Writing Contest! (ANNOUNCED WINNERS)

  The Creature by Leos, word count 1,067 (tw: mentions of blood and implied death)

She was face to face with the wolffish creature, snouts inches apart. Zoda’s soft whimpers echoed inside of her skull.

Why couldn’t she move?

  - - -

Akala was the daughter of the King. She had no fears.

Her persona was that of a bull’s. Prideful, stubborn and foolhardy. She always had to get her way and her way only. She wasn’t hesitant to shove her status into the faces of her pack mates.

And, there was Zoda, the son of the Herbalist. He was utterly infatuated with Akala, and did all he could to get her attention. Zoda was malnourished as a result of his low rank, and often his only meal was the leftover Bearberries from his mother’s medicines. He has the aura of a deer, determined, but very reserved.

Zoda was resting in a sunny spot by his mother’s cave, when the sound of very familiar pawsteps made his ears perk up. He raised his head and his eyes met Akala’s bright yellow ones.

“Hey, we’re going out.” To be honest, Akala didn’t care much for her admirer. But he was easy to drag around. And it was kinda fun to lead him on. Those words from Akala was enough to wake Zoda up all the way, and he was up and ready to go in less than a second.

Akala couldn’t help but laugh a little bit to herself. ‘What a suck up..’ She thought, before trotting towards the outskirts of the territory. Zoda was only a step behind her. 

“Where are we going exactly?” He asked, he was starting to grow anxious, more and more trees surrounded the duo. They were very far from the Plains. Akala shook her head. 

“You haven’t heard? Rumors are spreading like wildfire amongst the Kings and Queens across the territories. Apparently, scouts have spotted a tall wolf like creature, destroying forests and wiping out prey and predators alike. I think it’s an old-wolves tale... but I kinda wanna see for my....self....” 

Akala trailed off, and stopped abruptly in her tracks. This part of Deciduous Forest was destroyed. Trees uprooted with tears in their bark. Tears resembling very long claw marks. The scent of rotting Aspen was almost enough the cover the stench of decaying meat. Akala felt a chill come over her body. She shook it off, and exchanged a glance with Zoda.

Fear was clouding over his Amber eyes. He looked utterly petrified. Akala scoffed at him, so over dramatic..

The sun was starting to set, casting a red glow over the dead forest. Akala treaded forward, leaving Zoda almost speechless.

“W-where do you think you’re going!?” He called after her. He’s certain the pack’s King has noticed she was missing by now, and he won’t be happy when he discover’s where she has been. 

Akala ignored Zoda and continued forward. She was going to find the creature who was strong enough to do this. She hopped over a fallen log, but she underestimated the size of the tree, and snagged her back leg on one of its splintered branches. She tumbled onto the ground, and let out a curse.

“Akala!” Zoda cried out, and raced to her side. He hopped over the log with ease and inspected her wound.

“It’s fine!” She snarled, and pushed Zoda away. He gave her a concerned look, as she stood up. “Come on. I’m not done yet.” 

  - - -

The sun was completely below the horizon now, and the forest was only lit up by moonlight. The two wolves were growing weary, and Akala’s wound hadn’t stopped bleeding. She refused to limp though. Zoda’s unease grew.

A loud thud echoed throughout the the forest, and Akala and Zoda jumped at the sudden noise. They stood still, expecting another thud but there was nothing. The silence was deafening. Akala looked back at the terrified Zoda. His ears wear pinned back, and his fur was standing on end.

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now. What are you so afraid of?? Come on let’s-“

Akala turned her head forward and there it was. 

She was face to face with the wolffish creature, snouts inches apart. Zoda’s soft whimpers echoed inside of her skull.

Why couldn’t she move?

Akala had never felt fear like this before. It was so dark, but the moon had no trouble with outlining this creatures body.

It was tall. Not just tall, but unbelievably tall. It had paws with long claws that wrapped around the surrounding tree trunks, it’s used it’s weight to push those trees downwards into the ground. The cracking bark made Akala wince. And the creature’s back was arched at an angel so acute it stunned Akala that this creature could even walk.

Lastly, there was its face. It was very wolf like, the only stark difference being it’s mouth. It’s sharp toothed grin extended way past its’ eyes, only stopping at the base of its ears. It’s scraggly cheek fur melted into its body and it was just as matted.

The staring contest seemed to go on for hours, and it finally ended when the creature finally spoke. It’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, it made Akala’s fur stand on end.

“I....smell....blood....”

And the creature slowly raised its boney arm, and reached for Akala’s back leg. 

Her body filled with dread, her mind racing, every fiber of her being told her to run. 

But she couldn’t.

The creature grabbed Akala by the leg, and Zoda could only watch in sheer terror.

When Akala was gone, the creature acknowledged Zoda for the first time. It didn’t say anything. Just stared at him. Zoda’s blood ran cold at how well the moon reflected the blood covered muzzle of the creature, and hoped he would be next. Dying here would be easier than having to explain everything to the pack. 

The creature turned around, back into the dense forest, using its paws to push any tree’s out of its way.

Zoda was left there alone. He didn’t move a muscle for hours. All he could do was relive what had just happened over and over again until the sun peaked over the horizon. 

He stood up for the first time, his legs were shaky and unstable. He forced himself to tread back to the pack, it was a long way away.

As he walked, he finally allowed the tears to fall out of his eyes.

Songs to listen to while reading this for a classic spooky experience: ‘Haverghast Asylum’ and ‘Return to Arcacia’ by Midnight Syndicate, ‘Creatures That Kissed In Cold Mirrors’ by Cradle of Filth, and, towards the end until the final line to give it a melancholy, lonely, ‘this is the result of hubris but still, as they stare up at their fate, both of them are young and neither wants their life to end’ feel, ‘Dance of the Leaves’ by Novembers Doom.

Also help, I love these two characters so much now and I’m on the verge of tears :’) <3

‘It Weeps’ 

By #23288 | word count: 1,318 

There’s a story about these woods.

All the wolves know it. 

Beyond the wood smoke curling from the crofts at the feet of the mountains, beyond the brown heather and the black earth, they say there lives a creature. The world is dark and ancient here, a thing of mythos and fog, and this, the mothers whisper, is no different. It is not of the dying bracken, with the frostbitten tips; it is not of the cold autumn rain, lashing down in cruel, misty sheets; it is not of the stone circles or the moors or the mice freezing upon them. It is something that creeps in the silence, that waits upon the fields on the moonless nights, that wails and weeps in the valley and limps among the clustered villages, windows shut tight, like a poor, wounded beast.

They’ve all heard it. Pups curled shivering in the dark, in the night, short breaths fogging in the cold air – they’ve heard it. Healers caught out past sunset on the barren, empty hills, gasping and staring and turning in the silence, with a long, black stretch of moor between them and home and the question ‘which of us can run faster?’ curling around behind their eyes in the dark – they’ve heard it, too.

The crofters have a name for it, but it isn’t the right one. 

This creature doesn’t howl. This creature was never one of them.

This creature weeps.

It isn’t a monster, more than one wolf has said over the centuries, each of them thinking they are the first to believe so. It’s crying for help, out there on the tree line.  

It’s lonely.

It’s afraid. 

And off those wolves would go, into the black silence of the pine woods with their pack crying softly behind them (‘come back, it’s a trap, it’s waiting’). Off they would go, and there they would stay. And when morning came, a brave wolf might venture out after them, into the gloom and quiet of the trees, nose pressed to the earth and to the dry, brown pine needles. And the further they moved into the forest, the further their home would disappear behind them, until they were swallowed up by the trees and the true, utter silence. Not a bird. Not a breeze. Not a creak. Out the pine trees spread around them, endless and shadowy and still. And in the snow they would find not a paw print; and on the air they would find not a scent. 

The wolf they had come looking for had vanished into the trees. 

Perhaps, just the other side of this tree, they were howling. 

I’m here, they might be wailing, stamping their paws upon the earth and throwing themselves upon the trunks. I’m here, I see you. 

Perhaps, just the other side of this tree, there might be things that breathe and live.

But here, only one thing moves within the woods. 

And so, there is a story. It is not a pleasant story. It is one that is told within the stone circles, one that is told when a pack mourns for one of their own that has ventured out among the trees. It is one that says: stay away from the forest upon the hillside. And if you should hear weeping upon the moor, shut your eyes and turn the other way. And if you should see something moving out there, on a black and moonless night, run for your life. 

But there are always those who don’t listen.

To the pack among the heather, there was born a sister and her brother some two springs ago. Impetuous was she, and nervous he. They were raised, as all the pups of that grey, bleak valley are, on stories of the trees – taught to fear them. The brother listened, as all timid wolves might, but the sister did not. She took to wandering along the tree line, sniffing at the pine needles and peering into the shadows. She went out at dusk, at moon-high, in the middle of the day. And eventually, she came to the conclusion that the stories were false, that the trees were just trees and the monster was no more than a pup-tale told at dusk and high summer.

And so, late one evening, when the sun had set behind the towering hills and the air was grey and cold and close, she and her brother set off for the woods. He chattered and fretted all the while, eyes darting about and breath fogging in the dark air; she stalked along resolutely, face set in a frown and belly fur picking up the rain upon the heather that had fallen earlier that day. By the time they arrived at the trees, both their fur was black and drenched.

And on, still, they walked, as the forest closed around them and the hillside slipped away, as the world turned to silence and the bare, dead trees stood black and perfect among the unturned snow. Their branches reached hooked and twisted in the still air. 

‘We ought to turn back,’ fretted the brother, tail tucked between his legs and hackles raised and head swivelling this way and that. ‘We ought to turn back before it’s too late.’ 

‘Only mice run, brother,’ the sister replied, voice low and quiet as she stared straight ahead, head thrust forward and ears flattened against her long, dark fur, ‘and we are wolves. There is nothing among these trees but the frost.’

‘And that is what worries me so,’ whispered the brother, with a voice choked like rain through a villager’s thatch. ‘There is nothing. Where are the swallow prints? Where are the hatchlings fallen from their nests and lying frozen upon the earth? Where are—’

Softly, from deep among the trees, there came a weeping.

The sister froze, and the brother with her. 

The forest seemed to close around them. All around, there was only that terrible, quiet weeping. The shadows among the trees in the distance grew thicker, the straight trunks around them standing out black and silent against the haze. For the first time since they entered the woods, a breeze stirred and rattled the branches. The sister and brother backed against each other, one cowering and bristling and crying quiet prayers under his breath, the other standing tall and proud and firm, as though her legs were not trembling beneath her just the same, as though she would meet this monster - as though she would meet her very death - with stubborn defiance.

And still, there came that weeping.

It drew closer. The two wolves peered among the trees, terrified of what they might see. They looked all about them, among the whispering trunks and the clawed, black branches and the fallen logs. Their breaths clouded in the cold air. Still they saw nothing. 

And suddenly, the weeping changed to something different entirely, something shrill and screaming, something like an elk whistling in the night, something that made even the sister’s eyes stretch wide and white.

It was a hunting call.

The branches cracked and creaked over their heads.

Slowly, breathlessly, the two wolves raised their eyes, and when they did they saw a tall, gaunt creature silhouetted black and smiling against the sky. 

It was not around them.

It was above them. 

I would like to say thank you to Xylax for holding this contest, I so so so hope we have more of these in the future, even if I don't win anything it was so much fun to write this out and get the creative writing juices flowing. So thank you for doing this and having such an interesting and stimulating prompt!

Entry for Xylax's Writing Contest

Orbs like Full Moons

By Cornix #22219             Word Count: 1289

It came upon us slowly, oh so very slowly. Even when it, no... she. Even when she knew we could see her. The trees groaned beneath her weight, but I hold no doubts in my mind that had she wished to be silent, she could have been. I think the slow approach was an attempt to look non-threatening, but I couldn't help but think she looked much like a cougar. One confident in its ability to take you down, even run you down if need be. We were terrified... Yet... Nula couldn't help but be intrigued, I could see it in her eyes. I think she wondered what a titan like this could want with two wolves like us? Her massive, endless eyes staring wide at us, seemingly into the heart of us.

"Papa?"

I pause, realizing I'd stopped speaking. I shake myself, giving a comforting nuzzle to the young pup before me, "Yes, dear one?" I say.

"What did she want?" my daughter asks.

"For that... I would need to start at the beginning. Your mother and I had been scouting..." I say, eyes unfocusing as I speak.

It smells different this time, I wonder if a new pack has moved in? We will have to note this to the family when we return… “Nula, you smell that right?” I say, approaching. She pauses, sniffing the air.

“Yes… What do you think it is?” she responds.

I hesitate before responding, it could be a new pack but the smell is off, maybe a type of prey we hadn’t encountered before? “I don’t know,” I reply honestly, “we should stick close and keep our wits about us.” A crack resounds through the air as I say this, the sound of a tree crashing to the ground following soon after. My hackles rise as I dip my head low, eyes scanning the tree line. It could have been an old tree, the snow had been falling hard the past few days. I hear Nula gasp from beside me and I notice her staring forward. What in the… I follow her gaze but see nothing.

“Nula, what do you see?” I whisper, eyes darting back and forth, but I get no response. She takes a few steps forward, eyes still wide. I look again, and that’s when I see it. Two massive, glowing orbs like full moons in the dark, but lower than any real moon could ever be. I feel myself shrinking back as they grow larger, the scent in the air growing pungent. The light of the moon in the sky reveals a hulking, massive body. Wolf-like, but nothing like us. It smells like nothing I had ever encountered but was unmistakably the source of the strange smell we had come across. The creature’s approach is slow, almost painfully so, but each step, each movement was deliberate, controlled. This creature was confident and that terrifies me.

“Nula,” I hiss, “get back, we don’t know what-” I glance up at it, "who it is," but I get no response, “Nula!” The creature stops at the treeline, its head as big as Nula’s body. Their eyes meet, Nula locking into place, as if they can communicate without words. “Nula please,” I whine, “answer me!” She finally turns back to me, a relaxed, pleasant look on her face.

“My love, she has come to help us!” her tail begins to wag.

“She?” I ask, “help us with… with what? Nula do you know who this is?”

“She wants to help protect us, keep our family alive, keep her family alive!” Nula coos, turning fully towards me, still looking relaxed, even as the creature looms ever closer. Somehow, it looks even more terrifying standing still,

Her? Family... What? I think, glancing up at the creature, "dear one,” I say cautiously, “how could you possibly know this? It- she? She hasn’t said a word.”

Nula laughs softly, “Oh, my darling… she has spoken! Are your ears clogged with snow? She spoke to me, didn’t you hear?” Nula’s smile fades, a look of confusion coming upon her. Before I can say a word, the creature moves.

“Children of the moon,” the creature says, “children of the forest and shadows. You are brave, cunning and strong, but the elements are uncaring and harsh. The moon takes pity, but no action to ease your troubles,” she waves a long, sinuous arm towards the snow-blanketed area, “and your competitors will not falter in taking you out to ensure their own survival. I can offer protection,” her voice is both soft and comforting yet coarse and gravelly at the same time. Much like the wind during a storm, alluring and dangerous. I fail to notice her jaws haven’t moved since she arrived.

“Child, I can make you, you and your family strong, capable, you shall never be alone, shall never need fear,” I feel my body relax. Yes, I can protect my daughter, my mate, the rest of our family. We could protect ourselves from the other packs, the other predators, from hunger and sickness… All… All we had to do was…

I feel something snap, as if I were in a trance, “You say this, great mother, but what must we do in return? What is the catch?” I don’t think a beast such as she could smile, not as we wolves do, but if she could, I think she would have.

“Yes, clever son of the pines and shadows, you must do something for me, but it is a simple task, one that requires very little from you,” she moves closer, standing over Nula, her breath puffing out in clouds as she bends her long neck down. Her head eclipses my mate as it comes level with mine.

“What must we do, vast mother?” I ask softly, sitting as I stare up at her. She doesn’t speak for a long moment and I wonder if I’ve made her angry. Could I make it up to her? Earn her forgiveness? Such thoughts flee from my mind as she finally speaks.

“Why, dear one, you must become a part of my family.”

“...pa… Papa…. Papa!” I shake myself, looking down at my daughter before me, “Papa, you were going to tell me a story?” I smile at her before lifting my nose to the wind. Yes, it was time.

“No, my sweet rabbit foot, I will not tell you a story, but perk up! I shall instead show you what your mother and I found in the woods!” Her eyes grow wide as she stares behind me, I know what she sees. I had reacted in a similar way, but now I knew the truth, now I knew better.

“Baby, baby come here,” Nula says behind me, her voice soft and comforting, yet coarse and gravelly at the same time.

“Go to your mother,” I say, echoing my mate.

“Papa… Papa that’s not… that’s not mommy! Tha's not-” she looks so scared, so unsure. I stand, approaching my daughter, nuzzling her in comfort.

“Just smell the air, look at your mother, it is her, I promise,” my daughter, pauses, still trembling but does as I say. She sniffs, tentatively, then looks to her mother. Her body relaxes.

“Mommy?” she asks. I hear Nula’s tail shifting behind me, the sound like the wingbeats of an eagle taking flight. My daughter runs to Nula, all reservations gone. I watch with pride, my daughter's small body fitting perfectly in the claws of my mate. 

We will be safe for we are strong. We are no longer children of the moon, of the forest, or the shadows. We are her children now and she is our mother. We shall not survive but thrive.

I've finally got my entry completed! This was a lot of fun to write, and I'm excited to finally be able to go and read everyone else's (I didn't want to be influenced by other entries before submitting my own). This idea sparked in my head as soon as I saw the prompt picture. Also, although this story is not directly inspired by it and does not reference it at all, I would like to recommend reading Doe of Deadwood, a comic on deviantart, which the prompt picture reminded me of. It's an amazing comic about a doe who sacrifices creatures to a forest demon, and any authors feeling prompted by the picture would probably also enjoy this comic! 

I hope you enjoy reading my story :D

Title: The Willing Sacrifice

Word Count: 1414        Author: #731

As usual, the Queen led the way. Behind her, determined to earn his redemption, the Traitor followed. Their paws sunk deep into the snow, the frost biting at their pads as the icy winds battered their bodies. They had entered the forest only a short while ago, but already the tower of interlocking trees had engulfed their homelands behind them with a blanket of darkness. The bare branches shook and groaned during particularly strong gusts of wind, and the dead remains of grasses that were not buried by the snow threatened to snap as their rotting stems were thrown against each other. The Queen stopped suddenly, her hackles lifting as she raised her head.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what, my Lady?” the Traitor’s voice trembled slightly as he addressed his leader.

“Precisely,” the Queen’s ears flicked back and forth as her eyes surveyed the forest, “There are no rabbits below ground. There are no birds in the skies. The bark of the trees is untouched by starving deer. This forest is lifeless.”

The Traitor looked around, a fearful expression overcoming his face as he realised the overwhelming emptiness of their surroundings. His legs shook as he crouched in fear, his paw lifting out of the snow as his body tensed in preparation to run.

“Flee, and the Guards will tear you apart,” the Queen’s voice was calm but the gleam in her eye as she turned to look back at the Traitor promised bloodshed should he disobey. The Traitor gulped and placed his paw back over his own track, looking down in obedience.

“Time is short,” the Queen strode on, “We must reach the border.”

In anxious silence the wolves trekked forward, the Queen marking the way with sure footing and the Traitor filling her prints as he followed. Aside from the occasional creak of dead wood in the canopy above them, the crunching of snow under paws, and the huffing of cold breath, the forest remained eerily silent and still.

Finally, the tendrils of light reaching down through the canopy towards them expanded as the border they were searching for came into view, the parting of the trees ahead beckoning them to step out of the forest. The pair looked up at the stormy sky as they passed the trees at the forest border, then forward as they stepped into the clearing that marked the forest’s centre. Across the expanse of untouched snow before them was a row of trees outlining the far side of the clearing, the forest beyond them, leading to the Southern lands, shrouded in darkness. The Queen confidently pushed on to the other side of the clearing as the Traitor lagged behind. She stopped at the far border and looked up into the dark mass of tangled trees.

“Great Guardian,” the Queen’s voice rang through the clearing, “I summon you on behalf of the Northern Wolf Kingdom.”

The creaking treetops crashed against each other as the winds picked up, the sudden sound startling the Traitor into catching up with his leader. The specks of light piercing through the canopy began to dance before their eyes, twisting and merging with the darkness of the forest. The indistinguishable spiralling mass of darkness entranced the wolves as it grew between the trees, neither capable of looking away from it. From the depths of the dark a long, clawed limb reached out and pushed aside a great tree blocking its way as if it were nothing. A second limb brushed aside a tree on the other side of the spiralling mass, followed by two spindly legs that planted themselves deep into the snow to support it. 

From the sides of the dark mass long clumps of fur fell to reveal the ribcage beneath that they hung from. A loud snap echoed through the forest as the top of the mass separated from the ribcage, and a long neck unfurled, the attached dark head rolling over the creature’s body and dropping down to the level of the wolves. The creature was so vast in size that they knew without question its great fangs would be capable of crushing the neck of even the largest bear, and the gleam in its hollow eyes could entrance even the most hard-headed boar. The creature towered over them, so expansive in the space that neither wolf could truly pinpoint where its limbs ended and the forest began.

“Wolf Queen,” the chilling voice of a being older than the ground they stood on echoed through their bodies to the very core of their beings, “You break the Ancient Laws by coming here to disturb my rest.”

“The herds are gone and the Pack starves,” the Queen spoke, “The rabbits have dug too deep and my young have nothing to chase. The rare days of sun strike my wolves down with heat exhaustion, and the icy winds penetrate our den so deeply that my womb has been cursed barren this season. As an act of devotion, to restore the balance in our lands, I bring a willing sacrifice to the forest.”

At this the Guardian twisted its head sideways to look upon the trembling wolf beside the Queen, his limbs slightly splayed as he tried to stay upright in a fight against his own fear. After a moment of contemplation, the creature spoke, “A willing sacrifice is a powerful force indeed. Tell me, wolf, what makes you willing?”

“I…” the shaking wolf’s voice broke and he swallowed before trying again, “I am a Traitor. I made a choice that harmed the Pack. I would rather give my life to save my Brothers and Sisters, dying in honour, than reach my end alone in exile.”

The Guardian was silent for a while as it stared down at the Traitor, then it drew back to full height and addressed him. 

“There is no birdsong here, no energy running the trails, no fighting, no birth, and no death. The forest is still and my powers weaken. The Northern Wolves are not the only Kingdom in pain. A wrong must be made right for balance to be restored in all lands.”

The Traitor stepped forward, prepared to do his duty and right his wrong to the Pack.

“Young wolf,” the Guardian’s voice froze his limbs, “Do not be so eager to meet death. I require no sacrifice today.” Both wolves’ eyes widened, and the Queen stepped forward with a frown.

“I will not let the Pack starve,” the Queen snarled, her love for her children overpowering her fear of the ancient creature.

“Your Pack may yet be saved, Wolf Queen,” the creature raised its head with a croaking roar and the trees to its left began to shake and snap, booming sounds echoing as trunks fell to the ground, “You must both follow the path through the forest. You will discover the Menace. Confront it. Right the wrong. Restore the balance.”

“You want me to travel with the Traitor?” the Queen huffed, “My children starve and you expect me to leave them without a leader?”

The trees around them trembled and the winds howled as the Guardian, patience worn thin, gave its final warning, “Confront the Menace or I shall take two sacrifices today as penance for disturbing me.”

The Traitor ducked behind his leader as even she took a step back. The ground began to shake as the Guardian’s body disintegrated, shards of darkness flying to merge back with the trees and branches and boulders and ground, until finally the forest was still again, and the only sound was the Traitor’s whimpering. The Guardian could not be seen, or heard, or smelt, but both wolves knew it was eternally present, ready for them to make a wrong move. The Queen turned to look at the Traitor, eyes narrowed.

“Stand up properly,” she commanded, “The Guardian may have spared your life, but you must still earn your redemption if you wish to not meet your end in the jaws of your kin. We will find this Menace, confront it, and if the Pack is saved then there is a chance you may be allowed to re-join us.”

For the first time since his betrayal, the Traitor felt hope stir in his chest; hope that he may redeem himself and be welcomed into the embrace of his Brothers and Sisters once more. With renewed purpose, he followed the Queen as she turned down the path marked by felled trees, determined to save his home.

Word Count - 1153

Names

Tooto - Shawnee word for Bullfrog

Nepi - Shawnee word for Water

Nekoti - Shawnee word for One

Thief of Sunrise 

“Sleep, Tooto,” she grumbled. 

“Haven’t you heard of it?” 

Tooto shook his fur. 

“Just a dream. I’ll sleep now.”

Nepi huffed. “Stay that way this time.” She curled back up, tail over nose to keep out the frost. 

Tooto slept, no dreams to penetrate the darkness left in the wake of that terrible nightmare. 

-_-_-_-

Dawn brought little comfort. 

Cold, hungry days were upon them, sky clouded and gray, harsh winds ripping through bare trees. Tooto shivered, and stood beside Nepi for her warmth. She growled wordlessly, simple irritation at the cold, at the dark, and possibly at Tooto. 

Tooto shivered again, but made no move to give her space. 

He looked at the sky, at the barren trees, at Nepi’s pelt. Anywhere save the wasteland before them. 

A dozen or so white-tailed deer, frozen in their tracks like stone, and with no more life than any rock. The frost had killed them, a useless death.  No nourishment beneath their frosted coats, just bones, skin, hair, and a thick layer of ice. 

Never had they seen such a winter. 

Tooto crept behind Nepi as she walked through the eerie clearing. The stench of death was notably missing, with only the sharp bite of cold running through his snout. 

The buck stood frozen, keeping watch over his herd even in death.  Icicles hung like fine diamonds from each point on the antlers, sparkling water in the fading sunlight. 

Tooto shivered.

“Keep that up,” Nepi said lightly, “and you’ll shiver away into nothing.” Her tail betrayed the casual tone, brushing nervously at the snow piled up between her legs. 

“Come.” she shook herself free of snow and of worry. 

“The prey won’t hunt itself.”

-_-_-_-

The prey was scarce, self-hunting or not. Tooto and Nepi curled close that night, ignoring the emptiness in their bellies. That closeness meant Tooto's nightmares woke Nepi almost immediately, kicking, scratching and whining in his sleep. 

"Tooto," she growled. "Sleep!"

"I was," he whimpered, cowering in on himself. 

"The dreams… they're so real!"

Nepi sighed and licked his ears. 

"Sleep, Tooto. I'm sure things will look better in the light.”

But the light didn’t come. Nothing but darkness, long after when sunrise should have been. Tooto saw Nepi’s tail curl nervously, and tucked his own tight between his legs. 

“Something’s happened,” Nepi growled. Snow began to fall on her dark pelt, large, heavy flakes like stars in the night. 

“Something bad.”

Tooto only whined in response. 

The wind whistled in what was almost a song, rasping through the naked trees. Nepi raised her nose to the breeze, sniffing for any clue that might save them. 

“Come, Tooto.” 

She started off into the rapidly deepening snow. What could Tooto do except follow?

Half slinking, half bounding, Tooto and Nepi trudged deeper into the forest, and deeper into darkness. 

Soon, Tooto could hardly see Nepi’s dark pelt in the blackness, relying on her warmth to stay close. 

“Nepi,” he whimpered, low and frightened. 

“We should turn back.”

Nepi swished her tail across his back, warm and sturdy and comforting. “We have to keep searching,” she reminded him gently. 

“We need the light to come back.”

“There it is!” Tooto yipped hopefully. A pale pinprick of light shone through the bare forest, a single star in a nighttime of trees. 

They continued towards the light, and Tooto was entirely too aware of the growing shadows. Every tree they passed grew more and more barren, no brush or scrub to hide their approach. 

Nepi paused at the edge of a clearing, lit like summer across the sparkling snow. 

Darkness and light combined to crash down before them, thunder and lightning, midnight and dawn. 

Even brave Nepi stumbled back at the sight. 

A creature crept towards them. The creature, the one from Tooto’s dreams. Its eyes glowed with the only light for miles, an abysmal predator, luring them for what could only be one purpose. 

Nepi shook herself, facing the beast, silent as the frozen depths of a lake and strong as a storm. 

Tooto tucked his tail and whined.  

“What are you?” 

“I?” 

The creature spoke in a rasp, like stone on claw. 

“I am Nekoti. I hold the night.”

Nepi stepped forward into the glow.

“Then I thank you.” 

A harsh laugh raked her fur. Tooto shivered, hiding behind Nepi’s sturdy frame. 

“Thanks? Who thanks the night?”

“I, Nepi,” the wolf spoke with more confidence than Tooto could ever imagine holding. 

“I thank you. I thank you for darkness to hunt, and for cooling in summer. I thank you for sleep and the call of owls. I thank you, and I demand the sun.”

Tooto shivered, trying very hard to look small and unnoticeable. The lightstealer, frostbringer, with death on his claws and the sun in his maw. Such a creature was not to be trifled with. 

It laughed, and Nepi growled, her fur bristling in the cold glow. 

“You laugh, Nekoti? What is dark without light? What is the sun without the sky’s embrace? Return our light, or I’ll tear it from your chest with my own claws.”

Perhaps Nekoti found Nepi’s boldness amusing, or perhaps it took pity on the cowering Tooto. Whatever the reason,the creature ilaughed again.

“Very well.”

The luminous eyes blinked slowly, the empty light nearly blinding in such terrible darkness. 

“You may have your sunrises.” 

Then came a sound like a thousand winds, all held in a single instant. Tooto crouched to the ground, pressed beside Nepi, who faced the creature. 

It was as if every sunrise that had ever been and would ever be was compressed into that blinding, white-cold moment. Tooto squinted, but he could not look away. 

As suddenly as the burning light began, so did it end, and deep, impenetrable blackness fell over the forest. Tooto whined and curled under Nepi’s legs. Was he blind? Had Nekoti taken his sight? Tooto had no way to test it. 

The laugh came again, farther away this time, and growing fainter by the second. 

“Nekoti!” Nepi snarled, bounding into the nothingness, her back legs clipping at Tooto’s pinned ears.
Only silence answered. Silence and the sound of Tooto’s whimpers. 

“Nepi,” he cried out, drawing his tail in against his side.

Only when she moved towards him did Tooto realize he could see her. Just the faintest trace of her silhouette in the darkness, but a shadow was more substantial than simple nothingness.

“Nepi, I see you.” 

Tooto hopped to his feet, still cowering, but off his belly. Nepi turned towards the deep forest. 

“Tooto, look!” 

There, along the very edges of the treeline, was the palest glow of dawn’s light. 

I took this off in a rather random direction, so if the story was supposed to specifically focus on the characters in the picture, feel free to disregard this! It's been years since I've sat to write at all, so it was fun to mess around with different ideas! :D And I learned that I am way too wordy trying to world build and tell a story in 1500 words, so while I don't think this came out exactly as I wanted, it was still a fun challenge.

No Title Because Msasi Is Lazy And Also Very Busy And It's Close To The Deadline And She Has So Much Stuff To Do
by Msasi (#204)
Word count: 1497

"Grandpa, what are these things?"

Grandpa looked up from where he sat upon his rickety old metal stool in his basement workshop, where he was carefully whittling away at fresh block of wood. Artificial wood, of course, being as how trees were so scarce that real wood was much too expensive for testing out a new hobby like whittling.

"What are what things, sunshine?" He asked of his 6-year old Granddaughter.

The girl had plucked an old picture, one edge of the frame long since broken off, from off of a dusty table stacked with old, discarded items. Still staring at the picture, she crossed the basement floor to stand next to him. "These," She said, her fingers tapping against the dirty glass, indicating everything therein.

"Oh," said Grandpa, squinting down at the picture, his glasses forgotten upstairs in the kitchen."Those are trees."

Granddaughter rolled her eyes, but looked up at him with smile. "I know what trees are, Grandpa." her gaze dropping back down to the picture, she considered it with a slight tilt of her head, the dark curls of her hair shifting with the movement. "That is a lot of trees, though."

Studying the picture, Grandpa agreed. "Yes, trees used to grow like that. In forests."

"I've seen a tree," Granddaughter said excitedly, eager to share her experience with her elder, her green eyes sparkling. "In the park! Mama took me to see it. It was so pretty! It was covered in little white flowers, and then there was a wind and the flowers flew everywhere!" She gestured wide with her arms. "And everyone was cheering!"

"That does sound lovely," Grandpa agreed, taking the picture from her and propping it up on his worktable.

Beautiful as it sounded, Grandpa had never been able to find much cheerful about the tree in the park himself. An entire park, dedicated to the one remaining tree in the city. Many celebrated it, proud of it as a monument to nature, so conveniently located for their enjoyment.

Grandpa, however, saw the poor tree, with the metal bars encircling its trunk to protect it from wildlife and the decorated paving stones placed around it to prevent looters from digging it up, as more of a monument to the folly of human beings. If people really cared for the tree, Grandpa thought, they never would have let other trees be so heavily harvested over the generations.

If they really cared, there would still be trees today.

His attention was drawn back to the picture as his Granddaughter pointed to one of the creatures it contained. "What is that, Grandpa?"

The creature she indicated was one Grandpa was fairly certain had never really existed. A fanciful creation of the artist, perhaps based on long forgotten folklore. Or just an active imagination. It towered over the other creatures, leaning down through the copse of trees to bring its massive, almost skeletal head closer to them. There was very little color to the picture, but the creature's large eyes glowed with intense light. Maw agape, light shone from the depths of its throat as well.

"I don't know, perhaps not a real thing," Grandpa said. "What do you think it is?"

Granddaughter only needed a second of thought. "Monster squirrel."

Grandpa chuckled, but he admired her guess. He loved the way a child's mind worked, the way they would accept any curiosity, make any connection to things they knew, without the hesitation or fear that tended to develop as one approached adulthood. No fear of being wrong, in the mind of a child.

"That's a better guess that I would've made," Grandpa assured her, and was rewarded with her bright smile.

"And these?" Granddaughter prompted next, tapping the two smaller creatures in the picture.

"Ahhh," said Grandpa, and now it was his turn to light up, because these he knew. "Those are wolves."

"Wolves?" Granddaughter frowned. "Were they pretend too?"

"Oh, no, wolves were real," Grandpa nodded to a pile of blankets on the other side of the basement, where an old spaniel lay sleeping soundly, warmed by the early afternoon sunlight trickling in through the single high set window. "Dogs descended from them, you know."

At that, Granddaughter looked skeptical, and Grandpa supposed he couldn't blame her. The wolves in the picture, despite being hardly more than blackened shapes with triangular erect ears and long snouts and tails facing off against their large foe, gave off a completely different air to the slumbering spaniel, with his long floppy ears, stumpy tail, and gentle curls in his russet fur, whose gentle snores caused motes of dust to dance around in the sunlight around him.

"Well," Grandpa amended. "A long time ago, anyway."

"Really?" Granddaughter still didn't look convinced, but Grandpa could see the spark of interest in her eyes. "I thought they were pretend things for stories."

Grandpa shook his head, returning to his whittling once more as inspiration struck. "Oh, no, sunshine, wolves were real," He said, his knife making quick work of the artificial wood as he shaved bits off here and there. "People killed them off long ago, much like they nearly have the trees, so there's none around anymore."

Grandpa loved wolves, was fascinated by them. Much like Granddaughter, he'd doubted their existence as a child, figured the wolves in those old stories were like dragons; things that long ago humans had invented to help explain parts of their world they didn't understand. But he'd visited a museum while in school and they'd had an exhibit of old photographs featuring wolves - real wolves! - and he'd been captivated ever since. A shame, he thought, that they had died out long before he was born. Long before his grandfather's grandfather was born, even.

Granddaughter was quiet, glancing again at the sleeping spaniel, perhaps trying to imagine what it would be like if the same happened to dogs and there was no more spaniel to greet her enthusiastically when she visited.

"That's sad, Grandpa."

"It is," He agreed, his gaze alternating between his whittling as the figure in his hands began to take shape, and the girl. "It never should have happened. But, sometimes when people fear a thing, it turns into hatred of the thing, and they think that hatred gives them the excuse to just..." He idly gestured with the hand holding the figure, his mind tripping over the words in his head.

"...Make them go away?" Granddaughter asked softly.

Yes, that worked. "Make them go away," Grandpa agreed with a nod. "We shouldn't let fear get in the way of our caring, sunshine. There's little else in this world we can stand to lose."

Setting aside his knife, he held the newly carved figure out to Granddaughter. Oh, it wasn't much to look at, whittled out in so short a time by someone still a novice to the hobby, but it was distinct enough. Four straight, stumpy legs, a long tail sticking straight up, a long snout and two pointed little ears. Much like the wolves in the picture, it was otherwise fairly featureless, no indications made for the eyes or the nose, nothing to indicate thick, fluffy clumps of fur. Just nicks from the knife, slices where slivers of wood had been scraped away.

Granddaughter was delighted with it regardless. "A wolf! Grandpa, how do you make toys so fast?" Taking the figure in both hands, she ran her fingers over every surface gently. Then, she gave it two quick taps on the back with one finger. Frowning, she then slid a finger quickly along its back. Not getting whatever result she had expected, she frowned at Grandpa. "How do I turn it on?"

"I..." Grandpa blinked, then frowned. "It doesn't turn on. It's for just playing pretend with. Like your teddy bear." He paused a moment. "Kids still have teddy bears, right? They were old when I was a kid, but still..."

Granddaughter giggled. "Yes, Grandpa." And, seemingly satisfied that her new little wolf was just the thing it presented itself to be and nothing more, she ran her fingers over it again, fondly, and Grandpa smiled. Perhaps he'd given her the same spark he felt whenever he thought of the wolves or the trees.

He could only hope.

"Well," Grandpa said, clapping his hands together. "What say we go get us some lunch, eh?"

"Yeah!" Granddaughter cheered, turning for the stairs. "Can we have noodles?"

"Of course, anything you want," Grandpa pushed himself off his stool, dusted stray bits of slivered wood from his clothing, and started to follow her towards the stairs.

Taking one last glance at the picture, Granddaughter paused. "Grandpa? Why were people so afraid of wolves anyway?"

Grandpa too looked at the picture, his smile sad as he looked at the two wolves in the picture, facing off against the creature with the glowing eyes reaching down through the trees. He sighed as he replied.

"They thought they were monsters."

"Mother"

Words: 1119

archiveofourown.org

I really had fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it!

This was fun. I liked the idea of the story being told by a lorekeeper, and even moreso of keeping the ending ambiguous. It was a bit of a challenge to figure out how to make it an old story with an ambiguous ending when only two wolves are present. It's sitting at 600-ish words. I may add to it a bit more later.

There was a legend, one told by the wolves of the Cryptus Pack. Passed down leader to leader, all knew the story, from elders to pups, even wanders to the pack knew the legend. Gather close, and I shall tell you the tale of the Beast and the Brothers.

...

Once, long ago, there was a pack, one whose name has been lost to time. In that pack lived three brothers, sons of the pack's leader and closer than any of the pack members. When it came time to choose the next pack leader, however, the brothers fought, refusing to yield to each other. The arguing grew in volume and aggression, until the brothers came to blows. The fight raged for three days before the youngest fled the pack and the eldest chased off, gravely injured. For 7 seasons, no wolf heard from the two siblings, until the second winter after the fight. The youngest returned, bringing with him a tale none could believe. 

"Last winter, I was walking the old scorched forest, when I found tracks. The tracks, they weren't like any I've seen. They fit so many of my own prints, the beast must be massive. But the track shape, it was like our own. The beast that left them, they're a wolf, unlike any we've encountered."

That story spread like wildfire among the pack. Many declared the story to be fake, having run the old scorched forest themselves over the seasons and never encountered anything like the youngest had said. The younger wolves, who had not yet wandered the pack's land believed the story. Finally, the eldest brother had had enough. 

"You bring this wild story into my pack, bringing fear and panic to my packmates. I won't allow this to continue. You and I, brother, will go to where you saw these tracks, and I'll prove your story fake. And when I do, you will leave these lands and never return."

...

The two brothers walked in silence until they reached the scorched forest, where the youngest broke the silence.

"He didn't die. Our brother. He didn't die, despite his injuries. He wanted to, but there are beings in this forest who aren't so merciful. He won't know peace, not until those involved are punished." At that, the middle brother looked at him. He continued. "We have a price to pay, the two of us. I was blinded by my arrogance, thinking I knew enough to lead a pack. My price is a small one to pay. But you? You didn't care who stood in your way. Our brother knew that, found out what you did to our father." At that, the youngest turned to his brother, eyes hollow save a flickering white spark. Before the middle brother could speak, the trees creaked and crashed, as a massive creature came from hiding. The youngest turned to it while the middle brother puffed his fur.

"Hello brother." The beast opened its mouth…

...

"And that's where the story ends. The wolf who had followed the two brothers blacked out. No one knows what happened to the middle brother, only that he never returned to the pack. For generations, wolves have gone to the old scorched forest, curious to see if the beast truly does exist, but none have had any luck. At least, none have seen the beast. But when there is a dispute over the next pack leader, the wolves involved go to the scorched forest, sleeping there. The wolf who returns, and make no mistake, only one ever returns, is declared the new leader. To this day, we still heed the tale of the brothers, lest we bring the beast's wrath upon the pack."

Here's my entry.

FYI, Syml's "I Wanted To Leave" 100% fueled my writing. 

My entry!!

OFF

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Something was different about Taska.

It wasn’t his looks; he was a decently handsome creature, with a silver coat and honeyed eyes. He was no bigger or smaller than the other wolves, but perfectly average. His claws weren’t too long. His ears pricked up all the same.

It wasn’t his scent. He smelled just as his peers did: of pine and musky earth.

It wasn’t even his personality. He was mild-mannered, friendly, though not gregarious. He was a decently-talented hunter and worked well with others.

No, it was something else. Only Flint had noticed it.

In the late evenings, when the shadows of the treetops stretched their spindly tips like fingers across the grass, Taska liked to make himself scarce. The pattern was like clockwork, with every dusk seeing him suddenly absent. Flint became sharply aware of it one dusky summer at sundown, when he spotted Taska’s flash of silver slipping between the trees and vanishing into the forest. This struck him as odd; the nighttime forest was not kind to loners. The following morning, he emerged from the den chipper and calm, oblivious to Flint's suspicion. He attempted to bring up the fact with his fellows, but they shook their heads incredulously at his claim. Flint took to spend his nights at the edge of the den, his eyes aching with the effort, staring into the depths of the wood for signs of activity. For all of his determination, he always seemed to doze off before the night’s end, and awoke to Taska sleeping peacefully among the others, a sight that, to his confusion and dread, made every hair on his body stand on end.

Something had to be done.

That day, Flint slept. When he awoke, the delicate slice of the moon was hanging just above the treeline, casting a muted light into the mouth of the den. Gently, so as not to disturb his sleeping pack, he crept into the open and to the edge of the trees. On this night, visibility was poor, and he could see but a few yards into the forest, the distance swallowed up by blackness.

“Are you going to follow him?”

Flint nearly jumped from his skin as the thin voice broke the silence. A youngster had sidled up quietly beside him and followed his gaze into the tenebrous wood. He turned to meet Flint’s eyes, his own shining with fear.

“I’ve seen him go in there before dark. He always comes back…but it feels wrong.”

Flint did not reply, but instead took this as his cue. He squared his shoulders and strode into the forest. The youth’s paws stirred the leaf litter as he followed him.

The pair kept a decent pace as they wove through the trees, their hackles raised against the chill in the air and the quiet murmurs of the wood. Flint swept his gaze to and fro and felt compelled to utter a prayer under his breath. The youth kept so close that they bumped shoulders, and they did not discover anything until he stumbled on a divot in the earth. Flint stopped to inspect it.

It was a paw print, of a perfectly average size, pressed lightly into the soil. 

A branch cracked.

They snapped up, fur bristling, pupils as wide as they could go. Flint prayed faster, and the youth groaned in his throat.

Another crash came from within the dark, but it was nearer now. At the third crash, they were struck with a fetid stench that brought bile into their mouths. The youth retched. Flint could not keep his eyes away from the dark between the trees. When the shadows melted from the shape staggering between the boughs, Flint let out a strangled cry.

A beastly figure, all jagged edges and bone and meat, gripped the trees as it dragged itself along. It jerked like the dying. Though his mind screamed blindly at its approach, Flint could not tear his feet from where he stood. The youth began to sob beside him. When the obscene beast grew near, its odor bringing tears to their eyes, it seemed to finally notice the guests. It lurched forward and aimed its swaying, shuddering head at them. Flint felt his gut twist violently as the moon spilled light onto the scene.

A perfectly average face, its skin stripped back, peeled clumsily away from socket and tooth, was staring back at him.