Just a short story about a young werewolf who gets separated from her pack, and is helped by another wolf who seems oddly familiar to her. Crits? Comments? I'd love to know what you think!
Dead grass crunches underneath your paws. In the excitement of the hunt, you've somehow become separated from the rest of the pack. Howling gets you nowhere, as you only hear your voice echoing back at you. You scan the surrounding area, hoping to catch a sign of movement, but see nothing. It's almost as if you're the only living thing out here. Your human mind might find that rather ironic, but, since you're a wolf at the moment, all that matters to you is that you find the others. Wolves don't do well on their own.
You trot onwards, sniffing the wind for any sent drifting upon it. This wind however, is too fierce. It tears at your fur, and whistles around you, bringing the threat of rain with it. The clouds hover overhead, dark and foreboding. Rain doesn't overly bother you. If it does start to pour it down, then you can just find shelter. After all, you've hunted in a downpour before.
You stop to howl again. There's always a chance that the pack are near by, and that you've somehow missed them. No answering howls reach your ears, and so, with a slightly heavier tread than before, you move on again, across the endless expanse of plain, still searching for any sign of life.
Wolves have no concept of time, and so you have no idea how long you've been searching. It's raining steadily now, and your fur is beginning to clump together. But still you keep on, your ears twisting this way and that, straining to hear any sound of life through the howling wind.
Perhaps, if you were human right now, you'd have given up long ago. Just lain down on the wet grass and stared at the sky. Until you were either rescued or died. As a wolf though, giving up isn't an option. However, your brain is telling you that perhaps you should get out of the rain. Getting your coat soaking wet isn't going to help you much in your search. Changing direction, you head towards a patch of scrubby trees.
It's sheltered under the trees, not by much, but just enough so that the wind isn't quite so fierce and the rain no longer lashes you in the eyes. You flop down, panting. Overhead, a bird gives voice to an alarm call, and flies off. Heaving a sigh, you lower your head onto your forelegs. A doze right now wouldn't do you any harm, after all.
There's a wolf watching you when you awake. He's a stranger though, and you watch him warily. He doesn't come any nearer, just stares at you. A big, almost black wolf, with a scar across his muzzle. There's something about his eyes that sends a strange shiver down your spine. It's almost as if he recognizes you, although you're certain you've never seen him before.
He stands suddenly, in one fluid motion, then turns and walks off a little way, before glancing over his shoulder. On seeing you stand, he starts walking again, thereby forcing you to follow. He never lets you get too close, but, when you start to lag behind, he stops until you've almost caught up with him, and then moves off again.
Once out of the woods, he takes off running, and you too, begin to run. He's fast, faster than you, and once or twice you almost lose him, but each time, it almost seems as if he drops the pace, just to allow you to come a little closer. But never too close.
The sun is shining now. Down below you, near the lake, caribou graze. Your mouth starts to water instinctively, but hunting isn't foremost in your mind. All you want to do is keep up with this strange dark wolf. You don't know where he's leading you, but you still follow him.
It seems as though you've been running a long time, when the stranger suddenly stops, so suddenly that you have to slam on the brakes. He's staring at something ahead of him.
It's your pack.
They respond to your howls, and, as they head towards you, so you trot past the stranger, meeting your brothers and sisters half way. You don't glance back, but, at the last minute, a powerful howl causes you to do so.
The dark wolf is howling. Something in his howl sounds so familiar, that you can't resist howling back. Just once, however, since the others are bristling and growling at the sight of an unfamiliar wolf.
He turns, and trots away. And you turn back to your family, the memory of that strange encounter already beginning to slip out of your mind. For wolves only live in the here and now. They don't waste time trying to remember a long distant face or voice or smell.