09-27-2009, 11:36 AM
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WC: 500
Night had come so quickly, stealing through the apple orchard in big, ground swallowing leaps. Finn turned her eyes towards the edge of daylight, the rosy glow in the west that was the sun’s swan song for today. She shivered as she slipped and skid across the wet grass, her missing toes a hindrance now. She had no trouble finding her way in the dark, her eyes were probably in the best working order of all her senses, but she was never at home here, in this twilight world. It brought unhappy thoughts and memories and she could do nothing but drown in them when night came knocking.
Alastair was gone, vanished, off to do whatever deer did. It was these times that she realized how much she enjoyed his company. It was weird, traveling around with something that had once been labeled “prey” in her youth, but the more time they spent together, the easier it got. An odd couple of freaks, they were. She liked to have Alastair around, because he gave her an excuse not to join a pack. It’s easier to say no when you had a three hundred pound deer on your hands. She didn’t know what Alastair thought about her wishy-washynesss. Hell, she didn’t even know if he understood! Neither was fluent in the other’s tongue, and were forced to play charades to get a message across. She sometimes got the feeling that his big, docile eyes were silently judging her, but that could just be her paranoia coming through.
Finn carefully picked her way around the tree trunks and rotten apples, nose full of the scent of ripe fruit. The apples hung like little planets, round and fat and glistening softly in the light of the moon. The fluffy clouds scudding across the sky sent shadows rippling across the grass, and not for the first time Finn found herself in a gloom. She was far from home, already three years old and nothing to show for it except a missing ear and a handful of scars. No mate, no pups, no pack. To make matters worse, she was a regular wolf in a land of extraordinary creatures who could walk around on two legs and were capable of feats she had never dreamed of.
Her musings were stopped short as a new scent unfurled itself in her nose. Finn stopped, peering down at the grass. Paw-marks, lot’s of them, scent markings too. Her gaze flew to the trees, all of which had been slashed and scratched at wolf height and higher. Finn shuffled nervously from foot to foot, looking out at the land beyond. She was tempted, so very tempted. Maybe they would accept her. Maybe not. She dithered there, at the edge, waiting to see what would happen. Minutes passed, and no one came, so the gray wolf retreated a few steps, sitting herself beneath the shadow of an apple tree, head on her paws, watching the borderline.