A stranger on these inviting lands of lush, green meadows and breathtaking mountain scenes, the wolven stole across the clearing, as silent and swift as shadow. At first glance, it may have been mistaken for a male, with its broad-set shoulders, packed with muscles that pulsed steadily beneath the sleek pelt. However, closer examination would have revealed the slim maw and narrow, determined eye-slits, crowned with a ring of thick lashes. Her majestic scruff, streaked with tan and gold, swayed in the fluctuating breeze and shuddered with every pound of her paws on the beaten earth.
After banishing herself from her home, her sole concern was on flight from her past, which could be discarded, but not fully erased from her troubled mind. However, the un-tethered feelings discovered through her wild race for freedom could not release her memories from their cell, bound and tortured by guilt. Though, pain from experiences can make us stronger and stop us from making the same mistakes again…
The fae was perfectly adapted to cope with the chill morning atmosphere with her extremely thick snowy pelt. Like a luxurious fur coat to a human, this was a rare commodity for a wolven of the Centre lands and something that she was most grateful for. A large gash on her foreleg had left naught but a scar. No longer did the actual wound pain her, but the sight of it still brought back painful memories. The small area of exposed flesh was the only part of her sensitive skin that was uncovered by a layer of thick fur and though she had got used to elements beating down on her body, she still winced at the pain of the icy wind, slicing like a blade at that miniscule piece of bare flesh.
Glistening drops of dew hung from stiff blades of grass, held in the hard earth. The wolf slowed to a canter and turned her visage to the horizon beyond the mountain peaks, awaiting the first beams of sunlight to come and free the earth from the fierce clutches of the frost. Warmth soon began to spread rapidly through the centre of the solid soil, melting the binds that held it so firmly. The femora snorted and her brow furrowed. Her orbs of liquid amber glared with defiance, as if warning the sun not to trespass upon her cold morning world. The part of the day that was hers was the short time between night and dawn and it always passed to quickly to be properly appreciated.
Though, the femme pondered, that mirrors the life of all great beings. Like a beautiful dawn, they brighten our world but for a moment and then pass like a shower on a Summer’s day, leaving a few drops of goodness behind, which can be so easily dried up and left unnoticed amongst the thousands of other dew drops. A laboured sigh escaped the labria of the femora, as her pinnae swivelled to flop back, resting beside her hunched blades. So what was to come of her life? Would he ever be remembered after her death? If so, what was the point? What was the benefit of being renowned among wolves for centuries if nothing was to come of it for her? What was the reason for her existence? Are wolves meant to do nothing but fight to be remembered in songs and legends, fight for something positive to be made from all their efforts? She was lost anyway, doomed to live a pointless existence…no medicine could heal the harm she had caused…
As willowy pillars carried the brawny fae off the meadow grass and onto the patch of rough soil that surrounded the still lake, her eye slits narrowed and she squinted into the new sunrays. She deemed herself satisfied that all was safe and continued to the water’s edge. Her legs quivered as she tenderly placed her raw pads on the sharp stones protruding from the earth. The jostling waves raced up the sandy beach area, only to be tugged back by some invisible force. The wolf watched with interest, letting her guard down momentarily as her orbs closed in silent bliss, enjoying the tingle in her soles as the cool water lapped at them. Her slender neck curved, as graceful as that of a swan, to lower her snout tip to meet the surface of the lake. Chattering insects skimmed over the water, leaving swiftly growing ripples in its otherwise motionless surface.
The wolfess gulped greedily until she had drunk her fill, then reclined upon weary haunches. Her pistons shifted uneasily, prepared in case there was need for flight. Her striped plume, held proudly like a banner, dangles between twin pillars, twitching every so often to lash out at the air behind her tense haunches. Talons dug into the firm soil, testing the grip beneath her sore pads. A sharp cry was heard in the distance and the femme’s crania jerked to lift her muzzle to the heavens. Her pinnae pricked as they struggled to locate the source of the disturbance. Upon hearing no more, she simply blinked stupidly, her stance steady, but trembling slightly. Her labria barely moved as she muttered under her breath.
“‘Lo…? Could they be that close so soon?” Her vocals were hushed and shaking, but with a tingling excitement. A subtle grin was etched on her maw as she let loose a crazed chuckle. Orbs widened with false glee and a spark danced eagerly in her inflated pupil. Her muscles folded as she crouched lower still and the femora suddenly seemed to age greatly. Her whiskery snout and tattered ear seemed more prominent than ever and her scar glowed intensely with a pale pink hue. Her flabby jowls drew back to reveal large, uneven fangs, which were tainted a rusty-red colour from the blood of her last kill. The next time she spoke it was with harsh vocals, deep and wild, from far within her throat.
“Come on then, scum! Come have your sweet revenge…!”
At her words, a cackle of crows lifted from the treetops of a nearby copse. The great mass of dark wings, flapping madly to keep airborne, blocked out the sun, bathing the femora in shadow. It was as if the light had been extinguished, snuffed out like a dying candle flame.
As the sky cleared, so did the femme’s mind, bringing forth the brighter and returning her to near sanity.