The Good Life

[Tor Lupinus]

((Closed to Fenris))

When the sun came through my window this morning, it seemed to wash over me in a blur. With my windows low set off the east wall, it always crept in early, but today seemed to be an exceptionally early one. The bright red light stings, and just as sure as the rooster crows, the workday begins and I’m up on my feet.

Time waits for no man. Unfortunately, it doesn’t wait for any kitsune (or lycanthrope, hybrid, furry, or any other name you’d like to call me) either. Stretching briefly, a shake knocks off the morning crust. A quick glass of milk and a half dozen eggs later, and I was ready to hit the fields.

It was a pleasant, warm morning, the type that usually comes before those oppressive, miserable afternoons. The boy, Tal, wouldn’t be much of a delay. He hit the fields less than twenty minutes after me. A little straw hat, beaten gray overalls, and he was the perfect scaled model of his old man.

Which couldn’t make me happier, at least in the summer.

Come fall, he’ll be off to school with his sister, and I’ll miss him. For now, I need and enjoy his help. Tilling the fields is hard work, but his tiny frame gives a hell of a fight. Hearing his little chirps this morning kept me moving hard, pressing on, and gritting my teeth in spite of the fatigue in my arms and legs.

“Let’s go old man! You’re gonna need to move a little faster with that wheelbarrow – I’m filling up here!” The high pitched barbs came in as he walked towards me with arms full of long, green weeds. It’s funny how the damnedest things can grow in spite of opposition. They just work and spread their roots, grow good and strong, and then we rip them out at the roots and force them to start over.

Looking over the fields at the horizon, I saw the profile of Radasanth in the distance, still blackened by the lack of sun but beginning to take on the sun’s orange hue. So big, so much money, and all the luxuries of sleeping in, knocking out pitiful 8 hour days, and complaining about being tired from the labor of sliding a pencil across a desk.

While a part of me could relate with the weeds, I wouldn’t complain. The sun was shining, the work was getting done, and my boy was laughing like a fool at his old man getting a tuft of fur caught in a rogue rose bramble. It wouldn’t be long until the soft scent of fried pork fat would waft from my lovely home across the field, and my wife and daughter would save me the biggest slice of bacon with lunch. Life was good.

And if I could beat my son to the house in time for that big slice of bacon, life would be even better.

[Fenris]

((sorry I'm so late!))
((Continued from Thirty-Six Moons (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=4276) and the Althanaversary Tournament))


Blackness, blackness, hooks and claws…

The fangs of the brush and the trees tore at his skin. They ripped and shredded until blood ran free—and yet the wolf ran.

His legs pummeled the earth in desperation, trying with all their might to escape the memory, the past, the truth that lay inescapably upon him. His soul was chained and could not be freed.

The moon was setting. It was barely visible, in fact, letting dashes of chalky light through the myriad of trunks and vines and leaves.

That horrible half-eye moon…

His blood ran free. The forest clutched at his flesh and tore it away, for his punishment had not yet been enough, and his fur laid plastered red against his body.

And he ran.

Tears mingled in the red-slicked fur. It had not been enough. He had died and died again, time and time again, so many and so many times…

And she was not here.

And she was not here.

And she was gone.

And she was not here.

And his legs pummeled harder against the earth and brush and floor of the forest, and the vigor of the trees as they tore him renewed, and the chalky half-eye moon stared vacantly over the pathetic wolf-creature as it ran.

For she was not here.

She was not here.

She was gone.


~ \ | / ~

The barks and bays of the hounds echoed through the pre-dawn grayish haze that consumed the woods of Sulgoran's Axe. Beat after beat, stride after stride, still he ran and ran and ran…

And all he could smell was blood. It was all over his arms, his torso.

Her blood. The hunter’s blood. Blood he wished desperately was his.

And the barks and the bays drew closer…

~ / | \ ~


Time had ceased. Whether it had died, or stopped, or simply given up trying to heal the wolf’s wounds, it was gone as well, and the slow and mournful march of the stars across the sky was lost to the runner as he tore through Concordia.

He never stopped, he never slowed, the blood and tears never ceased to flow. There was nothing now. There was nothing. He had given his life again and again—

And yet, he hadn’t. The blades flashed at his hips, mocking his fronts of noble sacrifice. For in the Citadel’s every arena as steel had pierced his heart, there was no sacrifice, for each and every time he knew that anything he gave would be returned to him as before. He had told her, vowed upon the moon, that he would gladly die for her…

But the blades told him it was a lie.

They dared him. They urged him. They commanded him to take them up and plunge them through his chest—

And he ran and he ran and he tore through the woods, because he knew, he knew, he knew that he couldn’t. And he ran and he ran and he tore through the woods, because he prayed to the gods that the trees would rip him limb for limb and let him die…

He wanted to die so badly, and yet it scared him soulless.

I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m so, so…

Faded gray and glimmers of gold grew in the east.


~ \ | / ~

The hounds were almost on him now.

His legs were dying, giving up. The sun was rising, the east was growing bright. He had run through all the darkened hours, and he couldn’t continue on—and soon the hunters would be upon him, craving vengeance for their slain companion. They were monsters…slaying innocent creatures for sport and fur, and full of fury when one of their own was felled…

But it didn’t matter now.

His paw caught a loose stone and pitched him forward, face first into a shallow stream, and the waters swept through his plastered fur…

And the stream ran red.

And his tears flowed stronger than the current of the river, and he rolled onto his back and screamed.

The hounds were almost on him now.

~ / | \ ~


Palest blue and cold amber crept over the mountains. His legs were dying, giving up. He had run all through the night…his heart felt like it might burst…

The trees parted, and he rushed and rushed through rows and rows of barley and wheat, and ahead the shadow of a little house…

His legs were dying, giving up. His heart was broken and pushed to bursting…

His paw caught a loose stone and pitched him forward, face first into the shallow dust. The weeds were smeared with blood.

Blackness, blackness...

[Tor Lupinus]

A good, ole’ fashioned footrace was always a blast. When Caella rang the dinner bell, we had sort of a religiously serious race to the house. Of course, the boy got a head start, but I passed him quickly, with only 200 yards to go to the door. I wouldn’t dare look back – the day was coming soon when that young man would be faster than me, and I didn’t want that day to be this one.

Instead, I sprinted on, cutting through the thick berry hedges that Caella grew on the outskirts of the home. One of the luxuries of owning this much land was that she could enjoy a luxurious garden. I knew that the boy would take the wider path, looping around the hedges to the corner of the wheat field. Despite a trip that I was happy no one saw, I would still quite easily win the race.

“To the victor, the spoils!” I gloated like a child when I hit the door. The first bite of bacon was delicious, and slid down my throat like ambrosia. Caella laughed at me, but pause came when the boy didn’t turn the corner at the edge of the hedges.

Five… six seconds? He never takes this long.

“Probably a faked injury.” My offer to the wife was likely, the losing competitor claiming a limp wheel that slowed him. He’d have a terrific story, something hilarious, and I’d give him a quick whack on the back of the head for scaring his mother. I hopped down the steps, cleared a shred of bacon from between a hard white fang, and strolled over to the wheatfield.

The berry bushes were tall, as tall as a man, and when I turned the corner from the tight-trimmed row, the hedge displayed my boy. Tal was hunched, looking at something, a splotch of red in the wheat. Something had died here last night, it seemed, and from the path he cut through the wheat, he had simply crashed.

“Dad, Dad! Come here! Hurry” the boy’s enthusiasm was annoying enough, but certainly genuine. I walked over to find something I’d never seen before. A massive wolf, long and powerful, breathing lightly in the wheat. He was caked in a combination of mud and blood and everything else.

“Go, Tal. Go to the house. Get my sickle and some water. GO!”

The boy hopped off with speed as I pressed a fur-laden palm on the chest of the dying animal. He was hurting, alright, and I tried to console him as he went away. I would help him go peacefully, and I would make it quick.

”It’s alright, my friend. Just relax. Just relax.”

[Fenris]

There was a haze that lay between waking and sleeping--a veil of shadows between those who live and those who are about to die.

Frozen, stiff, like soft, solid stone. His arms, his legs, his fists...cramped, blazing with hollow, muddled fire, bound to the earth by gravity far greater than their weight. Even still...how long had he...heart was beating, beating...pounding eardrums...couldn't stop from breathing...shallow, stabbing, futile breaths that wheezed like wind through sheaves of wheat.

Was he...awake? Alive? Dreaming of life, awakening to death...?

Shapes and shadows...long had danced, moved, formed and unformed and dripped like thick oil...shapes...face...smells of iron and pungent dust, and fur, and fruit, and gristle and pork...

Shapes...faces...hushing and murmuring of breezes through stalks, whispers of spirits and demons and watchers...

A voice...

Was he...awake? Alive? Dreaming of life, awakening to death...?

A touch...

A paw upon his chest...and shadows, faces...eyes...kind, brown eyes of amber and rich, deep earth...

Was he...awake?

Shallow, futile breaths...whispering, wheezing, as winds through sheaves of winter wheat...

Please...

"Please..." A faintest sound, a softest plea...

Help me die...

"Help..."

[Tor Lupinus]

The wolf in the reeds was big. Much larger than anything I had seen, yet it lacked the familiar structure of typical furries. It heaved, it breathed, it gasped and it spoke. It begged for help, and while I had initially thought that he was beyond repair, a certain degree of mercy spread through me. He wasn’t just another wolf. Something was wrong, as I looked longer. He had a different sort of structure, legs not quite the right lengths, a certain uneven nature to them. Perhaps he did have a bit of that human blood in him.

“Pop, here…” the voice of the boy was soft and underspoken. Tal didn’t wish to make light of so dire a situation. I had raised the lad to have some class, and at some point later I’d be proud of him.

For now, I splashed a little water over the face of the downed beast, cleaning the collected, hardened mud and blood away from his eyes and snout. As I brushed my hands over his face, his jowels spread to expose those teeth. The teeth of a wolf never fail to look menacing, no matter how benign his eyes and heart may be.

“Easy, pal. Easy. Drink up.”

I put the water bowl by his face, the cool water likely refreshing in the summer heat. I held it steady, thinking that if he moved quickly to drink he’d likely knock it over, wasting everything.

His wounds looked bad. Several long scratches and gouges across the belly. Paws mangled and tired looking. He needed care.

You gonna bring this big killer into the home of your children? Have you lost your mind?

I didn’t have a choice. He would die out here, untreated, of infection or predator attack. Something would come to claim a nice big meal on the defenseless body. Whatever that something was – well, I guess I didn’t want them around the kids anymore than this wolf.

“Tal. Head inside and care for mom. Tell her we’ll need bandages, more water, and some blankets. I will be in shortly; I don’t know if this fellow can walk.”

The boy chirped quickly in agreement before running inside, and I stooped lower to deal with the new arrival. The sun was hot as hell now on my fur, and I imagined that were I wounded or fatigued like this wolf, it would be much worse.

Suddenly, that wonderful bacon aroma was miles from my mind.

[Fenris]

A crash of ice broke upon the haze. He felt something on his face--something like ice, like freezing fire, and then a weight...something pulling, moving his skin, his muzzle. A paw?

A few drops of fire dripped onto his tongue.

His eyes dilated. Suddenly his whole body tensed. No, no, just let me go... But it wouldn't listen. Every muscle went rigid and thrust his head forward, and his tongue shot out into the bowl like a crazed snake. Out, in, out, in, it shoveled draught after draught of ice into his torrid throat.

Don't...I don't want to wake up...

The cold crept into his stomach, and then he felt nauseous. The haze was parting, no longer shielding him from the flaring pain, the fiery heat. He moaned, and nearly wretched. His vision was clearing, and he looked up into brown eyes, framed with fur. He could barely move--it took all his strength to move just his tongue.

"Who...who are you?"

The sun blazed over the creature's shoulder. It made him sick, it kept him from breathing...everything smelled of the bite of dust...and in the heat, his vision started to flicker again.

((sorry for my absence))

[Tor Lupinus]

He looked exhausted – wiped out and damned near dead. I was surprised when his head turned to me without fear or malice. Being that close – that near dead, I suppose he must have just put his faith in me. It made enough sense, I guess – there weren’t too many options afforded him.

It’s ok, pal. I’m here, I’ll take care of you now. You’re safe.

His words came through a muffled, half-strangled throat. He wanted to know where I was, where he was, who I was. It made sense. Maybe there was a little logical fear in there, and it was a relief to hear it. He was weak, but he was speaking. That was a good sign.

“My name is Tor.” I wanted to be forthright and easy to hear, easy to understand. “You’re at my farm, here outside the forest of Concordia.” His chest was heaving now, he was struggling. Could I try to move him?

I’d have to try. The wolf began to drink the water, and we happily fed it to the felled wolf, who lazily lapped up a few mouthfuls. My big, furry arms swept under him, and I gingerly supported him at the shoulder and the waist. He was very big, and very heavy.

”Easy fella. Easy…”

I lifted him very slowly, very gently. Any broken bones would be very fragile, any soreness susceptible to injury. The sun was pulling high, though, and I couldn’t very well leave him here. Tal was coming back out now, with blankets under one arm and another large bowl of water in the other arm. His short, blondish fur shined brightly, like the large eyes that lit up widely above his snout. I motioned him back, and he held open the door. He was a very good boy.

And so, I carried the strange wolf into the house amongst my family. It worried me that I may be endangering them, but it was the right thing to do. It was the good thing to do. A large parcel of hardwood was covered with blankets, and we carefully lay him down to rest.