I really loved this! Please keep writing, your descriptions and the amount of detail you put in your writing just captivates me! Although it would be nice if you made your font size a bit bigger :) kind of hard to see at the moment.

[Scarlett]

I really like this first part. It has so much potential and I think if you worked on the rough patches it could turn into a wonderful short story.

Well one part, near the middle where Marrok is saying "Shut up," I didn't think was very realistic. Maybe change the wording a bit.

Other than that I really liked this story! I want you to finish it!