A wolf as white as snow and ruby eyes stood on a cliff overlooking a valley. Save for blinking, it appeared scarcely to move. The wind rippled its fur, making it an ocean of frothy water mirroring the moonlight shining from the sky. For many minutes the wolf stood, staring out at some unknown point. A strange scent clung to the breeze, like the smell of an animal just before it takes ill. The smell of illness smashed the nose of any living thing, animal or plant, and yet the wolf made no movement, didn't waver once. The moon inched across the sky, the stars creeping along with it, but the wolf persisted, as well as the stench.
The wolf looked at a singular point, a black spot that appeared to float just below the horizon. As long as the wolf stared, the dot didn't move. The moon climbed to its peak, hovering there for many long moments. Then, as on a timer, it began its slow decent. Now and then the wolf would twitch its tail or sigh to the wind, the only indications and it was indeed alive and not a jewel-eyed statue, other than the ocean of fur and the occasional blink. A small sliver of light crept up above the horizon, but the wolf seemed to take no notice. It was focused of the dot, and hyper aware of the fact that not one living thing dared come within a mile of it. Those that had stood as dead trees, piles of dust and bones.
The sliver grew to a streak, the streak to a smear, the smear to a splatter, and at last the first rays of sunlight broke into the darkness. This was marvelous enough for the wolf to glance away from the dot, toward the steadily rising sun. In the moment the wolf looked away, the dot disappeared. The wolf was blasted by a tidal wave of the stench, and it turned. It looked into another pair of ruby eyes, the singular similarity the two wolves had. The other wolf was black, each strand of fur like a knife reaching out thirsty for the scarlet blood of life. The black wolf had fangs, witch dripped with saliva in anticipation. The black wolf had an angry and threatening stature, and the white wolf stood as grand and strong as a guardian protecting the weak. The black wolf seemed only to flicker from sight to a nearby bird, but to the white wolf's swift eye saw every movement. Drawing a deep breath in the moment before the two wolves collided, the white wolf held its breath and braced for the impact. The black wolf struck with the force of a mighty hurricane with a tsunami at its head, but the white wolf was still standing. It blinked, and the black wolf was standing just where it had been a moment before. The black wolf watched as the white wolf collapsed, and left, apparently content having seen the snow white fur become hot and sticky with blood.
The white wolf lay where it had stood that fateful night. It drew its head up, pointed its nose at the sun, and howled so fine, so long, and so clear not a living creature who heard it believed it came from their dying guardian, but from some godly creature sent to earth with the voice of a wolf. Not one life was taken. That day, just before noon, the white wolf lay cold and still on the cliff. Just before dusk, the black wolf was slain by the mightiest hunter, a human. The forest was quiet. Not a bird sang. A fierce wind blew, blowing away the jewel-eyed wolves like dust. At dusk, just before the final rays of the sun disappeared, a wolf was born with snow white fur and ruby red eyes. The wind blew the cries of the pup across the Earth.
The forest and all the creatures who heard rejoiced, for their guardian would soon protect again.
The wolf looked at a singular point, a black spot that appeared to float just below the horizon. As long as the wolf stared, the dot didn't move. The moon climbed to its peak, hovering there for many long moments. Then, as on a timer, it began its slow decent. Now and then the wolf would twitch its tail or sigh to the wind, the only indications and it was indeed alive and not a jewel-eyed statue, other than the ocean of fur and the occasional blink. A small sliver of light crept up above the horizon, but the wolf seemed to take no notice. It was focused of the dot, and hyper aware of the fact that not one living thing dared come within a mile of it. Those that had stood as dead trees, piles of dust and bones.
The sliver grew to a streak, the streak to a smear, the smear to a splatter, and at last the first rays of sunlight broke into the darkness. This was marvelous enough for the wolf to glance away from the dot, toward the steadily rising sun. In the moment the wolf looked away, the dot disappeared. The wolf was blasted by a tidal wave of the stench, and it turned. It looked into another pair of ruby eyes, the singular similarity the two wolves had. The other wolf was black, each strand of fur like a knife reaching out thirsty for the scarlet blood of life. The black wolf had fangs, witch dripped with saliva in anticipation. The black wolf had an angry and threatening stature, and the white wolf stood as grand and strong as a guardian protecting the weak. The black wolf seemed only to flicker from sight to a nearby bird, but to the white wolf's swift eye saw every movement. Drawing a deep breath in the moment before the two wolves collided, the white wolf held its breath and braced for the impact. The black wolf struck with the force of a mighty hurricane with a tsunami at its head, but the white wolf was still standing. It blinked, and the black wolf was standing just where it had been a moment before. The black wolf watched as the white wolf collapsed, and left, apparently content having seen the snow white fur become hot and sticky with blood.
The white wolf lay where it had stood that fateful night. It drew its head up, pointed its nose at the sun, and howled so fine, so long, and so clear not a living creature who heard it believed it came from their dying guardian, but from some godly creature sent to earth with the voice of a wolf. Not one life was taken. That day, just before noon, the white wolf lay cold and still on the cliff. Just before dusk, the black wolf was slain by the mightiest hunter, a human. The forest was quiet. Not a bird sang. A fierce wind blew, blowing away the jewel-eyed wolves like dust. At dusk, just before the final rays of the sun disappeared, a wolf was born with snow white fur and ruby red eyes. The wind blew the cries of the pup across the Earth.
The forest and all the creatures who heard rejoiced, for their guardian would soon protect again.
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