Post by ƒrФ§тƒire on Feb 19, 2008 10:25:24 GMT -5
This is a very evil story. Just heads up. It starts out kind of sad, but it'll pick up. I'll let y'all figure out the topic.
Chapter One - Fang
The still twilight gave no warning to the pack. They never scented the danger, never saw it coming. Although they slept sparsely, in periodic measures, it was an inevitable fate. The killing ended quickly, of course, without enough intervals for the cries to be heard. Of course, when it ended, there were no more left.
So they thought.
But how would they know about the lone wolf, barely more than a child? It had been hidden well, protected by the body of its own mother as she fell, bleeding crimson rage and regret. She sheltered the pup that night, the last night that the moon was full.
The next morning, he had no choice but to shift forms, into the body of a human child. His wide eyes, so innocent of death, were clouded with remorse and anger. As a human, his irises were golden, with an underlying tint of red, making them appear more of amber in color. His pupils were long, slender slits, like an animal’s, though not necessarily of the wolf breed. As the sunlight beat down upon his young, painfully thin frame, his hair remained a raven black. Yet he was well aware, come night and the waning moon, that his hair would go white, like captured moonlight.
Every night the moon waxed, or grew in size, he became a wolf-child. His irises would become bright red, when his thirst for human blood was strongest, and he preferred staying in his wolf form over his human one. Once the two days of Full Moon rolled around, he became a wolf for the full day, even during daylight. Even if he had wanted to change into his other form, he could not.
As the sunlight grew stronger, striking the pale, snowy fur of his mother’s body, he finally stood and left his shelter. Kneeling once more, as he walked into the open, he stroked the wolf’s fur with the palm of his hand. It was thick with winter, matted in a few areas, and it still held her scent. Of course, were the boy not a wolf, he would have cried. Then again, were he not a wolf, he wouldn’t have been in the predicament he faced to start off with.
Abruptly, the wolf faded and became the body of a rather young woman. Her hair darkened from white to black, strands falling in her closed eyes. Her skin was pale underneath her healthy tan from lack of blood, and her slender fingers, the nails resembling claws, were completely limp when her son took one of her hands into his own.
“I failed you,” he whispered, his voice the guttural sounds of the wolf’s growl. “I am so sorry, mother.”
The wind picked up behind him, and the boy started. Her scent, far stronger, drifted from behind him, and he whirled around, foolishly expecting her to stand there. The clearing was empty, much to his vast disappointment, and the scent was already fading. Yet, if he strained to listen, he could hear the faintest echo of the voice he ached to hear.
Shikon.
The boy shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the day, as his mother breathed his name to him one last time. Fang. Shikon recalled what his mother would do in such a situation—despite how much she grieved, she would first care for the others. He lifted his head and looked around at the now-human bodies of his fallen packmates.
One by one, he went to them, touching the soft skin of the faces and whispering their names. None of the wolves answered, like he had known they wouldn’t, and finally, he admitted that he was completely alone. No wolf would come to him. Shikon had to go on alone.
He set off that very day. It did him no good to sit around and sulk. Wolves led a hard life. You either killed or got killed, and it wasn't a huge thing if you were unfortunate enough to be slain. His heart was extremely bitter that day, filled with fury and grief for his mother's death, but what could he do? Nothing could bring her back. He could just avenge the death once he became a wolf and tracked down the hunters who had killed her in cold blood.
A new scent struck him, and he froze warily. His appearance alone was enough to give away his true identity as a wolf. No human could honestly justify to not noticing his eyes, fingernails, or large canines.
"Hello?" called the human, and Shikon relaxed. It was a girl, a young human with much more growing to do.
"Hello," he replied, less cautiously than the girl before him.
She came into view a moment later, and Shikon was taken aback. She wore leggings, like he'd seen human males do, and a shirt stained by travel and blood. Her hair had been braided back at one point, but it had rebelliously fallen loose of its hold. She looked at him calmly, surveying his appearance, and put a hand on the hilt of a dagger carried at her left hip.
"Well. What do we have here?"
"A peaceful traveler," Shikon lied, not wanting any conflict.
She nodded slowly. "Right. And does this peaceful traveler have a name?"
"Shikon," he said, and regretted it instantly. What kind of a wolf went around blurting out his actual name? She'd know it was odd. It meant 'fang', for the gods' sakes!
The girl smiled thinly. "Looks like at least one wolf escaped the massacre. Any others?"
"No," he snarled bitterly, his voice lasping into the more familiar snarls and growls of a wolf. "Your kind destroyed my family and killed my mother." But what good was it to tell her? He could exact revenge on the humans, not while the moon was fading.
She looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I've already taken care of them." She gestured at her shirt. "I won't tell you what happened, exactly, but they won't bother you anymore. My name is Kane."
Shikon nodded warily. "You don't want to kill me?" he asked finally.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We'll see. Come on," she said, and started off in a random direction.
He blinked after her, and slowly followed.
Chapter One - Fang
The still twilight gave no warning to the pack. They never scented the danger, never saw it coming. Although they slept sparsely, in periodic measures, it was an inevitable fate. The killing ended quickly, of course, without enough intervals for the cries to be heard. Of course, when it ended, there were no more left.
So they thought.
But how would they know about the lone wolf, barely more than a child? It had been hidden well, protected by the body of its own mother as she fell, bleeding crimson rage and regret. She sheltered the pup that night, the last night that the moon was full.
The next morning, he had no choice but to shift forms, into the body of a human child. His wide eyes, so innocent of death, were clouded with remorse and anger. As a human, his irises were golden, with an underlying tint of red, making them appear more of amber in color. His pupils were long, slender slits, like an animal’s, though not necessarily of the wolf breed. As the sunlight beat down upon his young, painfully thin frame, his hair remained a raven black. Yet he was well aware, come night and the waning moon, that his hair would go white, like captured moonlight.
Every night the moon waxed, or grew in size, he became a wolf-child. His irises would become bright red, when his thirst for human blood was strongest, and he preferred staying in his wolf form over his human one. Once the two days of Full Moon rolled around, he became a wolf for the full day, even during daylight. Even if he had wanted to change into his other form, he could not.
As the sunlight grew stronger, striking the pale, snowy fur of his mother’s body, he finally stood and left his shelter. Kneeling once more, as he walked into the open, he stroked the wolf’s fur with the palm of his hand. It was thick with winter, matted in a few areas, and it still held her scent. Of course, were the boy not a wolf, he would have cried. Then again, were he not a wolf, he wouldn’t have been in the predicament he faced to start off with.
Abruptly, the wolf faded and became the body of a rather young woman. Her hair darkened from white to black, strands falling in her closed eyes. Her skin was pale underneath her healthy tan from lack of blood, and her slender fingers, the nails resembling claws, were completely limp when her son took one of her hands into his own.
“I failed you,” he whispered, his voice the guttural sounds of the wolf’s growl. “I am so sorry, mother.”
The wind picked up behind him, and the boy started. Her scent, far stronger, drifted from behind him, and he whirled around, foolishly expecting her to stand there. The clearing was empty, much to his vast disappointment, and the scent was already fading. Yet, if he strained to listen, he could hear the faintest echo of the voice he ached to hear.
Shikon.
The boy shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the day, as his mother breathed his name to him one last time. Fang. Shikon recalled what his mother would do in such a situation—despite how much she grieved, she would first care for the others. He lifted his head and looked around at the now-human bodies of his fallen packmates.
One by one, he went to them, touching the soft skin of the faces and whispering their names. None of the wolves answered, like he had known they wouldn’t, and finally, he admitted that he was completely alone. No wolf would come to him. Shikon had to go on alone.
He set off that very day. It did him no good to sit around and sulk. Wolves led a hard life. You either killed or got killed, and it wasn't a huge thing if you were unfortunate enough to be slain. His heart was extremely bitter that day, filled with fury and grief for his mother's death, but what could he do? Nothing could bring her back. He could just avenge the death once he became a wolf and tracked down the hunters who had killed her in cold blood.
A new scent struck him, and he froze warily. His appearance alone was enough to give away his true identity as a wolf. No human could honestly justify to not noticing his eyes, fingernails, or large canines.
"Hello?" called the human, and Shikon relaxed. It was a girl, a young human with much more growing to do.
"Hello," he replied, less cautiously than the girl before him.
She came into view a moment later, and Shikon was taken aback. She wore leggings, like he'd seen human males do, and a shirt stained by travel and blood. Her hair had been braided back at one point, but it had rebelliously fallen loose of its hold. She looked at him calmly, surveying his appearance, and put a hand on the hilt of a dagger carried at her left hip.
"Well. What do we have here?"
"A peaceful traveler," Shikon lied, not wanting any conflict.
She nodded slowly. "Right. And does this peaceful traveler have a name?"
"Shikon," he said, and regretted it instantly. What kind of a wolf went around blurting out his actual name? She'd know it was odd. It meant 'fang', for the gods' sakes!
The girl smiled thinly. "Looks like at least one wolf escaped the massacre. Any others?"
"No," he snarled bitterly, his voice lasping into the more familiar snarls and growls of a wolf. "Your kind destroyed my family and killed my mother." But what good was it to tell her? He could exact revenge on the humans, not while the moon was fading.
She looked genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I've already taken care of them." She gestured at her shirt. "I won't tell you what happened, exactly, but they won't bother you anymore. My name is Kane."
Shikon nodded warily. "You don't want to kill me?" he asked finally.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We'll see. Come on," she said, and started off in a random direction.
He blinked after her, and slowly followed.
