Animagus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
I love love love this! It literally was so easy to write. Ideas came straight to me. And I do wish to continue and work on this further.

Submitted: October 21, 2012

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Submitted: October 21, 2012

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As he opened his eyes, he struggled to see clearly until he rubbed the sleep away with hard rugged hands, digging his dirty black fingernails into the corner of his left eye.

‘Bloody hell, is it that time of the morning already?!’ he pulled back the fur from the cold wooden frame, gasping at what he saw. Glistening white ice drops falling in and out of frosty tall trees, a tree so old that a small fox family hid easily from passers-by inside the hollow trunk. The sound of ravens chirping to one another from their fluffy feathered nests echoing in the distance, a slight chill breeze floating in the air brushing past the old Chief as he stood, goose bumps up his arms.

‘Right, I best fetch the boys. Glenis! For Christ sake woman, where are the boys?’

‘They’re outside dear, ready and waiting for you to choose their speciality weapons for this winter,’ the Chief’s wife smiled sweetly, a hidden frustration in her tone. ‘I have laid out your hunting attire; it is on the chair next to the fire.’

Standing outside the largest of the oak cabins was the Chiefs youngest son, Fenris. He was leaning a three foot high fire-wood pyramid; a look on his face that was so utterly uninterested any movement could have fulfilled his attention.

‘Do I HAVE to go with you today, Filtar? I would much rather stay here with Mother like before,’ Fenris muttered to his brother.

‘You are of hunting age now Fenris, it’s time you lived up to the family name and showed something more encouraging to Father than a pathetic wooden carving.’ Filtar lifted one corner of his mouth as he spoke the last few words, trying not to hurt his little brother’s feelings.

‘Filtar is right Fenris. You need to become a man and get over your childish games. They do not impress anyone, especially at your age. You could do with at least an elk or a deer to gain some respect, maybe even a wolf – but we all know that isn’t going to happen! Simply an impossible task for you little weakling, let’s face it.’ Syke the eldest of the three cackled like a witch as he continued verbally attacking his brother, ‘the day that I ever see you with a wolf slumped over your shoulder I swear to you that I will bow to your greatness…fat chance of that ever happening.’ Still sniggering, Syke grabbed and then rustled young Fenris’ hair, matting his dark brown curly locks.

‘Gerr off, brother! What if I didn’t want to hunt anyway? It is cruel tearing poor helpless animals away from their families, bashing their brains in if we miss the shot.’

‘Fenris, come on, you can’t be serious! You know how much of a necessity it is for surviving. We need to hunt, in order to feed the Halar, our people!’

‘I know that, Syke, but I mean...we don’t need to kill the wolves, we don’t eat them do we? We just shoot them for fun, for their fur or whatever else. It isn’t right.’

‘Brother, what you must understand is that…’ Behind Syke, the low bellowing voice of their father and the Chief of the Halar People, hearing from afar, interrupted his eldest son.

‘We kill the wolf in order to maintain our dominance over their species. To ascertain our safety we must hunt them. If the pack remains frightened of us they will not hunt us. It is the way of the world. One day, son, you will come to realise that everyone has a pre-determined destiny set out before them. This task of killing the new wolf pack alpha is our destiny, as a family.’ His dark-blue eyes were scrutinising and harsh, as he looked each of his three sons up and down.

In unison his sons spoke softly, ‘Yes Father,’ with Fenris speaking in an almost whisper.

 

Later that morning, with all of their crossbows and guns chosen, the strongest and bravest men of the Halar People began the hunt for the new ferocious Alpha wolf. Walking in amongst the obese trackers was little Fenris, listening to tales of old wolf hunts vividly imagining past wolves with the description of colours and temperaments.

‘I member my vury furst wolf ‘unt, lil’ old Fenris, I nevur seen anyfing like it. This wolf were massive he were, almost twice the size of me. Mind you I was a tad smaller back in them old days,’ the brute chuckled to himself. ‘Any rate he were a biggun, he looked so soft to touch wiv his black and grey face, I will nevur forget his eyes though, oh no, they were somink else. Like a golden yellow but wiv a black rim, they dint ‘alf shine ya know. Oh it were lovely, seeing ‘im wiv his pups looking so gentle and that,’ he looked up to the darkening sky above, his voice saddening, ‘it were a shame we had to gerrid really, wiv the pups so small and all –.’

The look on Fenris’ face was as though he had been smacked out of nowhere, his pale complexion diminishing to match the snowy ground.

‘You, you killed the pups?’

‘Well yes young sir, cu’nt be ‘avin anymore wolfs growing up same size as ‘im could we? He could easily ‘ave taken out the lot of us.’

‘But, he DIDN’T! He was alpha and- and- and-’ desperation in little Fenris’ voice was becoming too much to bear.

‘Fenris!’ A hallowing voice rippled past the tribesmen until it reached the young boy.

‘Father?’

‘Here boy... NOW.’

Off Fenris ran, scuffling through the towering men to his father, almost tripping over thorny nettles as he went, ‘Oh my…’ Fenris’ voice so high pitched it was hardly noticeable.

There beyond the small opening of the Conrad Woodland was Lake Liel, the ancient site of their ancestral spirits. At the rim of the lake edge stood Domri, a silver coated wolf with black eyes.

‘Enough. We must be certain that this is the one we are seeking; if it is him...he is a monster.’

The wolf was attempting to drink the water of Lake Liel, instead he found himself licking the lakes icy edge. As the tribe slowly moved around the beast his head lifted and turned, his eyes were like staring into the black abyss, the bush of his tail twitched and he ran for cover.

‘Ah…that is your task for this winter. One of you must bring me his head and with that his young. Dead.’ The Chief lifted his head with pride, thinking of the task being successful. As the Chief’s courageous talk continued, Filtar and Syke listened attentively, gathering as many pointers as possible. Whereas young Fenris was slacking in pace and in doing so, began to stray from his father’s thundering voice.

Kicking the lifeless and crispy leaves in the air out of boredom, Fenris began to hear a slight whimper around him, as if it was circling around in his head. He stopped, looking around; just to the left of him was a small bush with flashes of tan. As Fenris crept over he changed his tread to a lighter step in order to not frighten the unknown subject – just as he had learnt to do so earlier that day with the trackers. Feeling compelled to discover the noise he peered through his brown curly locks into the remainder of the bush, shocked to see a dark pool of crimson surrounding a young wolf. The pup had a deep wound on its leg, a purple pulsating gouge, with a lighter red viscous liquid trickling down its injured body. What was once a lightly tanned, striped white fur was now a sopping wet dark brown mess of a beautiful animal.

Without a flicker of worry or anticipation Fenris attempted to pick up the pup, which didn’t flinch in the slightest, instead it just stared endlessly with its soft brown eyes at the floor. Fenris wrapped his emerald green robe gently around the pup, which clearly showed his family’s coat of arms – two aggressively reared stags conjoined by a teardrop shaped sapphire.

‘Now my little wolf warrior, let’s get you safe and well.’ Fenris scurried home swiftly, hiding the pup under his arm. Knowing that if his Father or brothers were to discover his new addition to the village, the pup would be killed, Fenris had to surreptitiously keep it hidden. Straight from entering his cabin, Fenris fetched a small woven box, where he laid the pup and placed it under his bed. The fire was prickling heat outward past the animal. That night, Fenris fed the pup rabbit from the stove cooking outside, and then left the pup to rest.

Throughout the blustery night, Fenris consciously awoke eagerly check if the pup was still breathing and the last time Fenris woke he smiled as he looked down on the animal.

‘Convel, you will be just fine my little wolf warrior,’ a sparkle in his eye, similar to that of the sapphire on his broach.

 

In the following weeks, companions are most certainly what they became. Convel was bursting full of life and soon after the two discovered one another Fenris began playing, cuddling and even began training the quirky fluff ball once Convel’s leg had started to heal.

One morning Fenris was teasing Convel with a dead mouse he had found, dragging it along the ground as the pup pounced time after time, then out of nowhere Convel landed on Fenris’ lap having caught the mouse. As Fenris noticed the mouse he felt an inconceivable pain, shock filling his entire body; his slacks were staining with blood, every second he waited the puddle under his leg grew larger at an increasingly high speed, the colour resembling freshly mulled wine. His face turned pale white. Having to deal with this bloodshed alone, Fenris ripped apart his clean cotton shirt and tightly wrapped it around his leg; it slowed the bleeding. After catching his breath, Fenris threw the bloody rags into his bedroom fire. He sighed, slowly feeling more and more light-headed, not long after he was dozing in and out of consciousness. Fenris attempted to re-dress his wound and to his dismay the wound was weeping lime green pus and smelt like a rotting corpse.

 

* * *

 

Standing in the forest, surrounded by a fresh breeze on the edge of a cliff was Fenris; overlooking a rushing river, noticing how the water was breaking softly, hearing the current as it flowed. He rubbed his right cheek, and brushed away a fly; he felt strange. It was almost too calm. Turning quickly, he felt something dark lurking in the shadows behind him. As he incessantly stared toward the opposing cliff edge, he waited. Just as he gave up on his search an incredible howl was let loose, ringing from one ear to the other, Fenris had to cover his using his hands. He looked over one last time; he saw a large dark haired figure, massive black leathered claws tearing apart a dear with no effort. The creature looked back at Fenris, its eyes singed with a daringly bright yellow with a deep blue tinge surrounding the pupil. The longer Fenris glared the closer those eyes seemed to come; he tried moving yet felt as though he were in slow motion. The eyes left his exterior deepening into his inner core, as if they were transferred into Fenris’ mind, staring straight into his soul.

A calm pensive yet wise voice softly spoke from within Fenris. ‘Everyone has a destiny young wolf; this is the beginning of yours. You need to adapt and control your power. It is no curse but a gift, a gift given to you to help the greater good. It is your destiny to make a choice, Fenris; a choice that will affect the entirety of nature as we know it. You must detach any form of emotion in this choice, you must think only of the future. Mystical wolf warrior, this is YOUR choice. Choose it wisely; your destiny depends on it.’ The eyes faded.

* * *

 

Fenris widened his light blue eyes with a sense of purpose and duty; as he sat up he noticed Convel sat staring towards him waiting for a command.

‘Convel, come here fella,’ the wolf now almost twice the size he was when Fenris found him, came and sat at his feet.

‘It is time for us both to go home.’

After gathering his things, the pair quietly departed the village of the Halar People, travelling side by side into the depths of the forest using the light of the moon to see. They shortly reached a clearing, Fenris then intended to part ways with the wolf but before he had chance a screech sounded. A conjoined howl, rising and falling in tone was sweeping across the snow from the foot of the trees at which they stood. Starved cold misery of a frozen world, released relentless hungered fury into the wild, blending haunting melodies of which had no name, all concentrated into one wailing cry of the new master.

The moon was at its peak, full and a bright shade of azure, it shone down onto the surrounding wolves standing in line all howling, one overpowering the rest. Inconsumable rage as it seized its prey, ripping a doe limb from limb, blood spewing uncontrollably around, eyes an evil shade of yellow, a true savage. This beast’s strength was not of a worldly race, he was the one true chief of all nature and mankind combined. Slowly, the wolves came and bowed down their heads to this creature, at the front stood Domri the once dominant silver spectacle, standing next to him was Convel. The beast walked with his pack into the woodland and found himself approaching the familiar Lake Liel, as he went to drink he caught glimpse of his reflection, flickering from the image of the pale skinned, blue eyed young boy he was, to the differing duplicate of the obscure monster he had become.

‘The greater good,’ he paused for a moment then he roared this message to the wolves…

‘Do you wish to be the hunter or to be the hunted?’ The wolves growled in response, snarling, drooling ready for the task at hand.

In his mind Fenris spoke words of wisdom to himself: ‘To experience tragedy is to be at one with nature. Nature is the future.’

 


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