From the Story Arc: Hunting High And Low

Previous Story in the Arc: The Center Will Not Hold by Victoria Victrix (Saturday, January 10, 2009)

Next Story in the Arc: The Mirror Crack'd by Victoria Victrix (Thursday, January 22, 2009)

(posted Saturday, January 10, 2009)

The she-wolf struggled to her feet, staggering under the fog of…fog of….

She shook her head, then her whole body. Blinked her eyes to clear them. Bits of…stuff…were hanging off her, and she seized them in her teeth and tore them away with impatience, her mind growing clearer the more she moved.

She looked around, feeling her body ache, feeling a terrible, dragging exhaustion, and a grief that made her want to howl. Disorientation rocked her, as scents flooded her nose. nothing was familiar. Where was she?

She should have been—

There was a flash of memory, of a man-place, a male with angry, fire-filled eyes, a female with blue flesh—

Then it was gone. And this place smelled nothing like men. She shook her head again. Her forepaws were sore. She picked one up and licked the pads, finding newly-healed cuts there.

Then her ears caught a sound, and her head came up.


No. Baying. The baying of hounds. But…hounds that cried out with anger, fear, and terrible despair.

A hunt…

No. The Wild Hunt. She knew that sound. The Wild Hunt coursed here, hounds with burning brimstone eyes, followed by terrible things on creatures that were no longer horses, pursuing what it would, Grey Wolves, Dire Wolves, Elk. Man. And what it caught—

The howling came again, and in it, the sound that said the hounds had caught a scent. And she knew, without knowing how she knew, that the scent was hers.

There was no time.

She staggered a few paces, then, clumsily, began to run.