She Wolf

Hello everyone!

I have not blogged in a really long time, as I'm sure you've noticed if you're a regular reader. And it's kind of unfair to you, because I've left you with tantalising threads of what was (apparently) a pretty good fantasy story and a teaser-trailer of another story.

I'm sure you have a lot of questions. If you liked Abracadabraholic, you might be wondering what's next in the world of alcoholic Ethan and what mysterious mission the police chief has for him. If you preferred A Fantasy Story, you might be simply dying to know what happens between Myrna and Darach now that they've been reunited; or maybe you'd prefer some backstory, how do they get past the Baron o' Mines to enter the dungeon and reach Darach in the first place?! Heck, you might even be a fan of my sewing blogs and be desperate to find out how my kirtles turned out (spoiler alert: pretty well, not perfect, and they're not 100% done yet so just be patient!).

A much as I'd love to answer these questions, my dissertation has been keeping me pretty preoccupied. I've got a lot of writing to do for it, as well as all my coursework. Also I'm sewing a patch for a quilt for a friend so that's taking priority over my more personal selfish sewing projects.

But today on the train I had a flash of inspiration and started writing! It's just a little snippet (self-contained, I promise; it’s not another “Part 1”) and I'm sure that this story, like most of my recent stories, will raise more questions than it can ever hope to answer. Regardless, I'm offering it up for enjoyment/critique.

I'd like to dedicate this story to my friend Aimee, because she's been having a rough couple of days and hopefully more wolves in her life will help with that.

Enjoy! (Also comment?)

♥Nancy♬

Running. A frantic dash through a thick forest of tall trees. It is dim in this forest, and getting darker as the sun slips closer and closer towards a hungry horizon. Before long it will be consumed in full and the sky will belch out a scatter of stars and a slim crescent moon.

Running. Heavy woollen skirts snatched up in haste, shoved into a plain leather belt to free strong legs from the trappings of feminine garb. The bodice of the dress: tight, but not too tight; nonetheless, her breasts heave and she pants. The green vines embroidered around the neckline rise and fall in time with every gasp for air.

Running. A predator follows close behind, heavy boots stomping hard into the ground: a stark contrast to nimble feet fleeing agilely through the grass and over protruding tree roots. His breath does not come as heavily: he is built for the chase.

Running. Red hair fallen loose from its braids flows free behind her like a cape. In her hand is a glass dagger with a hilt of shiny black obsidian; its wiggly edges make it look as if the glass blade is undulating out from its eery black base.

Running. Her goal is up ahead. The time is almost right and getting nearer every second as the horizon consumes the sun and regurgitates its celestial night-lights.

Light is in transition: it is dusk. Time is in transition: it is twilight. Up ahead, not so far now, the forest is in transition: the air seems to shimmer.

Running; faster now. She hits the invisible wall where the air seems to shimmer and slows suddenly, as if the crisp forest air has turned to water or translucent molasses.

Hanging; frozen in the air. Her clothes vanish and for a second she is naked: untouched skin exposed to falling night’s kiss.

Screaming; a second spent in agony. The transition is complete before her pursuer can catch up. Warm sunset turns to chill moonrise. Day gives way to night. Prey becomes predator.

Woman becomes wolf.

The wolf catches the glass dagger with graceful expertise, taking the obsidian hilt between her teeth. She turns to see her pursuer slowing; a look of confusion spreads across his face.

And then he grins. The woman would have been a pretty prize but it’s the dagger he wants and a wolf-pelt will keep a man warm long after he’s bored of a woman. He advances on the wolf.

Snarling; her lip curls. She leaps at him, knocking the measly human off his clumsy bipedal supports. Heavy paws force the wind from his lungs and leave him floundering in the dirt.

Running. A wolf escapes into the forest carrying her mysterious cargo far from the hunter. She is protected by the darkness. She is protected by the trees. She is protected by her lupine form.

And on she runs. In her mouth, the glass blade of wiggly-edged dagger seems to undulate out of its obsidian hilt.