a thin fine line

[Finn Fidh]

[html]

WC: 700+

Note for the Lasky guidelines, this is not Finn I am writing with, but Odysseus. Also, be sure to let me know if the white text is an eye-killer. I'm still working out how I want the table to look, so I'll happily change it.

The little boat rocked and bumped with the waves, half sunk by the gallons of water sloshing about within. Odysseus sighed and lazily poured out another bucket back into the water, but it had been a lost cause from the beginning. He’d hit some hidden rock a kilometre back and the dinghy had been sinking steadily and irreparably since them. Standing and stretching all seven foot something of his body, Odysseus turned eyes on the town. It swum out of the darkness slowly, outlined by shivering torchlight. It was a fair sized place, large enough to grab a drink and maybe some companionship, but Odysseus was drunk already and sick of company he had to pay for.

Unnervingly and almost immediately as Odysseus drew near the place, he felt that unmistakeable sensation of being watched. Tying the knot of his cape more tightly around his neck, Odysseus peered up into the gloom of the tall ships, the real ships, the ships that wouldn’t pull a titanic on one tiny rock. There, a silhouette, a smudge darker than the rest of the smudges, with a pair of eyes that gleamed like marbles in the murk. Odysseus gave the figure a ridiculous, flowery bow, and heard the snort of derision as the figure moved away from the rail and onto more interesting things.

As the dingy nosed at the sands of the beach, Odysseus grabbed anything that had not been soaked through, and passed under the trees of Nova Scotia. Hector was waiting, just as expected, lightly tethered to an oak. The wolf ran a hand down the horse’s solid neck with one hand, untying the rope and dropping it to the ground with disgust. His smile was satisfied, but didn’t reach his eyes, which was par the course for such expressions. It was nice to be owed favours. This particular one had been repaid by a mangy German Shepherd named Garrus, in return for Odysseus slitting the throats of some debtors after Garrus’s hide.

Odysseus hopped astride the stallion and turned his nose south. South, south, always south. The wolf knew why he was going this way, but he never said it aloud, nor even admitted it in within his own head. He was looking for them. The wolves who had condemned him to die in a ditch at birth. His parents. It was a shot in the dark, but with a country the size of Canada, one had to start somewhere. And for Odysseus it was Nova Scotia. He’d find them, and he’d find a way to steal any happiness they had found with their lives, if only to balance the scales.

Odysseus was not so stupid that he might think bringing harm to others would make his own life better. Far from it, the wolf was firmly of the belief that bringing harm to others should be regarded solely as a recreational activity, done for pleasure and enjoyment. That satisfied smile flashed across his face again, like wind whipped clouds illuminating the plains with brief flashes of sunlight. His teeth were sharp, almost needlelike. Not wolf’s teeth, but that was obvious enough from his general build and appearance. He wore his half-blood like a badge.

After a time riding in the dark was began to grow tiresome and even Hector was having some trouble with the darkened roads. Odysseus put foot to the dirt again, his horse following behind, leadless, like a hound at his beck and call. Finding a suitably large clearing just off the road he made camp, building a fire and beginning to boil some water. The scent of another wolf was all around, and fresh too. It made Odysseus’s teeth itch, to think that someone might be out there, planning some robbery upon his person. To combat this, he let out a rough howl that climbed upwards through the night before diving like a dying bird.

There, that should do it. Hopefully whoever was about might be caught off guard by such a forthright invitation and declare themselves. What Odysseus needed was a local, someone who knew the land, and the packs, and the people. Someone who might illuminate his mysterious and frustrating parentage, even if only a little bit. Content with this action, Odysseus pulled a slim book from his pack and began to read, waiting for his surprise guest.