Chatterbox: Inkwell

The sky was a wretched black. A few wispy clouds flitted over the waning moon. The black wolf’s tail flicked, waiting patiently. Ears pricked, he was alert for the howl. Six wolves concealed in the umbrage behind him, were waiting uncomplainingly, eyes darting nervously. 

Then he heard it: a lengthy, clear, and shrill howl echoing throughout the night world. The black wolf dashed forward, his squadron behind him. The wind buffeted his sleek black coat, which was no more than another shadow in the dark of midnight. The black wolf’s paws barely touched the ground, barely felt the soft layers of dead leaves. He saw the other half of his pack’s squadron meet up with them, and he took the lead. Scents filled his sensitive nose. The moose were near! 

Splitting into elusive parts, the wolves circled the herd, slowly trotting forward. Fear gripped the black wolf’s heart, like a cold claw wrapping around it. The moose were eagerly heading for the frozen lake! He signaled for the pack to go faster, catching the moose’s attention. The lead moose did not make any sign of slowing, even though they were surrounded. His tail slightly drooped with terror and misery. 

He sped up even more, sprinting so he could run beside the lead moose’s side. Yet again he made no defensive action; the lake was now in view. Panic was now almost in control of the black wolf’s mind. He sought the answer to this. If the moose herd crossed the pack would have no more food… 

“Julius!” called a silver she-wolf, his mate. He glanced worriedly at her, and he could see that she shared the same fear. Julius turned and skidded in front of the lead moose, ready to sacrifice himself for the safety of his pack. His mate would take over leadership, and he trusted her with that authority. Signaling to his pack to stay behind, Julius reared up and jumped onto the lead moose’s muzzle, clinging on tightly. He would fight the herd to the death. It might have been an unreasonable plan, but the black Alpha was not going to listen to reason. The whole herd was unreasonable. 

Julius swung onto the moose’s back, staring intently at the neck. The moose bucked. Julius tried to cling on, but he was thrown off. He stared at the approaching hooves, dread filling him. With a swift charge, he ran at them. It was a ghastly idea, but he knew it had to be carried out. The frightened eyes of his pack boring into him, Julius lunged at the first moose, old and weak. He dug his claws into her side. She spun around, butting him with her head. Julius bit her muzzle, now hugging her maw tightly. His life flashed before his eyes in an instant. He saw his mother, her death, his father, his uncaring for Julius. A wave of determination stung him like a furious wasp. I will kill this for you, my dear, my sweet Maggie. Julius glanced furtively at his silver mate. Then bit the moose’s neck: a quick killing lunge. The moose had reached the ice, and under his added weight, fell through. Impossibly, as he went under, Julius pushed the she-moose up, and she landed on the shore. Maggie rushed to the shoreline, her eyes tearing. 

“I love you, Maggie!” he called, and though he was underwater, she heard him.

“I love you, too, precious.” 

Julius was out of breath and he couldn’t hold his mouth closed anymore. As he opened his mouth, water rushed in. Freezing water enveloped him. Blackness enfolded. In a split-second, Julius saw a misty shape before him. His mother. 

“Unfold your wings, my dear,” she murmured. “Join me in the sky, with your crown beneath your wing.” Though he could not have flown beforehand, he lifted his wings, and flew away into the sky with his mother. He was now a spirit. He had left the living world.

submitted by Marie, age 12, Florida
(January 28, 2013 - 6:29 pm)