No, it's good so far, looking forward to more of it.

Hey Cheesy! Please, please, please write more! This is a great story with some great dramatical characters. You can almost feel the tension between Nuada (the name in my mind)* and Majesty, and the individual characteristics given to each of the other wolves/pups is amazing. I think you could write this story as a complete short story without any sexual interaction and it would still be amazing. I also like how you inserted the part about the Alpha biting the female's nose; great research and/or knowledge. Basically as a whole, I think it's fantastic. Unfortunately, I am still new and under 100 posts so I can't rate the 100 10's it deserves, but you should definately keep it up. I look forward to the rest.

Best regards,
Me.





* "NUADA (noo-AH-dah; Male): Nuada was a Welsh/Irish god. God of fishing (and water in general), as well as the Sun god, Nuada also filled the role of healing deity which is odd since he himself had suffered the loss of an arm that he apparently could not heal. No matter. Nuada replaced his arm with one made of silver. You should know that Nuada was also the god of dogs. It was believed that divine mutts assisted this god in the art of healing. How? First of all (according to the legends), should a person require Nuada's curative auspices, they were supposed to visit his temple and leave a small replica of his silver arm as an offering. Then the afflicted individual fell into a deep sleep whereupon they were attended to by the therapeutic pooches. How these mongrels administered their healing techniques is unknown, but one is tempted to suppose that licking somehow played an important role. One need only imagine various bodily ailments requiring attention to appreciate just how unpleasant this treatment must have been."

Heh, didn't know anyone read this anymore.

I promised that this would not get sexual in a hurry, and I intend to stand by that. But if you all really do want an ending, I'll see what I can do.

Forward: This will be much longer, but it is late tonight and I need sleep. Enjoy some of part one, there is MUCH more to come. And thank you for the name Tyr...I think the user who recommended it is no longer on the site. :( But thank you anyway.

PLEASE enjoy and comment if you have the time.
-Cheese



4. August, Part 1:

The leaves were falling. It was foreshadowing of Christine’s least favorite time of the year: the time the Druid wolf pack moved back to the park. She had reduced herself to leaving out chicken meat for the pups and for the leaders, in the hopes they would stay a little longer, but it was no use. The deer were all but gone, and she was just prolonging the inevitable by tempting them with food. They were meant to follow the herds into Yellowstone, and if they didn’t it could damage their chances of pack survival. She couldn’t put those pups in jeopardy.

They had all three grown so fast and so strong. Marie was still the little brat that she’d been when Christine had first met her, but she’d grown into her lot in life. She didn’t look like she was pretending anymore when she stood up tall and regal, and her nips at her brothers were less reprimanding, more like asserting dominance. She was nearly always at her mother’s side, but her paws were already gaining some of the yellow that most white wolves got, which made Tortuk look all the more brilliant for an animal her age. If wolf packs were ever run by mother and daughter teams, however, Christine knew that the two would dominate. She’d seen Marie come back once with blood caked on her muzzle and her teeth bared. She still looked royal, but now she looked dangerous, eager to kill. She could be frightening if she wanted to…she’d make a great leader or mate someday.

Teaspoon was finally getting a hold of his own balance problems. He was still the clutziest pup of the three, and easily the clumsiest of the pack, but Christine had seen him hunt once, and when his life depended on it, he seemed to spring into action and became faster than his sister or brother, nearly keeping up with the adult wolves. Barley had been a quick one too, she remembered, but not as quick as this pup. But whenever he sat, not doing a thing, he would rotate his head, resting his cheek on one side then the other side in a very funny way that never failed to make Christine laugh. He was a clown, and a part of her hoped that the pup would never really outgrow his silly ways.

Freddie had learned a new trick too: the strut, and he never failed to use it. He would saunter pas his mother and his sisters with nose held high, tail up. He would trot like a pony from one place to the other rather than in the normal loping gate of a wolf, which made him look like a lap dog at times. But she’d seen him defend his food from his brother before. He’d snap and growl in a high pitched and whiny tone till the whimpering Teaspoon left him alone. He’d tried this once when Majesty approached him, looking hungry or curious. He’d snapped at the older wolf’s paws, letting out tiny yapping barks. The other wolf had barked back and taken a swift snap at the pup, who went skidding with a yelp away from the food to cower in the den. He’d lost his strut for a while after that, but it was back now.

The black wolf had been gone for some time, but she still heard his call every now and again, and thought of him as a friend would. She hoped desperately that he had not fallen on hard times, and that he was just out somewhere, hunting for the rest of the pack. When she heard that call, she knew his name was Tyr, and it felt like she’d known it all along.

Christine hadn’t seen the pup for a few days now either. At first she had worried that they had been injured or killed during a hunt, or that a nearby farmer had got them for trophy pelts. But the other wolfs were around, so she suspected the young ones were resting up for the big move back to the park. It was a surefire sign that fall was right around the corner, waiting to spring on her and drive the wolves out of her home and heart. She woke every morning filled with dread, praying as she opened her window that they would still be out there, even for just one more day. But it was mid August now. There was little point in putting it off.

She stopped putting out the chicken meat that very night, and afterwards she sat in her room crying softly as she felt the loneliness slipping under the front door and between the cracks in the windowsill.

****

Christine woke up late that night, cheeks still sticky and salty where the bitter tears had been. It was cold in her small bedroom, and she could hear soft drum beats from outside, tiny and numerous. She stood and went quickly to the now fogged up window, her voice catching in her throat even though her lips repeated over and over “no.” But there was nothing to be done. It was raining outside, a cold and wintry rain. Surely, the wolves would be gone tomorrow. With the cold weather, the pups four months old now, and no food to be had, there was no reason for them to stay. She sighed deeply and pressed her cheek against the glass, letting the condensation on the window partially wash away the salt clinging to her skin and eyelashes. She didn’t cry now, but when she had been younger, every time they had gone, she would cry for days, alone in her room, till her father made her come out.

Her father wasn’t here anymore, so she knew that if she began to cry now, she might never leave her room again.



TO BE CONTINUED SOON...

This post has been edited by cheeseyness on Jul 6 2008, 11:38 AM

I know people are looking at this...but no comments?

i really like your writing style. this story is good.

Warning: There is a mildly graphic scene of a dead animal here. Just a warning.



4. August, Part 1 (CONT.):

The rain fell all night, and she stayed up, staring out into it with quiet melancholy. She sat at the window, watching the rainfall, and thought she began to see strange shapes in the rain. Just shimmers of moonlight through the water. They moved like fish across her plane of vision, like silver ghosts wandering the earth in search of something. She put her index finger tip to the glass and followed the shining shapes through the condensation of the rainy night, making paths of clarity.

In the transparent streaks her finger made, she could see the wolves. They looked frantic, like they were on the hunt. But so late at night? What deer or rabbit would have ventured onto her land? She watched the flashes of damp and matted fur as they turned left and right, sharp and decisive. She made out Barley, head low and eyes fixed on some other point she couldn’t see. She saw Majesty, his gate slower than the others due to age, but still strong as he raced behind his oldest son towards whatever they chased. She looked hard, and could make out a few other shapes, but nothing enough to decide who it was, or what they were doing. She stared at them, wondering but afraid to go to the door and check, worried she would ruin the hunt.

She could hear snarling, barking, and then yelping. Not in pain, but in the way wolves did when they brought something down. She tried in vain to peer around the outside of the house to see what it was they had managed, but could not make out anything, not even blurry movement. She put her ear against the window, listening to the barking, growling, and tearing of what may have been skin. She smiled…maybe they’d stay now.

She put her eyes back to front, and was caught off guard by what she saw. Through the foggy window she could see a shape, just the faint silver outline caused by the falling rain. It was still, but she could almost feel it breathe, somewhere deep in her chest, and she breathed with it. The blurry gleam of gold shone through as well, like a single star of deep orange-yellow. Christine stared at it, fixated. She heard the deep, hoarse howl as he tipped his head back then brought it down again, the gold flashing once again into view. Tyr, she said in her own mind. Tyr. Tyr. Tyr. She silently repeated it over and over again, looking into that single point of light against the blackness of the night and his form. What are you, Tyr?

What are you?

****

She woke up the next morning, and it had stopped raining. She was still leaning against the window sill, arms crossed below her head, and she didn’t remember at what point in the night she had fallen asleep/ She wasn’t sure how long she had slept in either, but the sun was already high in the sky and casting a thin bright glow over the damp ground outside. The sky was blue except for a few stray clouds floating lazily above the ranch, and everything looked green, like it was spring all over again. But it was almost fall, she reminded herself, feeling her spirits sink. They sunk even further when she realized that he had not yet seen any sign of the wolves.

She sat upright sharply, and her eyes grew wide and desperate, searching the land outside. There was no sign of the Druids.

She stood slowly and turned towards her bedroom door. It seemed like she moved in slow motion as she made her way to the front of the house and opened the door. The world smelled new and musty, like freshly tilled earth, and the bright light blinded her for a moment. She held her hand in front of her eyes and took a deep breath in, tasting the wet world. So many smells that usually came with summer or spring, but there was a distinct absence of the dingy must of the wolf pack or the pup-filled den. She sighed, and dropped her hand, eyes adjusting to the lighting.

They were gone.

It was then she saw the carcass of the deer. It was mostly eaten or mangled beyond recognition, but Christine could still tell it was a deer. The legs, minus one, were splayed out to all sides to expose the lack of flesh across the chest and stomach. The entrails were mostly gone, but little bits remained, flung haphazardly around the body. He neck was exposed, gashed open with flashes of red and white exposed where the throat and spine had been chewed by hungry wolf teeth. The two-pronged antlers stuck into the ground, light brown and white like whale tusks. The head was mostly fleshless, and the ears were missing, but the eyes were wide open, black like obsidian against the clay colored earth.

Christine didn’t feel sick looking at this, but she did feel a pang of pity. Poor thing, she thought. Was probably looking for shelter and stumbled right into the den. The wolves would have attacked the animal at first out of self-defense, but would have relished the hunt after they recognized it as prey. They would have taken it down, torn it up, and eaten all they could. But they also would have moved, feeling threatened by a perceived attack on the den. They were gone.

Christine wiped at her eyes, and ordered herself not to cry. It was for the best, she told herself, and it was meant to happen eventually. Why not now? She had work to do anyway. The smell of blood tended to upset the hens, even if they were in the barn. So she’d need a shovel and a tarp to move the deer out of her yard, maybe…

Christine took a step off the porch and instantly found herself falling forward. She flailed in the air with her hands as she toppled towards the ground, and then let out a sharp cry of pain as she felt the sting of the strong teeth that were now sunk firmly into the back of her ankle.

wow i've just read all of it, so far. Its a really good story.
Looks like its leading up to a bit of suspense,
i'm thinking that Tyr has attacked her off the porch....maybe anyway

cant wait for more!

Thank you. Glad the suspense is obvious. I always wait for one or more person to post that they've read before I start writing the next part. But there you are, so I'll begin right now. See what I can get done tonight.

Thanks again! Any others?

I need to smack a bitch...

Someone has copied parts one, two, and three onto their blog and have given me NO credit at all...
*grumble*

Totally smack a bitch there. Can I ask whom and on what blog?

http://blogbesty.theblackalliance.net/
Looka round, you'll find mine there. *grumble*

New part will be done for you all tonight. It's a little more...actiony!

(NOTE: There IS a part 3 to August. I did not originally intend it that way, but that's just how it has worked out. As I said, a little more actiony, though not by much. Part 3 will be more so.
Please enjoy and comment!)




5. August, Part 2:

Christine fell hard against the ground, her cry dying on her lips as all her air rushed out of her. She felt light headed, sick to her stomach even, and she felt for a moment or two that she was unable to get any air into her lungs. It was like her chest refused to expand, and it took a while for her to realize that she had just had the wind knocked out of her. Suddenly, the air rushed back, and with it came all her senses, in a flood of confusion, surprise and pain.

She jerked her leg up towards her, reaching for the place on her ankle that was now smeared red with deep crimson liquid and had several small holes where teeth had been. They had hit her tendon, and the pain was absolutely maddening. She howled and put all the pressure she could manage on the wound, trying to get it to stop bleeding. But even then, in her pain and confusion, she still had the time to hear the low growl and snap of angry jaws. Her eyes, which were blurry from the flood of involuntary tears, shot to the porch and tried to focus on the shape that was twitching and shuffling its way back under the porch where it had been before. Through the fog of salty moisture, she managed to make out a glaring yellow point, and that was all it took.

Tyr.

Christine sat up, still holding her ankle tight to reduce the bleeding, but now fascinated by the animal under her deck. She wasn’t afraid of him, as he seemed to be retreating rather than attacking now. Tyr was lying there, mostly invisible to her, in the shadows of the porch, growling softly but menacingly. She quickly put things together and realized that she had stepped off the porch, startled him, and he had lashed out, feeling threatened. Her yell might have startled him too, which was most likely why he had shuffled his way back into the darkness. But this brought on a whole other list of problems, the first of which was him being here, and the rest of the pack being elsewhere. And that just lead to a whole other long list of whys, and hows.

Then Christine asked herself a question which, she realized, she had wondered about the night before. One bright yellow gleam? Only one?

Very carefully, she inched closer to the snarling animal, squinting and wiping her eyes with her free hand to see what she could. He growled a little louder, and she stopped where she was, unwilling to tax his patience further. Everything slowly came into focus, and she stared at the hiding animal, suddenly unable to catch her breath.

Tyr was still wet, but not from the night’s rain. It was sweat; she could smell it now that she thought about it in all its pungent odor. His torn up ears lay flat on either side of his thick head, rather than pinned back in an aggressive gesture, and his one eye was wide, crazed by fear. The other eye was not. Not to say that it wasn’t scared looking or wide. It just no longer was. At all. She could see the place where it normally would have been, but there was no eye there now. Instead, there was a mound of red and angry flesh that looked like it might have gone through a meat grinder. The area at the top of his muzzle and around his cheek was stained a dark purple brown from the blood that had been slowing and maybe still was flowing. There were scratch marks around the wound, probably where he had scratched and pawed at it from the pain, trying to make it better. But most shocking, was that the area moved, rising and falling, as if it was a living creature and it was breathing.

While the deer carcass had not made Christine sick, this did, and she drew back, disgusted and suddenly sick to her stomach. She could see it all in her mind now, the fleeing deer lashing out with its small but piercing back hooves, and Tyr at the back, making sure the animal didn’t double back on itself. The deer, trying one last time to defend itself, and Tyr, making a final blow to bring the beast down. She’d heard of other farmers’ dogs getting kicked in the face by deer, but she’d never seen it happen to a wolf before.

All this also meant that she knew why he was here rather than with the pack. He had been losing blood all night, and the wound was probably infected. Wolves could tell when their injuries were bad, usually not right away, but after a moment of living with it. They tended not to fight it. Christine remembered how she’d found Francie one day, hiding under the porch and unwilling to come out. She’d called her father over and complained that the dog wouldn’t come out and play with her. Her father had looked a long while under the porch and had talked to the dog a while, before pulling his head out and addressing his daughter.

“Leave her alone,” he’d said uneasily, shooing her away from the front of the house. “She wants to be alone for this. Dogs go off alone at times like this in their lives. Best to give her the privacy she needs.”

The next morning, Francie lay dead under the porch.

Christine looked down at Tyr where he lay growling, and maybe even shaking a little, and she felt a pang of desperation in the back of her throat, tears coming to her eyes again. But not from pain this time. From sadness, from grief.

“Oh Tyr,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Oh Tyr…”

At her words, Tyr seemed to quiet a little. His ears flicked forward and his lips uncurled to cover his blood marked teeth. His growling dulled to a muffled rumble inside his chest as he watched her, probably curious to what she’d do next, now that she hadn’t shown herself to be a threat.

Christine wasn’t really sure what she was going to do, but she knew that she was not about to let Tyr die there under the porch. Not when she could stop it.


****


The two sat facing each other for another hour, contemplating one another and their current situation. The wolf had fixed his one good eye on the woman, and stared unblinkingly at her, waiting and listening. It was also possible that he’d given up at that point, and was waiting for her to attack, knowing that he was to weak to fight back or escape. But she didn’t attack, and she frankly had very little idea of what to do. She knew that her father would have called the police or animal control by now, but there was a major problem with this: Tyr was badly injured, and he had bitten someone now. Surely, they’d just put him down, or shoot him to ease the pain of his passing. And that was not what she wanted.

It came to her then, and as flawed as the plan was, she had the feeling it would work. After her father’s death, the doctor had given her sleeping pills, real strong ones too. If she could get Tyr to eat one or two, he’d be out cold, and she could retrieve him from under the porch! After that she could…yes, and what after that, huh? Again, she was at a loss of an answer. Call animal control and lie about the bite? No. They’d still put him down.

She’d have to take care of him, maybe with some help from her friends, and hope for the best. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the alternative, and there were no other feasible options she could think of.

Tyr watched her lazily out of his good eye, still rumbling his throat in the warning growl, but making no other move. He looked tired, worn out, and the matted fur was getting thicker with sweat all the while. He was breathing hard, his long tongue rolling to the side of his mouth, which opened wide with every intake of breath, then closed some with every exhale. The earth below his head was red, and a very small puddle lie drying in the dust where the blood had fallen She knew she would have to work quickly if this were all going to work.

“Stay here, ok?” she asked the wolf. Tyr blinked at her and made no move to disobey.

She went into the house and found her first aid kit before she did anything else. She poured some rubbing alcohol on her wound, wincing at the burn, and wrapped a gauze bandage clumsily around the injured ankle. Then, she found the sleeping pills and went to the fridge. She still had a plate of raw chicken she had intended to give to the Druid pack, but now it could all go to one wolf. She pulled out three sleeping pills and ground them onto the meat. If Tyr needed more, she could slaughter another chicken and use that, but she figured this would be enough.

She returned to the porch, and yet again Tyr pulled back his lips and snapped angrily at her as she stepped onto the ground, though now she walked farther away from his location. She knelt and slid the plate forward, just under the edge of the porch. Tyr stopped growling and his ears shot forward, nose trembling. Even near death, Tyr was still hungry. He looked from Christine to the plate, then back again, suspicious. Then he crawled forward, slowly, hesitantly, and sniffed the plate again. He looked up at Christine once more, Eye narrowed, ready to attempt to attack or run if need be.

“Eat up boy,” Christine urged, backing away to give him more space. “Come on, it’s good.”

Tyr looked at her for a while longer, and then with great abandon, tore into the raw chicken as if he had never eaten before in his life. Christine smiled. So far, so good.



(Part 3 to come soon! once people comment...*hint*)

This post has been edited by cheeseyness on Jul 8 2008, 02:24 AM

please?
its starting to get very interesting. cant wait to see what happens next..... have to say an awesome job so far, the story really captures your attention.
Really good job, :rock: please write more

This post has been edited by Jeanie01 on Jul 8 2008, 05:03 AM

Lol, a little more actiony. I like the turn of the story here, and I like the personification of Tyr. All in all, I like where this is going, please continue.