Hey everyone! This is my first fanfic short story & I am open to comments/ideas as to where to take this. I really enjoyed reading other people's works, and figured I'd try my hand at it.
Italics mean thoughts or flashbacks, but to avoid confusion, flashbacks have been labeled as so.
Enjoy!
I had been living in the woods for 3 years now. The snow was falling slowly in big, puffy flakes, but I knew it would be blizzarding soon. I could smell it on the wind coming off the mountains behind me. The wolf pack I had been following had closed up shop early after making one small kill and returned to their den before the weather hit. Unfortunately, there had been nothing left of their meal for me to scavenge. I squatted next to the bloody snow, heaving a sigh. It had been a doe. That much the carcass and scent told me, but the tracks it left told the real story. She had somehow injured her left hindquarter, making her an easy target for the pack.
My stomach gurgled, reminding me it had yet to be fed. Slowly, I stood from my crouch and started walking. Opening my senses a little more to the world around me, I tried to sift through all the scents to identify one as a meal. My released breaths were sent out in steaming clouds. Chuffing a bit, I finally got something. What is that? I raised my nose higher to get a more direct flow of air and inhaled deeply. Something…something about the scent was different but familiar. Tobacco…? And…and steak? My stomach growled again, protesting against the latter smell. 3 years in this forest meant 3 years of wild game, berries, and nuts, but who could ever forget the taste of lean, juicy steak? My mouth began to water. Don't be stupid. Tobacco, remember? That means men, and men mean trouble.
Too many times had I been confused for an animal in these woods by hunters. And before the woods…I shuddered at the memory. I still need to check it out. See if I should be keeping an eye out for any hunters. Setting off at a brisk trot, I made my way through the trees, following the smell.
The snow was falling more heavily when I saw the cabin. It was in the middle of a clearing. Funny, I don't remember this being here. Of course, I had never smelled beef being cooked here either, and there had been no point coming this far down off the mountain before. I watched from the tree line. Smoke was rising from the chimney and a smaller cloud puffed up from a charcoal grill off to the side of the house. A gust of wind carried snowflakes into my face and a stronger scent of the searing meat. My guts were squirming around like a bunch of starving wolf pups. I'm a scavenger, and my stomach was telling me what it always told me about someone else's food: Steal.
I hardly ever took more food than I needed and tried not to impose too much on the real hunters like the wolves and bears, taking some of their kills only after they had gorged themselves. I do this not just out of politeness, but out of survival. A wolf or bear with a full stomach is less likely to bother doing cardio by chasing off a humble scavenger. With people, it's a little different. I learned from past experience that it's better to take what they won't notice is gone. A can of beans here, and apple there…But this steak was calling to me, and no matter how hard I tried, my stomach convinced me that I could make off with an easy meal without being seen.
I did manage to make myself wait and watch. Just because I was going to do something careless didn't mean I was going to be careless doing it. A man came out smoking a cigar, checking on the meat. I crouched a little lower but I knew he wouldn't be able to see me; not in the fading light and all the snow. My dust colored deer pelt I wore as a coat also helped hide my form in the duskier shadows among the timber. I need to make this quick if I want to get back to my den before the storm kicks in.
I watched as he flipped a couple of steaks and take a long pull on his cigar. Well, that's where the tobacco smell's coming from. Another gust of wind sent flurries swirling away and off into the clearing where they finally settled. The guy suddenly stiffened and turned to face the trees, his steak momentarily forgotten. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was sniffing the air. I held very still, simply out of instinct, until a minute later he made a final pat of his spatula to a few slabs, then went back inside.
Cautiously, I made my way out from under the pines. Paused, then quickly sprinted to the edge of the cabin. There was enough pack snow around the building to hide most of my prints. I skirted along the outer wall, under a curtained window, and to the side with the grill. My mouth was really watering, and I reached out for the first steak I saw. The meat was searing hot and I just barely stifled my yelp of pain, sucking on my burned fingertips. I cursed myself for such stupidity and pulled out my hunting knife with my other hand. I again reached for the meat…and froze. In my quest for food, I had failed to notice the man come around from the back of the house, downwind from me, so I hadn't smelled his approach; and how he had managed to not make a sound baffled me. Now, cold, sharp metal was pressed against my neck.
"Well, well! Looks like I got me a coyote problem." The man's voice was gruff and low in my ear. He was short for most men, standing only several inches taller than myself. I swallowed, feeling the metal bob with the action.
"Look bub, I don't know what you think you're doin' out here in this weather wearin'…" he looked me up and down, "not enough for these temper'tures, but I don't appreciate it when people try ta take somethin' o' mine without askin' first."
I watched him from the corner of my eye, looking for any openings of escape. The wind ruffled his dark, raven hair, which curiously came into 2 points above his head, giving him the look of having ears. The sudden fall of a mound of snow from a branch momentarily distracted him, giving me the opportunity I needed to elbow him in the gut, causing him to relent his knife hold at my throat. At the same time, I leapt back while turning to face him, slashing my own knife across toward his abdomen.
"Ey!" he shouted and dodged the slice. He was fast, but not quite fast enough to completely evade the knife. It cut through his shirt and just nicked the flesh, drawing blood. I stood there a few paces away, watching him warily. He looked down at his bloodied hand as he pulled it away from the cut. I watched in fascinated horror as the red gash closed up and the skin went from an angry pink scar to smooth, tan skin. The slightly bloody slash in his shirt the only sign that I had actually cut him. Slowly, his blue eyes focused on me and he let out a deep, guttural growl that made my hair stand on end.
His whole posture changed from that of a man to something more similar to a wild animal. Sensing that he was more predator than anything else, I opted to do what all scavengers do when faced with a threat: I ran.
Again, open to suggestions! Thanks for reading!