Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site


Ha, a night of danger.


Submitted:Oct 20, 2012    Reads: 18    Comments: 3    Likes: 3   


Why I love wolves.

I step in to the dense, foliage of the woods; the wind hurdled through the limbs of the trees, caring the sent of a syrupy nectar, my tong tingles with the touch of the sickly sweet breeze. A bead of sweat drips from my brow, the humid heat of dead summer, not the best time of year for me, personally I prefer autumn, much more suited to this region. I ascend through the barbaric barrier of trees, each a pointed knife poised to strike in to my heart. I cautiously raise my arms to protect my face from the bitter smelling spines. All around me I can clearly see dozens of beady eyes, dead still, glaring at me from a tangled bed of weeds. The moon gliding high in the sky receiving an eerie slit of florescent yellow light, a warning of his strength, and dominance of the clearing. There body's are undetectable against there surroundings, a subtle mix of grey and flecks of brown, blend in with the rotten bush. They slowly flatten what I can guess of there outline to the ground, hind quarters hovering above there heads. "No" I say shakily under my breath. Knowing what these over grown mutts where thinking, and I desperately hope I am wrong.

I subconsciously slide my foot backwards in the silk textured mud, the dull surface slips easily in to a heap at the heel of my, used to be new, converses. In a flash of metallic claws the fate I thought would come, was the only thing that was to be true in my mind. As one, they all leap in to the night, I falter slightly before I am covered all over with an electrifying jolt of adrenaline. The soft cast shadows of the moon do little but make the crevasses on the rocks and banks even darker, but it does nothing but intensify my fear, as the harsh light bounds of there flashing canines, I hear a daunting low growl emanating from the raw throats of the mutts surrounding me. Slick, saliva smothered tongs loll out of there mouths, as they slyly lick there lips, a poisonous chuckle seems to come from the largest of the animals, they slink off in to the night. But I don't trust this and stand my ground.

Ok, so it has been about two minutes since the wolves where here, and I am still shaking like a arrow still vibrating in the target, limbs stiff, mind focussed, but on what I am not sure. My heart seems to skip a beat when I notice there arrival to the land. One of the mutts, the one I noticed smirking at me earlier, steps forward . And as if it where human he waves his paw as a signal to the pack, attack, and boy do I know it. A ruffle of fur and teeth come snapping at me, no matter how much I resist they stick together, ganging up on me, and to them I am easy food. I notice that not one of the wolves are backing away from me as I draw my pen knife, the hilt on the blade glistens, as I drag it through the cheek of the closest wolf, and a twisted inhuman shriek, echoes in the night. As others rush to protect the wounded cub, I lash out again with the same response, and after about five times the pack retreats, scampering of in to the hood of the trees. Well at least I'm not dead.

Still recovering from the pain of the attack, I keep reassuring myself that they are gone and that I am hurt less than they are. I reach to the worst of the pain, and it's a gruesome gash about twelve centimetres long, gliding roughly down my left arm. I slowly gather my strength and probe the wound with the sleeve of my white top, not a good idea. After that experience , that pain, I don't think I will ever be scared again. Wrong. A shrill howl comes through the trees the wind shoves me back to the ground and I am left, on the brink of tears, wishing that I could go home. The chorus of howls are joining now with another pack, a call for help,

"better get out of here while I can still stand", I say to myself. Really just taking my own advice. I force myself to stand, and give myself commands, simple enough that my scared mind and take them. I feel lost in the wilderness, and I long for the power to hear my surroundings with ease, as I am sure that my incompetent shuffle is to be heard a mile off.

I reach home, finally, yeah, I guess you could say I learnt some think from that, how about… don't go in to the woods. But you have got to respect them really, there bravery, there communication and they way the work as a team, I think I maybe even admire them, not to say I would ever go near a wolf again in my life. My sister is also mad with me, because she thinks it's now my fault that she can't get a dog and I can't help thinking it is, but whatever, so I'm not really safe any where now! Well that I guess is why I love wolves (Only if they don't try to bite your head of, literally).





3

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.