"Released by the Moon", MWPP, PG
Apr. 5th, 2006 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluegeekTitle: Released by the Moon
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
exiled_mind
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wellymuck with inspiration from April 5th's prompt. Feedback and concrit are adored.
The wolf doesn’t think in the way of men. Logic doesn’t apply, grudges don’t have a bearing on actions, memory does not rule over instinct.
Memories are not whole, clear concepts, but rather dim flashes recalling that new and unfamiliar smell, something larger, louder, exuding not only fear, but also anger and pride as it crept ever closer.
The faintly remembered sound of his own loud call mixes with a terrified scream, the smell of blood, of flesh, unprotected and so close calls to him, but he cannot see the cause now, here in the present. Only the nudge of distant recall, and so he ignores it.
The wolf’s mind cannot carry the worry, the betrayal, the heartbreak of the boy-man’s, and so, for this one night, at once too long and too short, he is free of it. Free of the pain of emotion, a relief the wolf feels, even if he doesn’t understand.
The physical pain is sharp and fierce, and then fades to a long ache, but that is far easier to survive, to cope with, in its simplicity.
And so, for now, this form is an escape, a freedom; though as a boy he would never admit it, he did not fight the change, or the chance to simply allow the plague of thoughts, fears, and hurt to fade away into the simple need-focus that is the mind of the wolf.
He hears the approach, a low thunder of the ground beneath him, and his nose and ears perk up in expectation. Again, the brief flash of a terrified white face, of the enticing smell of blood and meat, before the flash is gone again to be replaced by the joy of freedom as he accompanies the larger, hoofed creature, and the smaller, creeping one into freedom.
The air is crisp, still carrying a hint of winter’s bite, but he is aware of the smells and sounds of encroaching spring, new growth, new fun, and new prey. The moon is no longer hazy behind thick clouds, but free, as he is, to go where it wished. He leaps clear of captivity and runs to keep up with the stag ahead of him, unable to decide what sensation to follow first.
This suits him, for a time, until a slight sensation of unease finally makes its way to his consciousness and he is forced to stop his half-hearted hunt for food.
Missing.
Something is gone that should be here. Although difficult to capture, a stray thought tells him that something – someone? - is absent.
He looks around, searching, searching… For what?
The stag stares at him, long and hard, and raises one front hoof a moment before remembering that the joints of this form do not work the same as a boy’s. The rat trembles and paces around them both in agitation. They sense the absence as well.
A thought, fleeting, only offers a single clue: thick, bristly fur scratching along his side as he wrestles… Something. He lies down, in the center of a clearing, and rolls as if soaking up the moonlight will offer answers that he can understand.
His ears flatten, and his head rests upon his forepaws, his tail flat and unmoving. The moon shines down, a comfort to him in this form, as he waits.
There is no sense of the passage of time, but he feels relief when he hears it, finally. Crackling of underbrush, rapid panting, a woof of anxious greeting, and then their fourth is there. They stare at one another, the stag and rat forgotten, for long moments, before the black dog turns with his tail down, curled under, to go.
At that movement the wolf rears up and sprints after him with a short howl. The dog turns and waits, making no move towards protection or self-preservation, and is bowled off his paws to roll around on the ground with the wolf. It takes only a moment to realize the happiness in the gesture, to realize it is greeting, not attack, and with a yelp of canine glee, he too leaps and rolls and turns himself free to the moonlight.
Author:
exiled_mindRating: PG
Author's Note: Written for
wellymuck with inspiration from April 5th's prompt. Feedback and concrit are adored.The wolf doesn’t think in the way of men. Logic doesn’t apply, grudges don’t have a bearing on actions, memory does not rule over instinct.
Memories are not whole, clear concepts, but rather dim flashes recalling that new and unfamiliar smell, something larger, louder, exuding not only fear, but also anger and pride as it crept ever closer.
The faintly remembered sound of his own loud call mixes with a terrified scream, the smell of blood, of flesh, unprotected and so close calls to him, but he cannot see the cause now, here in the present. Only the nudge of distant recall, and so he ignores it.
The wolf’s mind cannot carry the worry, the betrayal, the heartbreak of the boy-man’s, and so, for this one night, at once too long and too short, he is free of it. Free of the pain of emotion, a relief the wolf feels, even if he doesn’t understand.
The physical pain is sharp and fierce, and then fades to a long ache, but that is far easier to survive, to cope with, in its simplicity.
And so, for now, this form is an escape, a freedom; though as a boy he would never admit it, he did not fight the change, or the chance to simply allow the plague of thoughts, fears, and hurt to fade away into the simple need-focus that is the mind of the wolf.
He hears the approach, a low thunder of the ground beneath him, and his nose and ears perk up in expectation. Again, the brief flash of a terrified white face, of the enticing smell of blood and meat, before the flash is gone again to be replaced by the joy of freedom as he accompanies the larger, hoofed creature, and the smaller, creeping one into freedom.
The air is crisp, still carrying a hint of winter’s bite, but he is aware of the smells and sounds of encroaching spring, new growth, new fun, and new prey. The moon is no longer hazy behind thick clouds, but free, as he is, to go where it wished. He leaps clear of captivity and runs to keep up with the stag ahead of him, unable to decide what sensation to follow first.
This suits him, for a time, until a slight sensation of unease finally makes its way to his consciousness and he is forced to stop his half-hearted hunt for food.
Missing.
Something is gone that should be here. Although difficult to capture, a stray thought tells him that something – someone? - is absent.
He looks around, searching, searching… For what?
The stag stares at him, long and hard, and raises one front hoof a moment before remembering that the joints of this form do not work the same as a boy’s. The rat trembles and paces around them both in agitation. They sense the absence as well.
A thought, fleeting, only offers a single clue: thick, bristly fur scratching along his side as he wrestles… Something. He lies down, in the center of a clearing, and rolls as if soaking up the moonlight will offer answers that he can understand.
His ears flatten, and his head rests upon his forepaws, his tail flat and unmoving. The moon shines down, a comfort to him in this form, as he waits.
There is no sense of the passage of time, but he feels relief when he hears it, finally. Crackling of underbrush, rapid panting, a woof of anxious greeting, and then their fourth is there. They stare at one another, the stag and rat forgotten, for long moments, before the black dog turns with his tail down, curled under, to go.
At that movement the wolf rears up and sprints after him with a short howl. The dog turns and waits, making no move towards protection or self-preservation, and is bowled off his paws to roll around on the ground with the wolf. It takes only a moment to realize the happiness in the gesture, to realize it is greeting, not attack, and with a yelp of canine glee, he too leaps and rolls and turns himself free to the moonlight.
