For green_grrl
Number Eleven - Whimsy/ Reality
Look out! No-pack barks his warning even as the shelf of ice breaks and sends the human down, down, down into the deadly cold embrace of the water.
On the other side of the waterway, the human’s not-wolves raise their muzzles to the sky and give voice to mournful howls.
No-pack spits a lupine curse in their direction, digs his claws deep into the hard crusting of icy rime on the low beach and runs as fast as he can, ending his pell-mell charge with a leap that sends him shooting out over the ruffled surface of the salty water.
He crashes into the water, legs already kicking frantically, and tries to keep his head above the surface. Icy cold rushes around him and clatter-raps into his ears. The world goes soft and fuzzy. The human must’ve fallen in somewhere near here: the water is clotted and clogged with fragments of ice that bob around No-pack’s head, tapping against his flanks.
Something catches against one foot and No-pack reverses direction, swimming in a circle until he’s sure that the thing he’s batting between his forepaws is some part of the human. Taking a deep breath, No-pack plunges under the water, mouth open wide. Ignoring the agonizing dance of ice-and-salt-and-pain across his tongue, No-pack snaps his jaws shut on some of the human’s fur and pulls.
The human breaks through the surface and gasps in No-pack’s face, his breath a brief wash of warm across the half-wolf’s nose. Before he can sink again, No-pack seizes one of the human’s front legs, up near its body, in his mouth and begins propelling them towards the shore.
No-pack’s limbs are beginning to ache and burn like his nose and tongue and inside his ears, but the human seems to realise what he’s doing and starts kicking in a feeble fashion. An eternity and no time at all later, No-pack is standing on the snowy shore, trembling all over with cold and exhaustion. He looks down at the face of the human just as it blinks its eyes at him. It has the look about it like a young rabbit in the winter: thin and cold and not long for this world, so No-pack gives it a firm lick across its face.
You are not allowed to die, No-pack informs the human as he flops down, half on the human’s chest, half on the snow-scattered gravel.
No-pack ripples his lip as the human’s not-wolves slink towards him, but allows them to catch his scent before ordering to huddle with their leader, to give him their own warmth. Their whines and yips sound distant and like echoes and No-pack shakes his head from side to side before turning his head so that he can watch the human watch the sky.
Look out! No-pack barks his warning even as the shelf of ice breaks and sends the human down, down, down into the deadly cold embrace of the water.
On the other side of the waterway, the human’s not-wolves raise their muzzles to the sky and give voice to mournful howls.
No-pack spits a lupine curse in their direction, digs his claws deep into the hard crusting of icy rime on the low beach and runs as fast as he can, ending his pell-mell charge with a leap that sends him shooting out over the ruffled surface of the salty water.
He crashes into the water, legs already kicking frantically, and tries to keep his head above the surface. Icy cold rushes around him and clatter-raps into his ears. The world goes soft and fuzzy. The human must’ve fallen in somewhere near here: the water is clotted and clogged with fragments of ice that bob around No-pack’s head, tapping against his flanks.
Something catches against one foot and No-pack reverses direction, swimming in a circle until he’s sure that the thing he’s batting between his forepaws is some part of the human. Taking a deep breath, No-pack plunges under the water, mouth open wide. Ignoring the agonizing dance of ice-and-salt-and-pain across his tongue, No-pack snaps his jaws shut on some of the human’s fur and pulls.
The human breaks through the surface and gasps in No-pack’s face, his breath a brief wash of warm across the half-wolf’s nose. Before he can sink again, No-pack seizes one of the human’s front legs, up near its body, in his mouth and begins propelling them towards the shore.
No-pack’s limbs are beginning to ache and burn like his nose and tongue and inside his ears, but the human seems to realise what he’s doing and starts kicking in a feeble fashion. An eternity and no time at all later, No-pack is standing on the snowy shore, trembling all over with cold and exhaustion. He looks down at the face of the human just as it blinks its eyes at him. It has the look about it like a young rabbit in the winter: thin and cold and not long for this world, so No-pack gives it a firm lick across its face.
You are not allowed to die, No-pack informs the human as he flops down, half on the human’s chest, half on the snow-scattered gravel.
No-pack ripples his lip as the human’s not-wolves slink towards him, but allows them to catch his scent before ordering to huddle with their leader, to give him their own warmth. Their whines and yips sound distant and like echoes and No-pack shakes his head from side to side before turning his head so that he can watch the human watch the sky.