Post by jiminiminy on Apr 7, 2008 7:48:06 GMT -5
Wherever the wolf was, it sure was unusual. The blank nothingness of the surrounding area was amplified by the fact that not a single thing graced the landscape. Could you consider it landscape? There was nothing but white, no visible signs of life, even his own body was invisible, absorbed by the strange substance that layered the area.
Though he couldn't see anything, the wolf knew that he was somewhere; he could feel the ground against his paws, though he couldn't see the ground. Or his feet, for that matter. It was rather odd actually, and he couldn't quite determine why he had been dragged here.
Just as the dead place was losing the wolf's interest, a voice rang through the air, or whatever you might call the surrounding area. When whoever it was spoke, it was clear, perfectly tuned tone, but it drove into your skull with a pounding force.
At Twilight's end, the
Shadows crossed,
A new world birthed
The elder lost
Yet on the morn,
We wake to find
That Mem'ry left
So far behind
To Deafened ears,
We ask, unseen,
"Which is life, and
Which is dream?"
After a moment to let these words sink in, a rather small wolf came into view. It looked to be a Tundra Wolf, but it had a certain offish quality to it, giving his doubts. Really, the only thing that was a definite about the wolf was that it was a femme.
She walked close to where the wolf would be if he could see himself, giving him the impression that he was visible to her, as she was visible to him. Her beauty absolutely stunned him, his mind was clouded by her appearance, but discipline prevented him from going head-over-heels over her.
The black femora leaned close to him, bringing her mouth to rest right beside his ear. With the same tolling voice that spoke before, she softly said, "Sic'Scram, warrior of the north, you come to your lands seeking retribution, but I must tell you this." There was a pause, as though the apparition couldn't bring herself to tell him, but she soon spoke again, though more strained than before.
"You are going to die Sic'Scram, you are going to die soon, and you will die with valor, as that is who you are. I wish that you may have a swift death, and that your afterlife will not be filled with evil. Remember though, that there is good in the world, and you will be able to find it if you remember to look."
Once the words had been spoken, the femme nuzzled Sic'Scram on his neck, making it clear that she didn't want him to go. She seemed so familiar to the wolf, but a name would not come. Though he didn't want to go, something was pulling him away, something pulling him down.
He frantically stretched a leg out, reaching for the ground that had held him unhindered, but he felt nothing, nothing but the snare that had caught him. He saw the femme above him as well, she reached for him. Their paws touched, he wanted to scream out her name, but she was gone, and so was he...
The wolf awoke, and his body was filled with the sensations that had been deprived from him in the blank landscape. He felt the permafrost below his resting body, the chilled air of May pressing against his face. The body heat of the wolves gathered around him, and the quiet murmurs of the men nearby.
One of the men rose from his seated position and, with slow steps, walked to stand in front of all the wolves. He looked them over for a moment, and then barked a single word in a harsh language. All of the wolves immediately leaped up, some of them going into a fighting stance, some of them cowering. He said another word, though quieter this time, and it was recognized by them all as a word of beckoning, for them to follow.
They'd been marching for weeks now, heading to some city far away. Every day was the same, fed once, then marched many hours before stopping to rest. Really he was becoming sick of it, but he could tell they were almost at their destination. The energy of the group pulsated in the air, waiting to be released, but they all knew to wait.
And so they put their energy to marching, the only wolves now were the one on the left, and the one on the right. And so he looked at them. The one on his right was old, nearly six years of age, and the one on his left was young, no more than ten months. Both were Tundra Wolves, as most were, but then again, most were between the age of two to three years, as he was.
Turning away, he heard a noise from the wolf to his left. Looking to him, the wolf spoke in a quiet, twitchy voice. "Sic'Scram." He said nervously, "I'm scared Sic'Scram. I don't think we can survive this." The words of this wolf shattered his visions of a glorious battle, and his vision was now replaced with a more morbid one, the image of loss.
Staring at the wolf, Sic'Scram thought of this scared wolf. He remembered his name now, he was Gejak, a pup from his own pack. He searched for words to say, but none came. So all that the wolf said was "I'm afraid too, Gejak, we all are. You are no different."
With that single phrase said, a fiery noise pierced the air, and most of the wolves collapsed in pain from the deafening sound, but a single man collapsed in the pain of death. Loud orders were immediately administered, a frenzy of activity sprung into existence. They were under attack.
The men decided to send the wolves first, they were much faster than the men could ever be. The hundred-some brutes were eager, and many began to run without orders, but they were quickly absorbed by the main force as the rest were released. This was war. This adrenaline rush from the danger around him, the kill or be killed air that most wolves experienced was tripled by the gunshots and death all around them.
The enemy was in vision now, they had no cover behind the scarce trees that dotted the landscape, and they were easy prey to the mass of tooth and claw that surged towards them. There would be blood. Sic'Scarm was near the front of the force, his strong legs were faster than most, and he believe that he would be the first to get a kill.
It turned out that he would be the first to be killed.
He could see the enemy, the traitors that they had been told about. The blood burned as it coursed through his body. There would be blood. Sic'Scram leaped up, propelling himself forwards towards the man in front of him. But the wolf had not counted on something.
A bang rang out.
Sic'Scram felt as though he had been hit with a stone. He flew onto the ground. He could feel his lifeblood running from his face, his body was becoming weaker by the moment. Nothing could save him now. As the rest of the wolves surged around him, leaping to attack the men that now were trying to retreat, a young pup stopped in front of him.
"Gejak." He gasped, surprised at the effort it took to speak. His life was now being measured in minutes, if not seconds. He was quite aware of the fact that he had a good part of his face missing, but he had to speak to this wolf. "Forgive me, and forget me." His words were morbid, but necessary. The wolf stared in horror at the packmate he had spoken to mere moments before.
"Go!" He gasped, watching as Gejak ran from his body back into the fray. Sic'Scram could feel his memories fading, and he knew his life would be gone soon, but he held onto his dream. He had nothing more than the last fragment, but the thought of a single person loving him allowed him to feel life for a few seconds longer.
As he passed into the nether, Sic'Scram remembered the wolf's name, and with his final breath, he said it. "Aiettia..." Once her name was said, his spirit left him, and his life was finished.
---------------------
As he said the name in the world of dreams, the wolf said it in the world of the real. "Aiettia..." Siscarm murmured, his body turning with discomfort. Suddenly, as though he could take no more of the dream, the wolf's eyes snapped open, his body immeaditly writhed into a fighting position.
Where am I, what's going on? The thought ran through his head. The ground under his paws was not the frosty dirt, but a damp stone. The air was still, as if the wind had been aboloished. And he was alone, in a dank hole.
It was only a dream... He told himself, though he couldn't get his mind to believe it. It had been so real. He could still feel as though he had been stricken in the head, he could still smell the fresh blood around him, hell, he still had the taste of adrenaline in his mouth. But it was a dream, nothing more. Or was it? The wolf began doubting himself.
That was me, they said my name, I remember, but I forget. Will I ever forgive myself? Shaking his head, as though to pour the existional thoughts out of his head, but he was left with a single question. "Who am I?" He said the words aloud, as though asking himself. He got no answer other than the dripping of water around him.
Taking a deep breath, he yelled to the stone walls, "Who am I? Nothing but the innocent dripping. Dragging himself away from his resting place, Siscarm looked into the small pool of water that gathered each day at the base of his cave. Looking at the wolf staring back at him, he asked it, though his voice was nothing more than a whisper, and his tone was choked through a sob.
"Who am I..."
"You are the exile, you always will be." The voice that answered was familiar, almost as though he had been family long ago. Whipping around, the elder saw a Tundra pup, no more than ten months old, but had eyes that had seen decades of terrible acts.
Siscarm blinked, and the apparition was gone. The wolf gathered himself up, and walked towards the exit. The wolf was right. Siscarm was an exile, and his name reminded him every day. On the way out he stumbled, fell upon the cold ground. There was a fracture in his mental armour. His emotions rushed out. The once calm wolf wept openly upon the stone.
He shed tears for his family, his old pack, those he had lost, those he had found. He wept for those he had killed, and those he had saved. The ones who had suffered, and those who's lives would soon be filled with it. And most of all, he wept for himself, and for Aiettia.
Dragging himself toward the mouth of the cave, Siscarm looked over the lands. They were beautiful, that was sure. No one could take that away from him. None, except... The bomb Siscarm remembered the danger, the meeting, everything. He had to get to the plains to try and save, or at the very least die with that which he wished to protect.
Word Count: 2034 words.
Comment: Eat that wall of text!
Though he couldn't see anything, the wolf knew that he was somewhere; he could feel the ground against his paws, though he couldn't see the ground. Or his feet, for that matter. It was rather odd actually, and he couldn't quite determine why he had been dragged here.
Just as the dead place was losing the wolf's interest, a voice rang through the air, or whatever you might call the surrounding area. When whoever it was spoke, it was clear, perfectly tuned tone, but it drove into your skull with a pounding force.
At Twilight's end, the
Shadows crossed,
A new world birthed
The elder lost
Yet on the morn,
We wake to find
That Mem'ry left
So far behind
To Deafened ears,
We ask, unseen,
"Which is life, and
Which is dream?"
After a moment to let these words sink in, a rather small wolf came into view. It looked to be a Tundra Wolf, but it had a certain offish quality to it, giving his doubts. Really, the only thing that was a definite about the wolf was that it was a femme.
She walked close to where the wolf would be if he could see himself, giving him the impression that he was visible to her, as she was visible to him. Her beauty absolutely stunned him, his mind was clouded by her appearance, but discipline prevented him from going head-over-heels over her.
The black femora leaned close to him, bringing her mouth to rest right beside his ear. With the same tolling voice that spoke before, she softly said, "Sic'Scram, warrior of the north, you come to your lands seeking retribution, but I must tell you this." There was a pause, as though the apparition couldn't bring herself to tell him, but she soon spoke again, though more strained than before.
"You are going to die Sic'Scram, you are going to die soon, and you will die with valor, as that is who you are. I wish that you may have a swift death, and that your afterlife will not be filled with evil. Remember though, that there is good in the world, and you will be able to find it if you remember to look."
Once the words had been spoken, the femme nuzzled Sic'Scram on his neck, making it clear that she didn't want him to go. She seemed so familiar to the wolf, but a name would not come. Though he didn't want to go, something was pulling him away, something pulling him down.
He frantically stretched a leg out, reaching for the ground that had held him unhindered, but he felt nothing, nothing but the snare that had caught him. He saw the femme above him as well, she reached for him. Their paws touched, he wanted to scream out her name, but she was gone, and so was he...
The wolf awoke, and his body was filled with the sensations that had been deprived from him in the blank landscape. He felt the permafrost below his resting body, the chilled air of May pressing against his face. The body heat of the wolves gathered around him, and the quiet murmurs of the men nearby.
One of the men rose from his seated position and, with slow steps, walked to stand in front of all the wolves. He looked them over for a moment, and then barked a single word in a harsh language. All of the wolves immediately leaped up, some of them going into a fighting stance, some of them cowering. He said another word, though quieter this time, and it was recognized by them all as a word of beckoning, for them to follow.
They'd been marching for weeks now, heading to some city far away. Every day was the same, fed once, then marched many hours before stopping to rest. Really he was becoming sick of it, but he could tell they were almost at their destination. The energy of the group pulsated in the air, waiting to be released, but they all knew to wait.
And so they put their energy to marching, the only wolves now were the one on the left, and the one on the right. And so he looked at them. The one on his right was old, nearly six years of age, and the one on his left was young, no more than ten months. Both were Tundra Wolves, as most were, but then again, most were between the age of two to three years, as he was.
Turning away, he heard a noise from the wolf to his left. Looking to him, the wolf spoke in a quiet, twitchy voice. "Sic'Scram." He said nervously, "I'm scared Sic'Scram. I don't think we can survive this." The words of this wolf shattered his visions of a glorious battle, and his vision was now replaced with a more morbid one, the image of loss.
Staring at the wolf, Sic'Scram thought of this scared wolf. He remembered his name now, he was Gejak, a pup from his own pack. He searched for words to say, but none came. So all that the wolf said was "I'm afraid too, Gejak, we all are. You are no different."
With that single phrase said, a fiery noise pierced the air, and most of the wolves collapsed in pain from the deafening sound, but a single man collapsed in the pain of death. Loud orders were immediately administered, a frenzy of activity sprung into existence. They were under attack.
The men decided to send the wolves first, they were much faster than the men could ever be. The hundred-some brutes were eager, and many began to run without orders, but they were quickly absorbed by the main force as the rest were released. This was war. This adrenaline rush from the danger around him, the kill or be killed air that most wolves experienced was tripled by the gunshots and death all around them.
The enemy was in vision now, they had no cover behind the scarce trees that dotted the landscape, and they were easy prey to the mass of tooth and claw that surged towards them. There would be blood. Sic'Scarm was near the front of the force, his strong legs were faster than most, and he believe that he would be the first to get a kill.
It turned out that he would be the first to be killed.
He could see the enemy, the traitors that they had been told about. The blood burned as it coursed through his body. There would be blood. Sic'Scram leaped up, propelling himself forwards towards the man in front of him. But the wolf had not counted on something.
A bang rang out.
Sic'Scram felt as though he had been hit with a stone. He flew onto the ground. He could feel his lifeblood running from his face, his body was becoming weaker by the moment. Nothing could save him now. As the rest of the wolves surged around him, leaping to attack the men that now were trying to retreat, a young pup stopped in front of him.
"Gejak." He gasped, surprised at the effort it took to speak. His life was now being measured in minutes, if not seconds. He was quite aware of the fact that he had a good part of his face missing, but he had to speak to this wolf. "Forgive me, and forget me." His words were morbid, but necessary. The wolf stared in horror at the packmate he had spoken to mere moments before.
"Go!" He gasped, watching as Gejak ran from his body back into the fray. Sic'Scram could feel his memories fading, and he knew his life would be gone soon, but he held onto his dream. He had nothing more than the last fragment, but the thought of a single person loving him allowed him to feel life for a few seconds longer.
As he passed into the nether, Sic'Scram remembered the wolf's name, and with his final breath, he said it. "Aiettia..." Once her name was said, his spirit left him, and his life was finished.
---------------------
As he said the name in the world of dreams, the wolf said it in the world of the real. "Aiettia..." Siscarm murmured, his body turning with discomfort. Suddenly, as though he could take no more of the dream, the wolf's eyes snapped open, his body immeaditly writhed into a fighting position.
Where am I, what's going on? The thought ran through his head. The ground under his paws was not the frosty dirt, but a damp stone. The air was still, as if the wind had been aboloished. And he was alone, in a dank hole.
It was only a dream... He told himself, though he couldn't get his mind to believe it. It had been so real. He could still feel as though he had been stricken in the head, he could still smell the fresh blood around him, hell, he still had the taste of adrenaline in his mouth. But it was a dream, nothing more. Or was it? The wolf began doubting himself.
That was me, they said my name, I remember, but I forget. Will I ever forgive myself? Shaking his head, as though to pour the existional thoughts out of his head, but he was left with a single question. "Who am I?" He said the words aloud, as though asking himself. He got no answer other than the dripping of water around him.
Taking a deep breath, he yelled to the stone walls, "Who am I? Nothing but the innocent dripping. Dragging himself away from his resting place, Siscarm looked into the small pool of water that gathered each day at the base of his cave. Looking at the wolf staring back at him, he asked it, though his voice was nothing more than a whisper, and his tone was choked through a sob.
"Who am I..."
"You are the exile, you always will be." The voice that answered was familiar, almost as though he had been family long ago. Whipping around, the elder saw a Tundra pup, no more than ten months old, but had eyes that had seen decades of terrible acts.
Siscarm blinked, and the apparition was gone. The wolf gathered himself up, and walked towards the exit. The wolf was right. Siscarm was an exile, and his name reminded him every day. On the way out he stumbled, fell upon the cold ground. There was a fracture in his mental armour. His emotions rushed out. The once calm wolf wept openly upon the stone.
He shed tears for his family, his old pack, those he had lost, those he had found. He wept for those he had killed, and those he had saved. The ones who had suffered, and those who's lives would soon be filled with it. And most of all, he wept for himself, and for Aiettia.
Dragging himself toward the mouth of the cave, Siscarm looked over the lands. They were beautiful, that was sure. No one could take that away from him. None, except... The bomb Siscarm remembered the danger, the meeting, everything. He had to get to the plains to try and save, or at the very least die with that which he wished to protect.
Word Count: 2034 words.
Comment: Eat that wall of text!