(no subject)
♢They are near. ♢
He emerges from the cave as the snow falls all around, thick fat flakes that catch in his wild hair and do not melt. He stands very still on the slick rock ledge, listening, scenting, casting out for trace of the enemy. The wind carries the distant reek of fear and death. He scowls. Filthy, pathetic creatures; they dare not approach, yet they linger at the fringes of the frozen wasteland and mutter to each other in their guttural tongue. Once he would never have allowed the ragged band of humans to ever set foot on clan territory. He recalls the old days when a mere five toed footprint in the snow would raise the alarm and his kin would gather on their snarling beasts, bows and bone knives clenched in slender hands. Standing in the snow, heedless of the flakes gathering on his shoulders and deerskin vest, he remembers the thrill of midnight raids with restless longing.
♢But that was before. ♢
Before the fire. Before the flight. Before they had been driven from their only home and scattered across the world of two moons. Rage flares like a hot coal in his chest. How foolish could those wretches be to burn the very forest which nourished every creature? What hateful madness could drive them to raze the very land they depended upon for their own food and shelter? He growls low in fury, hands clenching into fists. No number of long winters can ease his hunger for vengeance. As long as he lives he will hunt them down.
♢They will pay. By the High Ones, the humans will pay. ♢
A deeper, rounder howling separates itself from the crying of the wind. The keening melody is wordless yet he reads a wealth of knowledge in its cascading tones.
♢The pack, returning successful from the hunt. Good; at least they can track something in this blizzard. ♢
He throws his head back and responds with a low wail of his own. From within the white wall of snow pale shapes appear, slowly solidifying into the great shaggy beasts which are now his only family. Pink tongues lick at bloody muzzles and his own mouth waters at the thought of their fresh kill. The wolves greet him as their brother, pale skinned and two-legged though he is. He smells the same and his lips pull back to bare feral fangs; his eyes flash gold and his voice shapes words all of vowels. Though their memories are short and simple, the pack recalls there were others like this one, bonded kin who fought and ran and shared lives with them. Where he was once one of many, though, now he is the last.
♢Only us, now. But we are enough. We must be. ♢
Sensing the inconsolable loss, the wolves throw back their heads and join voices in a mournful call. Across the snowy expanse, the human tribe shivers and clings to makeshift spears.