The Windwalkers may no longer have Wolf Friends, but they still have the Blood. This story is set in Starlight's Holt, many years after is death. ElfQuest belongs to Wendy and Richard Pini, but the Windwalkers belong to me. For more information on the Windwalkers, visit my homepage (one of many) - http://members.nbci.com/Sharna" Come here if you are confused!.
Jester
The golden wolf pup lay amongst his siblings, feeling comfortable in their warmth, burying himself in the impenetrating lupine smell. The smell of comfort, the smell of home. His infantile blue eyes sleepily watched his eldest sister wrestle with his brother, her leaping on the smaller pup and pulling at his tail and ears. The den was warm, comfortable, the place where his mother had brought him milk. He staggered sleepily to his feet as he sensed she had returned. All four of the pups bounded from the small den, awake now. The biggest bitch made it through the narrow entrance first, begging and licking at her mother's face to encourage her to regugitate for her. The other two pups mobbed her excitedly. The golden pup lingered back, unwilling to barge through the crowd. He was thinner than the others, owing to his submissive nature. The other pups bullied him or ignored him. His tail was a tattered rag from where his eldest sister had exercised her teeth on it. One ear was ragged from when his brother had pulled on it during play. They sensed there was something wrong with him, something different, something that did not belong with the pack.
*
His father snarled at him, lips drawn back. The golden wolf, now a leggy youngster, his eyes now an orange-gold colour, drew back, bowing his head and lowering his tail in a submissive fashion. But his father would have nothing to do with it. The adult wolf nipped at the young golden pup, his teeth closing on the youngster's flanks and nape. Drawing blood. The golden wolf whimpered in pain, springing away. It had been this way since the pups had began to venture forth from their den and frolic with the pack. None of them would accept him, they sensed there was something wrong with him, something different. He tried very hard to make them accept him, he was submissive to them all, he brought them gifts of food, tried to show them places he found fun and exciting - like the mudslide down by the river. But they did not seem to care, just bit him, nipped at him. All the other wolves seemed to care about was learning to hunt, playing in a purposeful fashion and, it seemed, bullying him. He ran away whimpering, the older wolf snapping at his hindquaters for several feet. The golden wolf bounded away, through the thick undergrowth, seeking his place, his special place. He would never try and lead his pack to this place, for it was the only place where he could escape their torments. Especially that of the yearling female he hated the most - a huge tawny bitch that attacked him everytime she saw him. He found his way easily to the tiny glade where he came to be alone. Nothing more than a tiny clearing, the easiest way in blocked by deadfall. Somebody had been here, the smell of wolf impenetrated his nostrils, the sickly odour of a bitch,a familiar bitch... The yearling female exploded through the tiny hole, dead fall showering everywhere. The golden wolf yelped in pain, trying viguorously to back pedal as she barged into him, sending him tumbling backwards into a patch of weed. And he knew it then. He knew he was going to die. Wolves were animals, and thus should have no concept ofdeath, yet this youngster knew he was doomed and he was frightened.
The fight was brief, but exceptionally painful. The bitch was not about to relent easily. But the golden wolf suprised himself, and his much older sibling. Perhaps it was the fear of death that startled him into action, or perhaps it was the anger of his sister's action, but the youngster clawed and bit, and struggled free. Although bleeding from his neck and just behind one ear, he ran like he had never run before. The older bitch followed, her blood rage heightened. She would not let him get away alive this time.
Suddenly the young wolf found himself at the edge of a precipace. It gaped before him like a vicious maw. Behind a more vicious maw came, the saliva glistening canine teeth reaching for his neck. Wanting nothing better than to taste of his blood. There was nothing more to it. The golden wolf ran back towards his sibling, snarling and snapping at her in a menacing fashion and the minute she turned on him he spun about and ran as fast as he could towards the precipace. His sister was close on his tail, her hungry breath hot on his rump. At the last instant he sprang, paws clearing the ledge he shot through space. He hit the far side of the crevasse in a spray of dirt. Without looking back, he continued to run. The blood poured down his shoulders, caking in his golden red fur. He had just left his home territory, his family, was becoming a lone wolf, an outcast. A wolf without a pack was a very pitiful wolf indeed.
*
For many moons the lone wolf wandered. His fur began to lose its sheen, became caked with dirt and blood and he had not the strength of mind to clean it off. His shoulder became infected from his older sibling's bites, every step he took was ultimate agony. The burning pain was reduced to aching numbness. Ribs almost protuded beneath his scruffy golden red fur, as it they were striving to break free of the captivity of his body. But the outcast did not care. Nothing mattered anymore, he was alone, so alone, a wolf with no place in the world. A wolf with just too much elf-blood and not enough wolf. His orange eyes lost their mischevious sheen, became dull and glassy. He had hardly eaten, hardly bothered to. Only when a small rodent or lagomorph exploded from beneath his feet would he make any attempt to catch them, and even then his efforts bore little fruit. The world went past him in a hazy blur. He was starving, wounded, dying...
*
Eventually hunger overcame the wolf's depressed state. He had to eat, had to eat or die, he was now stuck on pure instinct. As the golden-red wolf hobbled his way through the ancient trees, rising around him like silent sentinels, he scented the air, on an endless quest for food. Even this was ineffectual, and the heavily wounded wolf only discovered the near scentless deer fawn when he practically stepped on it, as it lay in the ground. The blood-lust rose in him, as the frightened, newborn fawn tried to stagger to its feet and make a vague attempt at escape. As ill as he was, the young wolf was slower than normal, and as he sprang on the fawn it squealed. He was about to close his jaws tight about the tiny creature's neck when a stabbing pain shot through his already injured side. Something large and hard had hit him. Releasing his grip he rolled aside from the fawn, which struggled to its feet and ran clumsily away. The pain almost overwelmed him and for a moment his mind flashed black. The narrow face and gentle brown eyes of a doe stared down on him as she prepared again to kick him with her front hooves. To defend her baby. The wolf tried to crawl back, pain stabbing through him like hot lead, as the mother deer, her only instinct to protect her young, kicked him again and again. After a while, realising the predator was a threat no more,she trotted away, her fawn close behind her, its dappled coat rendering it almost invisible against the foliage.
The wolf, battered and bleeding, only managed to crawl a few feet before his vision was overcome by a thick, pulsating red mist. Only one thought formed in his pain-numbed mind, a thought even he, with his elfblood, could not fathom. A name perhaps. **Raya**.
*
Sparrow had gone to the ground, so to speak. In the ancient, enormous trees above, her siblings and flock-mates were playing an exuberant gameof Taial sticks. The game had been proceeding for not a very long time, yet already Sparrow had been tagged five times. "I'm no good at this," the young elf thought. She had never been popular with the other fledglings, was always the quiet, shy one who did not belong. Even her name displayed her plainness. Sparrow, a name to match her dull brown wings and mousy hair. Sparrow, a name with implications of lack of intelligence, scatterbrainedness. The elf child, little more than 7 springs old, did not consider herself scatterbrained, but she was decidingly less athletic than the others of her age. Above her, in the branches, she could hear her companions, her age-mates laughing as they glided or leapt from branch to branch. She ran her hand through her hair. Such dull hair. So plain, a mere mousy brown with a few golden strands. She wished she could play with her agemates, be their equal, but she always seemed to fail. Somehow, her ambushes alway resulted in her being the one tagged, her gliding landings were clumsy, the breaking branchesalerting everything in the vicinity to her presence. Making her the perfect target. She sighed, feeling alone, so alone, forgotten. She wondered what would happen if when dusk fall she failed to return home. Probably nothing. They would probably forget her as easily as if she had never existed. It was not as if she had any skills, she could not weave, or dye leather with anything more than the most amateurish of skill. She was broken by her reverie by a sending. A strange, almost pained sending, so weak and strange that she could barely identify it for what it was and certainly not as any of her flock. It was her soulname **Raya**, nothing more, nothing less, and the thought chilled her spine. No one knew her soul name, those who could know it, her parents, were lost or dead having vanished on a hunt four springs ago. And whatever it was that sent to her was not elf but something different. Something more feral. She stood up, stretching her wing-arms that were cramped from sitting so long in quiet contemplation. The sending was difficult to follow, for it was weak, feeble and very alien. The brambles were thick, clawing their way through her thin leather skirt and tunic. Above her the laughter slowly grew quieter, vanished, as though she were walking further into a blanket of mist. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the twittering of birds in the boughs above.
She had walked quite a distance from the glade she had first gone to ground, when she startled a small doe and her tiny fawn. The deer leapt away through the bush, white tail flashing like a signal. The tiny fawn struggled to keep up with its mother, and Sparrow had to laugh as the tiny spotted creature leapt clumsily over the fallen branches to disappear in the thick bushes that covered the land.
The sending came again, and it was more distinct this time, although no stronger. A feeble call, almost like a call for help. **Raya**. What was it that knew her name? Although nervous, Sparrow's curiousity won out and she pushed her way further through the foliage.
The sunlight shone through a tiny gap in the canopy. Its noon rays reflecting off something that lay in the foliage. From where Sparrow stood, it appeared to be some sort of animal, something with dirty golden-red fur. It was barely moving, the only percevible motion the slight rising of its sides. She hastened towards it, sensing it was harmless, sensing it was calling her. As she approached it she realised it was a relatively large carnivore, a wolf. Her elders had spoken of these creatures, of how her people used to live with them as her kind now lived with the large eagles of the forest. Its tail wearily bet against the ground, stirring up a slight amount of dirt. She crouched down beside it, and saw that the wolf was badly injured.
One orange eye opened, glazed with pain and the onset of death. **Raya** the wolf sent to her once more, but no longer was she frightened. This creature, this beautiful lupine, could not die, she could noit let him. She caressed his side with her hand, feeling the broken ribs that had somehow not punctured the lungs. Under her gentle touch the wolf wagged his tail harder, tried to lift his head. He fought the pain for a few moments then sank back down, whimpering in such a pitiful way. Sparrow could feel his pain, the broken ribs were almost like black fire, tendrils that wrapped around his organs, threatening to destroy them at the slightest movement. The infection in his shoulder was an ugly green flame, scolding deep into his flesh and spreading throughout his blood. Sparrow knew not exactly she was doing, but she had to remove that pain somehow, to draw out the black flames, the black flames that would kill him soon, even before the hunger and infection took full action. She placed both hands over his wounded ribs, willing the flames to leave his body. A sudden fever overwelmed her and she almost fell over onto the wolf, only by closing her eyes tightly and gritting her teeth did she manage to keep consciousness. The tendrils, she could feel the black tendrils disipiating, coiling away from the wounded ribs, coiling upwards and into her hands. Sudden revulsion overwelmed her, and she barely turned away from the wolf in time before she vomitted into the dirt and collapsed, exhausted, fallnig beside the golden-red wolf.
When Sparrow awoke the sky had clouded over. The beautiful sunny day replaced by roiling grey clouds. She could remember the wolf, the wolf that knew her soul-name, but it seemed like a dream to her. She pried open her light grey eyes, as plain as her name and was somewhat surprised to find herself lying in the mossy dirt. She felt lightheaded, vaguely feverish.
**Raya?** The sending was familiar, but much stronger, and she rolled over to find herself staring into the intense, bright orange eyes of a golden coloured wolf with red brindling. The wolf had somehow shifted so that he was lying on his belly. Sudden worry crossed Sparrow's mind, he had broken ribs, he should be dying by now, after that sort of effort. She looked at him.**Raya make new pain go**. He sent, opening his mouth into a canine grin. His great pink tongue lolling. **Raya make old pain go now?**. So great was her relief, that Sparrow stroked his large head. She was not frightened, how could she be frightened? The wolf had spoken to her.
**I do not think I have the energy,** she sent to the wolf, feeling more lightheaded with the mere effort of sending. **Can you walk?**.
**Slowly**. The wolf pulled himself forward, whimpering somewhat with pain. Sparrow tried to help him, but found that she herself was weak. **Raya need lean**, the wolf sent to her, grinning again. His tail bet against her legs as she placed one hand on his back. His fur was a matted mess, caked with dirt and grime, and the wolf was so scrawny it seemed difficult to believe that he was able to move, let alone make what she took to be humourous observations.
**I am going to call you Jester**, she decided suddenly, and the name seemed so suitable that she knew it was right. **It means playful, happy.**
Jester grinned. **Is good name,** he sent. **Very playful, think Raya make very happy.** He licked her hand.
Sparrow smiled to herself, knowing that now she was Sparrow no more, she had found someone that would accept her for who she was, and she had found out something about herself. She was not a hunter, a weaver or a tanner, she was a healer, and that was as important a skill as any. The walk home would be long and painful, but Sparrow did not care. She had found herself a friend, a creature that was as out of place amongst his kin as she was of hers.