Chatterbox: Inkwell



    The torrent of a wind clashed brusquely and gladiatorial-like against the trees and foliage beneath it; the zephyr’s sudden vicissitude was startling, as the morning’s weather had been sunbeamy and blithe. Now the clouds were full and ominous, threatening rain or hail—any kind of natural projectile was to be expected, and the weather chooses no occasion, it does not heed the goings-on of what is beneath it.     The moon cast an array of glowing, vinaceous light, the rays turning a field of white alyssum to wine red. Lightning flashed swiftly on the horizon, followed by belligerent thunder, seemingly livid and fuming at being the final accompaniment.     At last, the clouds burst open, cascades of endless raindrops poured out relentlessly on the world, casting a dreary and depressing ambience. Somewhere in all this bedlam flashed an autonomous light, signaling a passive message that only the sky knew—and someone else, even though the mystique was quite baffling.     Rain pattered adamantly. The slaps of it against the dark, dismal abysm of forest were some sign of normality, if only the sound was. A scream ripped through the rhythmical sound of it, perhaps paralyzing the fray of natural calamities, if only for a moment. The shriek came again, and then only the paranoid believed they had heard it; the sane of mind were deaf to the screeches of agony, as they struggled to remain free from the grasp of the petrifying and mystifying prophecy.     An adolescent shewolf lay on her side, shrieking pandemoniously and laboriously thrashing about to stay conscious, as the venomous pains of childbirth gripped her. Her young heart leaped with every drastic paroxysm of labor.     In one hapless convulsion, the first of her litter emerged triumphantly, the young shewolf’s offspring having arrived at last. But the advent was not to be celebrated. It was the brutal ways of the wild to force the new mother into another draggletailed spasm.    A long, enigmatic howl chilled the air, and outside a bedraggled wolf waited with bated and anticipated breath. His green eyes glowed in the soft starlight that had managed to breach that area. With his pelt drenched thoroughly in rainwater, he remained patiently, as impetuousness would lead him nowhere. Still, he waited, until the long hours of the horrendous storm lulled to a slow whisper of the rain gently brushing the leaves of the evergreen trees with a halcyon kiss. And yet he waited loyally, braving the wind and rain.     Then, snow came, bringing peace after the torrent. Escorting it was the moon; its soft light bestowing a clear, azure glow upon the world.     The wolf’s breath came in puffs of clear, foglike air, the cold affecting it, as if his breath had frozen as soon as it met the icy. Waiting in the stillness of it all, the calmness surrounding him, the environs he had bequeathed from his fathers and forefathers prior to him. The comforting blackness, the insipid darkness enshrouded him as he lingered, listening intently to the murmur of snow falling on the ground, his mate groaning and gasping, and the midnight beasts. He fraternized with it all, became one, and became motionless: as where the stupendous powers of a wolf, none at all supernatural.     Closing his eyes, he swayed with the trees in their slow ancient ways they had used for aeons since the beginning of time itself.     Sadly, the fiduciary relationships were soon to be broken between animal and botany, and it was because of this event that they were so to be snapped.      Normally shewolves refuse unrelentingly until fourteen days to let their mates glimpse his offspring. Normally that is what would have happened. Only, this was not commonplace; it was nonconforming.    Delirious beyond comprehension, the shewolf unconsciously allowed her mate inside the den, conveying snow in with him. His soft, round nose sniffed over his newborn pups, prejudice deep in his heart as he gazed, slightly contemptuously, at them. So few at a time of great need. The urgency of new members for his pack had made him eager to start courtship as early as his three-year-old mate permitted. As he stared at this truculent blow to his future and his pack, he was sent reeling with a livid temper. He whipped his head vigorously away from his pups, tears stinging his eyes. Then he realized what a miracle these were to him; at least they were his, and they were some. He let the tears flow, and a huge weight seemed to have fallen on him, and he had stumbled. Taking a deep breath, he faced them again, casting his weary eyes once again upon his brood, a large wave of animosity stabbed him mercilessly, and the wounds that the fierce claws and daggers of fury left him almost drained of his stamina. Wretchedly, he groaned and began to gaze at the pups once more. And then, glancing up, he noticed immediately his mate, who was in a serious state of unconsciousness, from one it was that she might not return. But on this night, it was not so. As he laid his eyes upon her, the shewolf’s eyelids snapped open, snatching the air around her as she breathed in deeply. Furtively, she glanced about, numbly administering her surroundings. Instinctively, she licked each pup gently as they mewled pitifully, their unopened eyes and folded ears plastered firmly against there heads and faces. All but one.  Suddenly, an azure radiance burst upon the denizens of the cramped den, bouncing off the dusty walls, erupting with a furor on the dirt-clogged roots in the ceiling. The male’s eyes flew open in astonishment; from the typical, sangfroid gaze came into a furious glare as he stared frenziedly at the single puppy, her misty blue eyes unclosed and ears straight up. Her gray, downy fur fluffed up, protecting her from the cold. She watched quizzically as her father finecombed the den in search of a forgotten secret, that in his rage, he had disremembered what the oracle had foretold; he suddenly remembered that the stone tablet holding the information no longer existed; only in his mind was he to keep it.     “It cannot be!” he spluttered. “It cannot be!”     The shewolf responded bitterly, which at the time was precisely the wrong way to reply.     “I can’t imagine what is so out of place that you stupidly would barge in here and start yelling and storming about in a stupor. What cannot be? What is misplaced?” Having not yet registered correctly the situation, she was not sympathetic and had not yet decided which side to take.     “The tablet! It is gone! It contained key information, and now it is gone! Lost, to a world of unknown things.”    “Quit blathering and quiet down!” cried the shewolf. “Of course it is gone. Do you not remember that the oracle annihilated it once you committed it to memory? Do you not remember?”    The wolf stood before her, mouth agape as he suddenly recalled it. Back he spurred like a madwolf, shrieking a curse to the sky. His face was a mix of abomination and betrayal. He shouted, “Yes, of course it is destroyed! My only proof! Is this was I have, Lupin? Is it? Shame and death, forced to have a living death, scorned by my pack? Is it? Is it?”  Perhaps in his time of disbelief he would scathingly rebuke his mate, and that pup. That pup. That haut monde. That…that blue blood! She had harried him for long enough. In desperation, he decided to take matters into his own paws, ones that would not betray him like his mate and the oracle, Lef (also called the Leafwatcher). Whirling back on the scene behind him, he spat through cinched teeth, “I shall take her. Haven’t you known of the clandestine meetings that have been held, watching each pregnant mother? About the prophecy? How they despise it so!”     “You cannot! You know he was misinformed! Lef made a mistake! She is good! Can you not see that in her?”    “I see only a bleak world about me. If that is how it is, why should I even begin to show kindness to her? Besides, if the Leafwatcher made an erratum, then what is to prevent him from making another? We cannot put faith in him! He misread the leaves! The leaves, which tell only the truth!”    “Evil has touched your heart and now it has grown drastically cold. But there is some good in the world. Some light, a future.”     “Can’t you see how idiotic this is, Brianne? We will be discriminated, scorned, beaten; the Omega pair.”     “Doing an injustice will be far worse. We shall be scarred for eternity.”    “Those are brave words, Brianne. Do I have scars? None like that puppy nuzzled beside you, glowing.” He tossed his head in a haughty fashion.     “Imperceptible scratches. Unseen. Ones that will never heal but pester you forever.”    He snorted disbelievingly. “Like our Foreverbright over there.”     Brianne gave a wistful smile, considering something. “What a lovely name for her. Like a star glowing optimistically on the seemingly dark horizon. It is perfect. Thank you.”    “You are optimistic, Brianne. You sound like a philosopher when you are not one.” He snorted derisively.    “Nor were you a naysayer to all ideas and a skeptical friend. Why should roles not change due to the circumstances?”    “Because that is not what they are supposed to be!”    “How can you say that? Nothing is as difficult as it appears.”    A rush of adrenaline and anger made his move impulsive: he plunged forward, grasped the pup’s nape in his maw and tore out of the den.     “Eyanyul! Return, I beg of you!” the wolf in the den called after him, though her petition went unheeded.      Clasped in his jaws, the she-pup was hurried away. In the doorway of the makeshift den, Brianne saw them depart. Suddenly she was gripped by a great fervor, and collapsed on the ground, the puppies mewling helplessly about her. A vision unfolded before her, stealing her breath. She watched helplessly as every moment of her pup’s life played out. The emotions, the vital instances. Fear. Enmity. Hatred. Heartache. Anguish. Suffrage. Instantly, all was black.        Heart racing, the male wolf sprinted to the lakeside, but halted, skidding. Panting around his daughter, he suddenly found himself unable to complete the task he had set forth to do: toss her into the frowsy lake, ice-cold from the snow that had fallen. He was astonished at the prodigious changes in his demeanor this night. First, bursting with almost unbearable excitement, he had entered the den, soon finding that his own she-pup was the wolf prophesized by Lef. And here has, uncertain of protecting his family? He could be marauded by an angry mob of wolves. The evil that had tainted his heart was melting, leaving wet edges that mad him irresolute. Shaking his thick neck fur, he flung his head to the left, allowing the pup to escape from his jaws. Flying around, he hurled himself from his own daughter, one that had caused him so much fear and agony; the one that had sent him a vision. And about her, rising in an ethereal fashion from the snow were wraithlike figures, moving in a rapid yet pristine fashion. Like a deer bolting from its pursuer, a young shewolf, pregnant with unborn pups, shot out from the forest on the ulterior side of the lake.    Lips curled in a venomous snarl, she proceeded to place herself bodily in front of the she-pup, growling tenaciously.     “You shall not have her, beings of shadow! Back! Back, I say! Back to the chasm, to the fires of the burning Anchoriah!”    “Courage shown on such an eve, dear Stormfast, does indeed show your ulterior motives,” rasped one of the wraiths.     “My motives are mine and unto myself, dark one. Be gone with thee!”    With her order, they disappeared, like a thief in the night. A sharp growl came from behind her, and she whirled about, eyes flashing with fury.     “Bravery is not worthwhile, Stormfast.” This time it was no shadow, it was a black wolf, his warm breath visible in the pale, sickly moonlight. “Get her!” he snarled. With bared fangs, a score of wolves leapt from the sastrugi. Wheeling around, she lowered her head and gripped the puppy firmly in her maw, and departed, swift as a bolt of lightning. Paws undulating speedily, she scampered away from them, adrenaline increasing her progress. Still, the wolves pounced after her, howling with the thrill of the swift-paced action of the chase, chilly wind flying through their fur. Her paws barely felt the snow beneath them. Fear raced inside her, making her surge onward, although fatigue threatened to engulf her. Snarling at her heels were the black faces of her pursuers, like flames nipping at wood. Taking a chance for escape, she changed courses to the right, her burden in danger. This direction would take the shewolf on a direct route to Ayamin Mountain, which was an arduous ascent to a steep plunge downward, and she knew this. But it was her only chance.     Scaling the mountain was no facile task. Tantalizing heights and seemingly easier paths would palter a wolf to its death. Yet wily as she was, Stormfast might not escape the plots for her downfall on this last journey.     Rocky terrain met her paws at once, scraping her pads like daggers. Her adrenaline rush was fading, and still she forced herself to remain on course and to finish the endeavor.     At last the top was in sight. But only a few steps away from her goal, she stumbled, unwillingly allowing the enemy a score. Preparing for death, she waited: so close to victory and yet so far. But death did not come. With a blast of prodigious speed, a small, lithe black wolf grasped her scruff, and, after hauling her up, prepared to riposte the oncoming wolves.     Scrabbling to her paws, the shewolf clenched the pup in her maw, and stared at the black wolf readying for a fight. Suddenly, a frenzy of smoky gray wind rushed at her, knocking her down and sending her into the fray of foes. With the pup still held firmly in her jaws, the toppled over the side, the one she had tried so hard to prevent from falling off. And she was gone, like a fire extinguished; a blue smoke drifted up to the mountaintop, like smoke, telling you the flame is gone. Grimacing, the wolf who had commanded the wolves turned away, but his tail was a smidgen lower, and his stride less confident.   This is a book I'm working on about wolves.Tell me if you can understand it...the prologue is supposed to be vague and ambiguous.     

submitted by Misty Marie, age 12, Writing Desk
(November 20, 2012 - 10:03 am)