Disclaimer: I still do not own Wolf's Rain. I still own my own characters.
Author's Note: The second chapter of the series. Just a hint, a keen reader will spot possible references to elements from Wolf's Rain and maybe even a few will notice characters. Enjoy.
His aching paws were the only breaker of the silent road, that damned clear space in the distance that winds forever into the horizon. There can be no telling when the path will end or where the refuge a waited lies. One can't even know when the sores from scorched cities and frozen forests will heal over the trials of time. It just goes on and on…
Ringing sharply in his mind the complaints of his being roamed, ready to discourage what his spirit longed to accomplish.
We're hungry.
I'm tired.
You can't even see where you're going.
We need a rest.
I'll keep screaming until you stop this foolish journey.
"Stop."
His tongue betrayed him even now, for it was encased in fowl dust and carbon stirred up like silt from passing cars, and his eyes would blink in rapid procession just to keeping awake. The sun was setting and, as the ruler of the dawn and day lay elevated stubbornly between earth and sky, he to could not decide which path to take. What to do. Where to go. He had not the energy to run or the cowardice to lie down in the mire and die like a flea bitten mongrel.
Her scent was fresh in the potter's clay and each tentative, sluggish downbeat of his paws formed indents in the soft mud that seemed the only mourners for his grave. He must keep moving. The driving inside him was more than just the fleeting hope of adventure and a novel written travel before tea, it was a whirlwind of musings unfelt before. And at the moment he felt no name could correctly invoke the description of the matter.
No matter; just keep walking and maybe you'll think it up. Somehow.
He veered off the narrow way as a thundering four wheeler screamed by. The driver had thought the truck, which guzzled enough valuable fuel to begin with, sounded much more 'awe inspiring' without a muffler, but to other it only served as a buzzing nuisance that could not and would not shut up. His tongue lulling in a death stance from his mouth, Argus limped further down wind from the human, well worn road. The scent had shot off from there and he needed only to follow this, if not the aspect of emotion that welled inside him. Carefully he attempted to maneuver down the slope before him, but in his tiredness he lost the precious footing on earth that all are willing to fight and slay for. Down he fell, like Lucifer foolish, into the dark mouth of mystery beneath him so swiftly that no remorse or fear could be invoked.
Thud!
He yelped, for he was not a strong or extremely tough animal. Merely a scrounging city dog that received scraps from a pitting little lass who was allergic to canines but longed for one anyways. He had never fought, but he would soon learn. His sharp descent startled an owl and caused it to fly, wayward and questioning, away; plum eyes shining greedily. About his strewn carcass the beetles bounded unknowing of the large world around them and the flowers mourned their fallen comrades who were flattened between the dog and ground.
But, though he was not seriously injured, he did not rise from the resting place ad slept soundly for many moments, for, as said, he was not a brave or very persistent animal. He dreamed of nothing but the snow strewn taigas and the pining forests of fairy tale and Nature magazine. He also, though, dreamed of wolves. Darkened by sorrowed, lightened by pain, and tawny from being thrust into the earth. He dreamt of owl eye colored wolves covered in blood and dying. And he dreamt of the wolf that the hound was chasing. The wolf which he was also chasing.
After the last wolf had fled from his dreams he awoke to the sun dressing in between the rosy hills, and the moon slipping away her virgin veil for a nap with the sky. Argus was renewed, alive, and ready to travel. After relieving himself on a nearby stump he snuffled through the truffle dusted dirt until the scent of the dog was again found. Turning back towards the place where he had fallen he noticed a lone ivory flower, pink around the petal's edge, growing placidly by where his head had lain. It was lovely and the capering scent of the slender waisted shrubbery was outdone by the lily like flowers wafting scent.
He shook his head.
Argus, you've been dreaming for too long.
And he loped away from the sight with a sigh for the sound slumber had there.
Within the enclosed expanses of road side foliage the creature waited. Shifting under the new weight of decisions on its mind. The sideways winding flocks of geese drifted tiredly above and, to the south, a lumbering, cumbersome, bear bumbled through blackberry hives with intent for dinner. He was hungry himself, but the other end of his mind was more practically weighted than the id. His superego as some called it.
The beast darted over the cooking stones of a human's road and turned his attention to the smells of the small and meager woods. An animal not from this area stirred up the corpses of autumn's leaves and disturbed the graves of very animal that had died wild in the area. A city dog, a whelping wimp unfit to hunt or run into the harsh western wind.
His hackles raised, but he composed himself. Duty was calling and his stomach's pleas may also be answered.
Furtively the wolf crouched low to the grass and began to stalk the smell of stranger; a drifting dog soon to meet an end ever so unpleasant.