by puddssoul » Tue Sep 04, 2012 12:45 pm
Spin, kick, stomp, again. Spin, kick, stomp, again. Over and over until it was imprinted on his brain almost as well as his own name. He came to a stop, panting softly for breath, the sunshine beating down on him and threatening to burn him up. Of course, there was nowhere else that would hide him so efficiently from the rest of the pack, so he didn't really have a choice. Around him, he was sheltered by walls of tall, ancient pines, and thick patches of brambles. He'd nearly lost half his coat of fur just wriggling his way into here, there were orange tufts and patches caught on the bushes all around. Maybe he should have been concerned, but twirling felt much too amazing for him to care. Laying down in the center of the clearing, he considered his predicament fully.
He -- Thicket, a perfectly normal, healthy, strong young male wolf -- shouldn't be there. But it felt so right! Spinning and stomping and showing off his moves to the bright blue sky felt like what he'd always been meant to do. Sure, the others, pups and all, would ridicule him forever if they found out what he was really doing when he said he was out patrolling, or out hunting, but he just had to risk it. There was nothing he loved more. While the others thrived at catching prey, or jumping, or fighting, he excelled at this. He was entirely sure that no one -- not even the humans' trained little pets -- was quite as good at it as he was.
Dancing. Oh, how he loved dancing. Swaying to the movement of the pines as they were pushed in the wind, letting that breeze push him as he spun, stomping like a wild tribal chant dance... it got his blood pumping, forced his eyes open wide. Adrenaline flowed through his viens, and he danced until he was too tired to so much as shuffle his paws another time. Then he would trudge back to the pack, coated in a layer of dust and mud, his fur torn and messy, eyes glassy, looking as though he had been out hunting for his life. He'd grab a bite to eat, then slip into the safety of the dark, quiet den to let his exhaustion slip away with a nice little nap. Some time around midnight he'd awaken to the light of the moon and go out to ACTUALLY hunt, slipping a few nice, fat peices of prey onto the pile of freshkill so he wouldn't feel so bad about not helping out around the pack. After all, there were nursing mothers with little mouths to feed. The other males were fighting for more territory for their growing pack, bringing home food to those who couldn't get out to hunt. And what was he doing? Hunting.
Sometimes it was enough to make him mad at himself, to think he was as disgusting as the other males would see him. He'd gaze at his reflection in one of the small pools of water and narrow his eyes and spit at himself, bristling angrily. "How dare you?" He'd whisper heatedly, glaring, "How dare you do that while the others are risking their lives for you, for your family and friends? HOW DARE YOU?!"
There had been a few close calls. Once, a tiny pup of one of the nursing females had followed him out of the pack's original clearing, thinking it would be fun to have an adventure. Thankfully the pup hadn't been nearly as graceful as its mother yet, and though it had taken him a minute or two to smell the tiny she-pup stumbling after him, he'd seen her well before he'd gotten to his clearing. The pup had giggled as he scooped her up and carried her back to her mother, who had squealed with delight and hugged him feircely for 'saving' her daughter. He'd felt like crying then, like telling them all his secret and never dancing again. If only she'd known it was his fault. If he hadn't been so mysterious, the pup wouldn't have been nearly as eager to follow him.
But he couldn't NOT dance. That would be like denying exactly who he was. So he continued his practicing in the hopes that one day, it would prove a help and not a hindrance, all the while, guilt slowly filling him up.
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