Chapter 3
Sea of Stone
Goutu, now Aonair, woke with a start. Ears perked, he glanced around his den, observing the scene, untouched from the night before. He got up, shaking the bits of wool from his thick tawny fur. Sunlight spilled onto the jagged edges of the cave floor. Once again, he examined the bloodstains, the nest, and the mysterious scents. Ever since he had found the cave, he hadn't found another any other clues. Why was there blood? Why was his father there? Why was he there?
Aonair had now been in the den for two days. Water was plentiful from the river, but hunger was creeping into him. His stomach often growled louder than the river itself. And a rotting carcass was no meal for a pup. In fact, every bite of it seemed to make the hunger grow. But Aonair was determined to know what happened in what he had called, the Blood Den.
Eagerly, Aonair trotted over and sniffed the blood. It was oddly familiar.
I feel like I've smelled this scent before, but it feels so far away, in my marrow.
In my marrow.
What was a marrow? Was it where feelings came from? That's how his mother always seemed to use it. Like before a hunt, or when she was angry, or before she took flight...
Flight.
"Flight," the word felt smooth and beautiful off his raspy tongue. He yearned the wonderful feeling, the feeling of flight. He sat down, staring at the exit. What was he doing? He should be searching for a life, a new beginning. Yet, here he was, spending days after day dwelling on something that supposedly happened to him and his old pack? By changing his name he was supposed to leave his old identity behind, and start a new. Staying here wasn't going to do that.
Without hesitation, Aonair bounded from the den, soaking in the morning light.
Today, he thought, my life begins.
He looked up at the rusty red rocky wall above the den. It was studier and rockier than the wall he had climbed down several days before. His tawny tail wagged in anticipation.
Nothing will stop me. This will be a breeze!
Three long hours later, Aomair placed a weary paw over the edge of the ravine. Exhausted, he hauled himself over the edge. His small, bony limbs shook as he stumbled onto the edge, the harsh sun burning down on him. Naturally, he closed his eyes when the light hit, blind to the world before him. But when he opened his eyes, a paradise was drawn before him. Instead of red, endless sandy hills, Aonair saw the ocean! Islands! Trees! To the north, tall grassy hills stood defiantly. To the west, vast oceans spread beyond his sight. Behind him, the joys of the scrublands grew forgotten.
His crusty frown drew into a huge, pup-like smile. Being the three-month old pup he was, he laughed. He danced. He howled to Lupus. The sand he kicked burst into the wind, carried by the winds into the blue sky. These past few weeks of living alone were extremely ordeal. But he cried out his thanks, for his small, miserable life. Because under some miracle, with some extreme luck, he was still alive!
He spread his young wings, wishing he could glide after the breezes and the birds. For a moment, he stood completely still. One question still lingered.
"What now?" he said aloud, hoping someone that wasn't there could hear.
It felt great, whenever he spoke to himself. Aonair was a pack wolf. He wasn't meant to be alone.
It had been nearly a week since he had last seen another wolf. He was a pup. He was meant to be with his siblings, his pack surrounding him.
No use grieving that now, he thought.
Another cool breeze swept past his ears. They hardly made a whisper, but they seemed to whisper to him.
My love, there is a heavenly place in which you will find.
"That's it!" he yipped, hardly aware of his own voice.
There was no place for a starving pup left in the desert. It was time to find his heaven, his paradise.
Hmm, but where do I go from here?
He glanced around himself, slightly confused. His gaze landed on the islands offshore. Perhaps he could go from there? The grassy hills in the distance might lead to a new mainland, without the scrublands. But maybe following the islands was a better option. If there was a bigger island out there, it might be a good place to start.
Aonair settled for a medium-sized island, only a river-length away from the desert mainland. But he knew it might be difficult to climb down.
Maybe, he thought, I could glide down...
This would be risky, for Aonair's wings lacked in proper flight feathers. But, if he were to mess up or free fall, the bay below might be able to break his fall...
Steady, he braced himself back, and crouched down into a flight jump position. Instinctively, his wings spread out.
His yellow eyes blazed with the fire in his heart.
I can do this.
Stealthily, he sprung.
He rose.
He flew.
He fell.
The little wolf frantically flapped, try to catch the wind. But he was falling too fast. The salty water of the bay grew closer and closer.
CRASH
Little Aonair crashed into the surface, white wisps of water flying in all directions. He felt a jolting crack in his front paw. He withered in the water, squealing, gasping for air! The impact was a lot harder than he had imagined, as if he had landed in a sea of stone!
To Aonair's surprise, there was a large fish underneath his one good paw. He regained his sense of direction, grabbed the dead fish, and doggie-paddled to the surface. More pain exploded in his left paw when he tried to use it to paddle. In pain, he tucked his injured paw in as he swam to the shore of the island. When Aonair was able to stand, he hobbled to shore with his lucky catch dripping from is jaws. He looked around. The island wasn't very big, but it was long, had several trees and a couple of freshwater pools. It was covered in dry grasses and bushes.
Pain throbbed miserably through his whole leg as he settled underneath a bush. Cautiously, he took a look at it.
His paw wasn't bleeding, but it was bruised to touch and hurt as if it was ripped apart on the inside. Using a technic his mother taught him if he was injured, Aonair felt the line to were the bone should be. Around the injury, it the bone felt...weird were it should have felt smooth.
It must be a broken bone, he thought.
"Oh no," he muttered.
Fear crawled into his heart. If his paw was broken, he could travel. He couldn't swim.
He couldn't hunt.
Aonair relaxed when he remembered something his mother told him, over a month ago.
"Mommy! My leg hurts!" cried Erik.
Holliet, his mother, turned to her one-month old pup.
"What happened?"
"I fell!"
Holliet was a small tawny wolf, her scrawniness showing as she rushed to her pup's aid.
"Momma? Is...is my leg broken?" sniffed Erik. The panic faded from Holliet's eyes.
"No, dear. It's just bruised."
Erik was dark gray, like his father. And Dante was a misty dark gray, with flecks of Holliet's tawny fur.
And Aonair, back then was Goutu, was a large tawny pup with a splash of dark gray on his back. He had the sturdy build of his father and the pelt of his mother. Coden's strength and Holliet's spirit and agility. The pack believed back then Goutu had much potential.
Goutu and Dante trotted over to see what had happened to their brother.
Dante's concerned look remained, "What if his leg was broken?"
"Well, you're all very young. If you did break a bone, you needn't worry. Daddy and I would take good care of you until you were better. Besides, puppy bones heal faster than adults.
The three little pups relaxed.
Puppy bones heal faster than adults.
Then, Aonair hungrily dived into the fish. It wasn't like anything he had ever tasted, but this was no time to be picky.
As he enjoyed his long-needed meal, he wondered. Aonair could smell that there was plenty of fish in the pools. But how long would it last him? What would he do if he ran out of food?
He decided this wasn't something to worry about right now. For now, he had survived another day, despite the fall and the hunger. He wasn't shivering, starving in a ravine cave anymore. He was warm and dry, snuggled under a bush, gulping down the last of his meaty meal.
For now, all that matters is that I'm alive.