Next little bit in my "reverse werewolf" thing—when I started I hadn't planned on going anywhere with it, but now that I've got my first fangrrl... ;}
It began here, continued on Day 12, and is, as usual, a rough draft. In other words, there's a reason for any crappiness. ^_^
***
Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
The pebbles shifted under his paws as he made his way downstream, away from the Pack. His leg was now blessedly numb, but the cold water was beginning to sap his strength; he could feel a clumsy heaviness in his limbs as he splashed through the water.
He felt a sense of urgency now. Clambering out onto the opposite bank, he left footprints in the mud and trampled the undergrowth. The spot wasn't far from where he'd entered the stream, leaving similar markings, and with any luck the hunter would notice.
Entering the water again, he moved upstream, past his first trail. He was shaking, staggering, but he kept on, following the stream around a bend. Once out of sight of the fake trail, he crawled back onto the bank and lay there panting. His leg throbbed painfully, and he wondered blearily if that was bone he could see next to a metal tooth.
He couldn't walk, only drag himself further into the bushes and away from the water. Finding a hollow he curled up awkwardly, the trap still biting into his flesh. He licked it feebly. The sky above was greying in the pre-dawn light, and he waited for the sun and its warmth.
The day passed in a daze. At times he was aware of the passing of hours, and at others he slipped in and out of awareness, finding the sun had moved across the sky in what seemed like minutes. Eventually it began to set, and he could feel the full moon in his bones. His nose itched, and he sneezed.
The change was quick; fur melted into skin, bones rearranged, his eyesight dimmed. He braved it without a sound, having done so many times before, but it was painful. His pelt itched like he'd been bitten all over by thousands of ants, and his bones felt as if they were breaking. Within a minute, though, it was over, and he uncurled himself.
He inspected his wrist; it was bleeding, and he put down his head to lick at the wound before remembering himself. In the dark he could just make out the trap mechanism, and with a bit of struggling he managed to remove his hand. He stood up unsteadily and held his hand to his chest, wincing as the movement jolted it. Squinting into the darkness he began to walk. In only a few meters he managed to stub his toe, walk into a branch, and practice several new swear words he'd learned the previous moon.
***
I'm beginning to think I should've named my pet werewolf. "He" is getting awfully repetitious...
Not sure about the description of the change. It seems rather anti-climatic, and not very descriptive, either.
Showing posts with label werewolf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label werewolf. Show all posts
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Day 12
Continued from Day 10. Sadly not very much today; I got a tad distracted by other things. (Bad eladnarra!) ^_^
***
But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
Gingerly he began to move, dragging the trap through the leaves. With every step pain jarred through his leg, and the weight of the metal trap was almost too much. He staggered to a stop, panting. The sound was loud in his ears, but there was something else—he cocked his head, and the gurgling babble of running water reaching his ears. If he made it to the water perhaps he could confuse the trail. It wouldn't work if the hunter had dogs with him, but a haze was already beginning to cloud his thoughts. The plan would have to do.
His progress was slow, but eventually he made it to the bank of the stream. The water was from the spring melt, and he stopped to take a drink; it slid down his throat in the way cold water does on a hot day. Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
***
[Edit: Continued tomorrow.]
***
But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
Gingerly he began to move, dragging the trap through the leaves. With every step pain jarred through his leg, and the weight of the metal trap was almost too much. He staggered to a stop, panting. The sound was loud in his ears, but there was something else—he cocked his head, and the gurgling babble of running water reaching his ears. If he made it to the water perhaps he could confuse the trail. It wouldn't work if the hunter had dogs with him, but a haze was already beginning to cloud his thoughts. The plan would have to do.
His progress was slow, but eventually he made it to the bank of the stream. The water was from the spring melt, and he stopped to take a drink; it slid down his throat in the way cold water does on a hot day. Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
***
[Edit: Continued tomorrow.]
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Day 10
A while back I had an idea for a story about werewolves which were only men under the light of the full moon, and wolves for the rest of the month. Maybe a bit silly, but I thought I'd mess around with the idea a bit. The first few paragraphs were written previously, but I edited them today and the rest is new. (I'm not stretching the guidelines, I swear!)
***
A lone wolf loped through the trees, gracefully maneuvering the rough terrain in just the light of the stars. His pace was loose and unhurried—with a full belly there was no need for hunting, not now. No, tonight was for exploring.
His gait slowed as he reached the edge of the forest and the trees began to thin; he came to a stop, sitting on his haunches alertly. His ears twitched to catch the faint sounds of cars on the new highway that drifted up from the valley below. Lifting his nose, he sensed the smog mingling with the fragrance of the pine needles crushed beneath his paws, and he bared his teeth to growl softly. The humans were moving farther up the mountain, farther into the Pack’s territory. There had always been hunters, but hunters could be tricked, outrun and outsmarted. But the developers didn’t hunt; they encroached. With their loud machinery that belched smoke into the air, they literally paved the way for the hoards of humans that followed. There were too many to fight, and the patches of forest they could retreat to were dwindling.
The wolf let out a huff of air and turned away from the highway. He began to run, perpendicular to the slope, his paws moving faster and faster. The ground moved quickly under him, and soon he came to the city. From the bluff he looked down on the starks lights of the skyscrapers and the glowing suburbs; the stars faded into a gray night sky. The sounds of wheels on tarmac were louder here, and a siren wailed in the distance. Compared the gentle quiet of the forest, it was deafening. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.
He didn't linger and melted back into the forest, leaving the humans and their noise and lights and smells. The Pack would soon wonder where he was, and Blackfoot would have his hide if he suspected he'd been so close. He could feel the moon begin to rise, hidden by the mountain; tomorrow it would be full. Maybe that was why he was so preoccupied, so lost in his thoughts that he missed the tracks on the ground and the unnatural patten of the leaves where they'd been disturbed.
The trap snapped around his foreleg. Hot pain shot up into his shoulder and he stifled a yelp. He could feel blood welling around the metal jaws. His instinct was to bite at the metal, to pull and fight and struggle, but he repressed it. Instead he looked for the anchor that chained the trap in place. He pawed at the ground around it, nudging the metal spike with his nose. Slowly it came loose, and after what seemed like an age it was free from the dirt.
His breath was coming in heavy pants now, and he licked carefully around the throbbing wound. He had to get away before the hunter returned in the morning. But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 12.]
***
A lone wolf loped through the trees, gracefully maneuvering the rough terrain in just the light of the stars. His pace was loose and unhurried—with a full belly there was no need for hunting, not now. No, tonight was for exploring.
His gait slowed as he reached the edge of the forest and the trees began to thin; he came to a stop, sitting on his haunches alertly. His ears twitched to catch the faint sounds of cars on the new highway that drifted up from the valley below. Lifting his nose, he sensed the smog mingling with the fragrance of the pine needles crushed beneath his paws, and he bared his teeth to growl softly. The humans were moving farther up the mountain, farther into the Pack’s territory. There had always been hunters, but hunters could be tricked, outrun and outsmarted. But the developers didn’t hunt; they encroached. With their loud machinery that belched smoke into the air, they literally paved the way for the hoards of humans that followed. There were too many to fight, and the patches of forest they could retreat to were dwindling.
The wolf let out a huff of air and turned away from the highway. He began to run, perpendicular to the slope, his paws moving faster and faster. The ground moved quickly under him, and soon he came to the city. From the bluff he looked down on the starks lights of the skyscrapers and the glowing suburbs; the stars faded into a gray night sky. The sounds of wheels on tarmac were louder here, and a siren wailed in the distance. Compared the gentle quiet of the forest, it was deafening. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.
He didn't linger and melted back into the forest, leaving the humans and their noise and lights and smells. The Pack would soon wonder where he was, and Blackfoot would have his hide if he suspected he'd been so close. He could feel the moon begin to rise, hidden by the mountain; tomorrow it would be full. Maybe that was why he was so preoccupied, so lost in his thoughts that he missed the tracks on the ground and the unnatural patten of the leaves where they'd been disturbed.
The trap snapped around his foreleg. Hot pain shot up into his shoulder and he stifled a yelp. He could feel blood welling around the metal jaws. His instinct was to bite at the metal, to pull and fight and struggle, but he repressed it. Instead he looked for the anchor that chained the trap in place. He pawed at the ground around it, nudging the metal spike with his nose. Slowly it came loose, and after what seemed like an age it was free from the dirt.
His breath was coming in heavy pants now, and he licked carefully around the throbbing wound. He had to get away before the hunter returned in the morning. But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 12.]
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