T W O
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2,175 words
For reasons she could not lay a paw on nor explain beyond blaming it on intuition, Rain felt obliged to say that the next few days passed in a whirlwind of excitement, fear, and murmured theories. It seemed to be the way her fellow tribe members seemed to be handling the whole thing and she supposed it made sense, for excitement did not come often in this picturesque setting; but truthfully, she thought this period of time, a gap to be bridged between the chilling promises and the actual event, could not possibly have dragged on any longer.
The visions she had seen and the message she had tried to deliver had caused Morning Star to lose her voice for days. Each time she heard the whispers that passed through the trees like the wind the tribe had been named for, the shaman’s pupils, traumatized forever with the horror she had had the ill fortune to be privy to, would dilate with fear and a tremor would shudder through her body. The alarming reaction that the rumors elicited from her simply directed them behind her back, where the worst offenders knew what she did not hear could not hurt her, although by that time Rain suspected it had been too late, had been too late for a while now; the young shaman would not be quite the same ever again.
Earlier that day, Bear had held council with some of the older wolves, whose knowledge and wisdom made their input more valuable than that of the less experienced. Though the outcome of it had never been announced publically, the chief had been spotted leaving camp and travelling toward Greenland Valley territory. That was all it took for the baseless conjecture to make its route through the tribe with renewed energy. The camp trembled, set abuzz with anticipation down to the quivering blades of grass. Thus, you had to be living under a rock not to know Bear was going to seek the advice of the other tribe leaders – and even then, it would not have been farfetched to say the ground itself spread the word to you.
Rain was just as curious as everybody else, but she saw no point in partaking in the frivolous speculation that was currently being bounced from wolf to wolf. When Bear came back, he would have information, and the she-wolf was ready to listen to what he words he had to relay from Morning Dew, Minnow, and North Star. Everyone else knew just as well as she that the theories, however popular or believable they were at the moment, would be immediately forgotten in the face of what their leader had to say.
“Rain!” Now Songbird was beside her, eyes sparkling with the giddiness that Rain found herself mimicking without even putting in any thought or feeling. It was something she had found herself growing into, the habit of acting like everyone else whenever she found herself uncertain on how a normal wolf would feel. She had long ago accepted the fact that being found inside the territory too young to take care of herself, obviously not from any of the other tribes, and without any memory of who she was or where she came from was far from normal or average or mundane or anything else she’d ever hoped to be. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around lately.”
Song was one of the most enthusiastic about the entire affair, but Rain couldn’t bring herself to feel irritated at her best friend’s enthusiasm for the omen… even if it was as if everyone was forgetting it, whatever it was that was horrible enough to make Morning lose her voice and jump at the rustle of a leaf, was going to descend upon them at any moment now.
“Oh, I just thought I’d stay out of the way until everyone stops obsessing over Morning’s message so much,” she said lightly. Song laughed, missing the edge Rain’s words would have had without the jesting tone. “I thought I’d get some hunting done while I was at it. They’re all too busy to do anything but talk about it, and when they finally get around to hunting, they can’t stop speaking loud enough to scare off all the prey.”
Song followed Rain’s pale green gaze toward the dwindling fresh-kill pile, whose contents were so scant it seemed more like a sorry scattering of animal carcasses than anything else, and she must have caught the needle hidden in Rain’s remark. “I’ll come with you,” she offered.
Rain had never seen the point of hunting in a group unless you planned to take down a larger animal. She’d stated this as a pup, going around seeking answers. In return, she’d gotten strange looks and questions about why she wouldn’t prefer companionship over solitude in the forest, and when she’d responded with saying that a pair would only make twice as much ruckus barging about, they had simply dismissed her as a silly child with silly notions she would grow out of (but didn’t). A little while later, it had come as a revelation to her that these tribe wolves were simply softer than she, for lack of a better way to put it; everything about their lifestyle was social, revolving around those around them. It was not practical, but it was calm and serene and happy. It was a nice way of living, she supposed, but not what she found herself expecting. Not that she even knew what she found herself expecting; more often than not, she would say or think something that, in the tribe’s standards, was heartless and cold, and then wonder where she had even gotten the idea.
Rain was tempted to split the hunting grounds in half so she and Song could cover more land, which had been the point she had tried to argue to the elders, but got the feeling she might offend the other wolf somehow even though she herself did not understand why the gesture might be interpreted as an insult.
So she kept her thoughts close to her heart, the safest place to keep them, and smiled at the other she-wolf.
“Let’s go,” she said.
A solitary figure stood among the trees. Her fur was a pale gold that would be a perfect match for the sun if it was even possible to describe the burning, blinding majesty of that star in one color; her eyes an expressive, lively amber that was currently glazed over, in the look you get when you lose yourself in memories. But where it was possible that you might find no more interest in her when you stopped at that point, the observant onlooker might see past that distant look to the sorrow and grief that had arrived hand in hand that fateful day. Even farther back, bitterness and a particularly terrible case of survivor’s guilt that gnawed and ate away at her insides. If you were particularly empathetic, you would sense something behind that, something that simply could not be seen: a burning rage that slowly simmered in an aching niche where, with each injustice done to her by the world, it could only grow into a bonfire that would eventually consume and destroy what had once been a young wolf beautiful in her passion and ambition.
Laskestra, her name was. Life had not treated her well, steeling her backbone beyond its years. It had done enough to drive a less willful or fiery wolf straight into the ground, but Kestra had emerged through the forges of misfortune stronger than ever, her innocence and naïveté crumbled in her clumsy young grasp before their time. She would not be stepped on again, and the old ambition swelled in her chest until her resolve became a need, a raw craving to set things right and feel the oh-so-sweet satisfaction of revenge. She would finally avenge her people because she had finally figured out how she could do it.
Eyes on fire. Heart of ice. Best not to let herself truly get into it. Her burning spirit would show in her eyes but she would not let it extend beyond that, lest it melt the cold and make her vulnerable to more attack on her already abused soul.
It was nearly time to begin the journey. The shrine was a simple cave, and it was a test of character to reach it; only those who were truly worthy would be able to make it there. As the legend went, the founders of the nomadic clan she’d belonged to had done the gods a favor, and in return the divine beings had given them the location of the blessed cave in the form of a riddle. Kestra had never visited the sanctuary but the pups of her clan had been told of the difficult path one must take; the task of solving the riddle and finding the location, the cunning it took to overcome the challenges, the strength of will it took to handle the presence of the gods even when they were not there in whole. No one had needed to resort to it in her lifetime – it was an emergency resort to turn to when they needed great help – so all she knew of it were the stories that surrounded it, but the shrine was a symbol of hope in times of despair, a last, desperate measure. A means to plead the gods for mercy.
First, she would have to make a little visit to the tribe responsible for robbing her of her home and family. The wolves of the Whispering Trees, they called themselves. They were supposed to be the hunters out of the four tribes, but Kestra knew them for what they really were: murderers, the whole lot of them, criminals who deserved punishment delivered by the wrath of the gods themselves. The only thing that would be whispering when Kestra was through with them would be the voice of desolation. And then finally, finally, her restless soul might be put at ease for the first time in nearly two years. It was not a necessary thing she must do, but she wanted to look at the place where her clan had been slaughtered and renew her determination. This was for them.
“I hope you’re watching,” she whispered to the stars she could not see, “because I’m about to make them pay. You’ll be proud of me, I promise. You won’t be forgotten. I won’t let it happen. It’s what you would have wanted me to do, right?”
And the wind scattered her words into nothing.
“It’s awfully quiet, isn’t it?” Songbird remarked into the silence.
Rain frowned. She didn’t usually speak on hunts for fear of alerting her future meal to her presence, but Song was right. They had been walking for several minutes and there was no sign of life. The birds still chirped from where they were, perched safely in a high location no wolf could ever dream of reaching, but the ground-dwelling critters like rabbits and squirrels seemed to be in hiding. “You’re right,” she said. “Someone must have scared all the prey off earlier.”
Song blew her cheeks out in frustration. “We’re not going to find anything. Let’s head back.”
“Hold on a moment,” said Rain. “I think I smell something.”
She took another whiff and wrinkled her nose. The scent didn’t belong to anybody she recognized. “Do you think it’s a loner?” she asked Song, who had followed suit and wrinkled her nose at the odor she had been assaulted with in return.
The other wolf nodded. “They passed through recently, too.”
“Maybe we can catch up with them,” Rain suggested, finding herself balanced on her toes at the prospect of thinking about what she would do when she sank her teeth into the intruder. For some odd reason, she was enthusiastic at the prospect of hunting this trespasser down. She shuddered, quashing it before it led her down a train of thought she had no doubt she did not want to take.
Song shook her head. “We can deal with it later. They stopped here and doubled back. Maybe it was just an accident.”
Rain doubted it, and the lack of conviction in Song’s voice was enough to persuade her that her friend was of the same sentiment.
Mind working to judge if it was worth it to go after the loner or if they should bring the matter to Bear once he shook himself free of their curious acquaintances, she made up her mind. “I think we should–”
She didn’t finish voicing her opinion, because at that moment the wind carried a scent that both she and Song knew by heart, one that was foreign and wrong and put them on edge. It didn’t belong here; never had, never would, and as a flash of red appeared between the trees and in her line of vision, Rain, her muscles already tensed to spring, attacked.
_____________________________________________________________________
2,175 words
For reasons she could not lay a paw on nor explain beyond blaming it on intuition, Rain felt obliged to say that the next few days passed in a whirlwind of excitement, fear, and murmured theories. It seemed to be the way her fellow tribe members seemed to be handling the whole thing and she supposed it made sense, for excitement did not come often in this picturesque setting; but truthfully, she thought this period of time, a gap to be bridged between the chilling promises and the actual event, could not possibly have dragged on any longer.
The visions she had seen and the message she had tried to deliver had caused Morning Star to lose her voice for days. Each time she heard the whispers that passed through the trees like the wind the tribe had been named for, the shaman’s pupils, traumatized forever with the horror she had had the ill fortune to be privy to, would dilate with fear and a tremor would shudder through her body. The alarming reaction that the rumors elicited from her simply directed them behind her back, where the worst offenders knew what she did not hear could not hurt her, although by that time Rain suspected it had been too late, had been too late for a while now; the young shaman would not be quite the same ever again.
Earlier that day, Bear had held council with some of the older wolves, whose knowledge and wisdom made their input more valuable than that of the less experienced. Though the outcome of it had never been announced publically, the chief had been spotted leaving camp and travelling toward Greenland Valley territory. That was all it took for the baseless conjecture to make its route through the tribe with renewed energy. The camp trembled, set abuzz with anticipation down to the quivering blades of grass. Thus, you had to be living under a rock not to know Bear was going to seek the advice of the other tribe leaders – and even then, it would not have been farfetched to say the ground itself spread the word to you.
Rain was just as curious as everybody else, but she saw no point in partaking in the frivolous speculation that was currently being bounced from wolf to wolf. When Bear came back, he would have information, and the she-wolf was ready to listen to what he words he had to relay from Morning Dew, Minnow, and North Star. Everyone else knew just as well as she that the theories, however popular or believable they were at the moment, would be immediately forgotten in the face of what their leader had to say.
“Rain!” Now Songbird was beside her, eyes sparkling with the giddiness that Rain found herself mimicking without even putting in any thought or feeling. It was something she had found herself growing into, the habit of acting like everyone else whenever she found herself uncertain on how a normal wolf would feel. She had long ago accepted the fact that being found inside the territory too young to take care of herself, obviously not from any of the other tribes, and without any memory of who she was or where she came from was far from normal or average or mundane or anything else she’d ever hoped to be. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around lately.”
Song was one of the most enthusiastic about the entire affair, but Rain couldn’t bring herself to feel irritated at her best friend’s enthusiasm for the omen… even if it was as if everyone was forgetting it, whatever it was that was horrible enough to make Morning lose her voice and jump at the rustle of a leaf, was going to descend upon them at any moment now.
“Oh, I just thought I’d stay out of the way until everyone stops obsessing over Morning’s message so much,” she said lightly. Song laughed, missing the edge Rain’s words would have had without the jesting tone. “I thought I’d get some hunting done while I was at it. They’re all too busy to do anything but talk about it, and when they finally get around to hunting, they can’t stop speaking loud enough to scare off all the prey.”
Song followed Rain’s pale green gaze toward the dwindling fresh-kill pile, whose contents were so scant it seemed more like a sorry scattering of animal carcasses than anything else, and she must have caught the needle hidden in Rain’s remark. “I’ll come with you,” she offered.
Rain had never seen the point of hunting in a group unless you planned to take down a larger animal. She’d stated this as a pup, going around seeking answers. In return, she’d gotten strange looks and questions about why she wouldn’t prefer companionship over solitude in the forest, and when she’d responded with saying that a pair would only make twice as much ruckus barging about, they had simply dismissed her as a silly child with silly notions she would grow out of (but didn’t). A little while later, it had come as a revelation to her that these tribe wolves were simply softer than she, for lack of a better way to put it; everything about their lifestyle was social, revolving around those around them. It was not practical, but it was calm and serene and happy. It was a nice way of living, she supposed, but not what she found herself expecting. Not that she even knew what she found herself expecting; more often than not, she would say or think something that, in the tribe’s standards, was heartless and cold, and then wonder where she had even gotten the idea.
Rain was tempted to split the hunting grounds in half so she and Song could cover more land, which had been the point she had tried to argue to the elders, but got the feeling she might offend the other wolf somehow even though she herself did not understand why the gesture might be interpreted as an insult.
So she kept her thoughts close to her heart, the safest place to keep them, and smiled at the other she-wolf.
“Let’s go,” she said.
A solitary figure stood among the trees. Her fur was a pale gold that would be a perfect match for the sun if it was even possible to describe the burning, blinding majesty of that star in one color; her eyes an expressive, lively amber that was currently glazed over, in the look you get when you lose yourself in memories. But where it was possible that you might find no more interest in her when you stopped at that point, the observant onlooker might see past that distant look to the sorrow and grief that had arrived hand in hand that fateful day. Even farther back, bitterness and a particularly terrible case of survivor’s guilt that gnawed and ate away at her insides. If you were particularly empathetic, you would sense something behind that, something that simply could not be seen: a burning rage that slowly simmered in an aching niche where, with each injustice done to her by the world, it could only grow into a bonfire that would eventually consume and destroy what had once been a young wolf beautiful in her passion and ambition.
Laskestra, her name was. Life had not treated her well, steeling her backbone beyond its years. It had done enough to drive a less willful or fiery wolf straight into the ground, but Kestra had emerged through the forges of misfortune stronger than ever, her innocence and naïveté crumbled in her clumsy young grasp before their time. She would not be stepped on again, and the old ambition swelled in her chest until her resolve became a need, a raw craving to set things right and feel the oh-so-sweet satisfaction of revenge. She would finally avenge her people because she had finally figured out how she could do it.
Eyes on fire. Heart of ice. Best not to let herself truly get into it. Her burning spirit would show in her eyes but she would not let it extend beyond that, lest it melt the cold and make her vulnerable to more attack on her already abused soul.
It was nearly time to begin the journey. The shrine was a simple cave, and it was a test of character to reach it; only those who were truly worthy would be able to make it there. As the legend went, the founders of the nomadic clan she’d belonged to had done the gods a favor, and in return the divine beings had given them the location of the blessed cave in the form of a riddle. Kestra had never visited the sanctuary but the pups of her clan had been told of the difficult path one must take; the task of solving the riddle and finding the location, the cunning it took to overcome the challenges, the strength of will it took to handle the presence of the gods even when they were not there in whole. No one had needed to resort to it in her lifetime – it was an emergency resort to turn to when they needed great help – so all she knew of it were the stories that surrounded it, but the shrine was a symbol of hope in times of despair, a last, desperate measure. A means to plead the gods for mercy.
First, she would have to make a little visit to the tribe responsible for robbing her of her home and family. The wolves of the Whispering Trees, they called themselves. They were supposed to be the hunters out of the four tribes, but Kestra knew them for what they really were: murderers, the whole lot of them, criminals who deserved punishment delivered by the wrath of the gods themselves. The only thing that would be whispering when Kestra was through with them would be the voice of desolation. And then finally, finally, her restless soul might be put at ease for the first time in nearly two years. It was not a necessary thing she must do, but she wanted to look at the place where her clan had been slaughtered and renew her determination. This was for them.
“I hope you’re watching,” she whispered to the stars she could not see, “because I’m about to make them pay. You’ll be proud of me, I promise. You won’t be forgotten. I won’t let it happen. It’s what you would have wanted me to do, right?”
And the wind scattered her words into nothing.
“It’s awfully quiet, isn’t it?” Songbird remarked into the silence.
Rain frowned. She didn’t usually speak on hunts for fear of alerting her future meal to her presence, but Song was right. They had been walking for several minutes and there was no sign of life. The birds still chirped from where they were, perched safely in a high location no wolf could ever dream of reaching, but the ground-dwelling critters like rabbits and squirrels seemed to be in hiding. “You’re right,” she said. “Someone must have scared all the prey off earlier.”
Song blew her cheeks out in frustration. “We’re not going to find anything. Let’s head back.”
“Hold on a moment,” said Rain. “I think I smell something.”
She took another whiff and wrinkled her nose. The scent didn’t belong to anybody she recognized. “Do you think it’s a loner?” she asked Song, who had followed suit and wrinkled her nose at the odor she had been assaulted with in return.
The other wolf nodded. “They passed through recently, too.”
“Maybe we can catch up with them,” Rain suggested, finding herself balanced on her toes at the prospect of thinking about what she would do when she sank her teeth into the intruder. For some odd reason, she was enthusiastic at the prospect of hunting this trespasser down. She shuddered, quashing it before it led her down a train of thought she had no doubt she did not want to take.
Song shook her head. “We can deal with it later. They stopped here and doubled back. Maybe it was just an accident.”
Rain doubted it, and the lack of conviction in Song’s voice was enough to persuade her that her friend was of the same sentiment.
Mind working to judge if it was worth it to go after the loner or if they should bring the matter to Bear once he shook himself free of their curious acquaintances, she made up her mind. “I think we should–”
She didn’t finish voicing her opinion, because at that moment the wind carried a scent that both she and Song knew by heart, one that was foreign and wrong and put them on edge. It didn’t belong here; never had, never would, and as a flash of red appeared between the trees and in her line of vision, Rain, her muscles already tensed to spring, attacked.
