08-22-2010, 03:09 PM
She was jostled in his arms as he ran, but she held her tongue. Occasionally, she would give a soft whimper and lick the crook of his arm, or whichever body part was closest; it was the only way she could reassure and urge him forward. Words she could not grasp. They slipped like water from her mouth.
The wolf was soft-footed and quick, his gait smooth and graceful, but there was a certain clumsiness that possessed him. In this new, two-legged form, a wolf was forced to support the whole weight of his body on one foot before switching to the other, shifting back and forth in an ungainly manner. It was this ceaseless transfer of weight that bothered her, because she could not distinguish whether the terrain was of grass, rock, or wasteland. It was from the sound of his footfalls that she gathered they were traveling swiftly across the grass, and when his feet hit the paved roads, she knew instantly that they were close to the main lair.
He continued running, his legs pumping, his feet pounding, until at last they reached the largest building she had ever seen. But before she saw, she smelled. The perfume of wildflowers and herbs drifted to her on the wind, and the musk of other wolves settled onto her face in gentle gusts. He went right up to the door, twisted the knob and walked inside. There, he placed her carefully on an old leather couch that smelled of old blood and sickness. She turned her nose up and endured the overpowering scent of wolf and fire.
"Help is on the way."
She blinked, not able to understand. She saw his lips move, but heard nothing. Yet it seemed that he was telling her something and there was kindness in his eyes. She maneuvered her body onto the edge of the cushions and lifted her head to give him a soulful gaze.