The Wolf’s
Head
-
A Tale Set in the Lost City of Six Hills
-
A Tale Set in the Lost City of Six Hills
The
rain that fell in the forest descended like the vengeance of Nature
herself. As Malle ran beneath dripping
branches, her clothes and skin already soaked, she thought of how she and her
brother would use the trees for shelter from the rain when they played in these
woods as children. She remember leaning
tightly against old oaks, the bark rough against her back, laughing
breathlessly alongside her twin as they watched the summer showers fall between
the cover of the trees, leaving endless circles of dry grass, each with a
mighty tree bursting up from its centre. Back then, it had seemed almost magical, the
way they could stay perfectly dry under the protection of the trees, while just
a few feet away the grass was drenched and the dry, parched soil turned to
mud. More lately, it was if Nature no
longer cared for these little pink things that ran among her green children,
and had forbidden the trees to offer them succour.
Onward
she ran, as the rain pelted her with its cold, wet sting. Ahead, a small cave loomed out of the
weather’s damp and grey shroud. Really,
it was little more than an outcrop of rock that jutted from the side of a small
hillock, but in Malle’s eyes it was sanctuary from this vicious and
unseasonably cold downpour. Arms held
ineffectually over her head to shield her, she darted out from the treeline
into the little clearing that surrounded the outcrop’s opening and flattened
herself against the cold stone at its back, turning to watch the world vanish
behind the curtain of water that fell before her. Panting for breather, Malle leaned forward to
wring her hair out as best she could, before trying to do the same with her
dress but there was a limit to the success she could achieve. Still, despite the rain it was a warm enough
evening and she wasn’t concerned about catching anything worse than a slight
chill, so she stood, and she waited, looking at the forest through the grey
blur of rain and hoping that the summer downpour would soon pass. When such an event looked a long time in the
waiting, Malle realised she might as well get comfortable, and sat down upon
the bare soil that was sheltered by the outcrop, water from her clothes slowly
seeping into the cracked earth.
She
leaned against a squat stone that sat beside her, and sighed. It wasn’t just the weather that had lately
grown surlier; the city’s alley cats, never the most sociable or affectionate
of animals, now hissed at anyone who came near them, even those bearing scraps
of food. Her parents always seemed to be
at one another’s throats, and the traders of Lower Flightfire’s market were
more prone to arguing than bartering. It
seemed that everyone and everything in the City of Six Hills was growing more
and more choleric. Times like these, she
missed having someone to talk to. She
missed her brother. When he’d been
around, it didn’t matter how bad things got, there was always a glimmer of hope
that everything would turn out right.
But it was months since anyone had seen either hide or hair of him. Sighing again, and now bored as well as damp
and morose, Malle looked down at the rock she was leaning on; it was
surprisingly comfortable for piece of stone.
Perhaps it was just her boredom talking, but it was actually quite an
interesting rock to look at. If she
leaned back and regarded it from the right angle, it looked a little bit like
the head of a wolf. Or at least, like
the head of a wolf might look like if it had been made out of stone and then
left in a damp forest for a number of years.
It was weird, but the moss growing on the top and down one side of the
stone gave it a look almost like a shaggy pelt, and a chunk of some impurity or
other in the stone formed a small patch of red just where the eye should
be. It was probably just one of those
things, like how if you looked at a certain cloud a certain way it would stop
being a cloud and become a lion, or a bear, or the face of someone you
know. Certainly astrology showed that,
if nothing else, people were superlative in the matter of seeing familiar
patterns in nature. Shrugging to
herself, Malle again turned to regard the dreary rain beyond the shelter of her
little cave and leaned upon the wolf-rock.
In time she grew tired and, making a pillow of her folder arm, lay her
head down upon the rock and dozed.
* * *
Malle
looked around the forest. It wasn’t
raining anymore, though the ground was still damp and the air smelled of wet
vegetation. Her clothes were still wet,
too, and cold where they clung to her body.
And her body… her body felt weird.
She was in the middle of a forest, she was cold, and she was soaked to the
skin, but for some reason she felt excited.
Had she more experience of such matters, she’d realise it was blossoming
arousal, but to Malle it just felt like a strange, almost tickling heat that
built up from her loins and warmed her despite the chill of her wet dress.
The
cracking of twigs, some distance behind her, brought her out of her reverie and
had her looking about the forest in a startled panic, but she could see nothing
beyond the vegetation all around her.
Then another snap, and this time she turned in time to see the stems and
leaves of a small bush twitching, as if someone had just brushed past
them. The third sound was a growl, a low
and bestial growl that bypassed Malle’s ears and brain and reached deep into
her spine. Over the hundreds of
thousands of years of their existence, human bodies had developed just one
response to that kind of growl – RUN.
And Malle did, not even looking to see where it was coming from and
concerning herself more with making sure she was going away from it as fast as her legs could carry her.
Her
bare feet pounded on the slimy surface of the wet top layer of soil, struggling
for traction and only sheer terror keeping her upright as her body took over
from her brain. Behind her she could
hear the crashing sound of the creature – a bear, a wolf, a cougar? – charging
through the undergrowth and bearing down on her. She leapt over a fallen tree trunk with
agility that surprised her, and barely even slowed as she landed on the other
side. What was it her father had taught
her, all those years ago? Four legs are
faster than two, and can run for longer, but two legs can turn quicker. And so she skidded into a turn and darted off
in a new direction through the trees, flailing at low hanging branches that
whipped at her face, while her pursuer growled in outrage as it slid past where
she’d turned and thumped into the side of a tree. Within moments it was back in pursuit,
though, and already making up the lost ground on its prey. Malle’s heart pounded in her chest and she
could feel wetness between her thighs, coupled with an ancient and powerful
yearning that she had felt before but never so strong. Tears in her eyes as she fled in panic, her
feet sore and bleeding from a myriad of tiny cuts and punctures courtesy of the
pine cones and twigs she ran across, Malle carried on through the forest, her
legs and lungs burning with exertion.
She didn’t know how much longer she could stay on her feet for, but the
growing fear in her chest told her that however long it was would not be long
enough to out-pace the beast at her heels.
Ducking under a branch that would have left her flat on her back, Malle
had to react quickly to hurdle a log on the other side. Too quickly, in fact, and the foot of her
trailing leg clipped the broken remnants of a branch that stabbed upwards from
the obstacle, forcing her into an graceless landing, with her other foot
finding little purchase in the slick mud.
She knew, in that moment, she was lost.
Time seemed to slow down for Malle as he senses drank in every last bit
of information they could managed, desperately seeking something that would
prolong her survival, but ultimately they came up with nothing that could
combat the combined forces of inertia and momentum that bore Malle to the ground. She landed hard, the wind driven out from her
and a sharp, searing pain in her arm telling her she had in all likelihood
broken something as she hit the ground.
Gasping
for air in great, wracking sobs, Malle rolled painfully onto her back to at last
face the creature that had been pursuing her, and beheld the largest wolf she
had ever seen. The thing was huge, and
seemed all the more massive as it strode towards her, looming over her prone
body and standing above her. Her eyes
met those of the wolf and she saw nothing but hunger there – remorseless,
pitiless hunger. To the wolf, she was
not some poor girl on the cusp of womanhood, she was not an innocent life about
to be snuffed out, and she was not even a poor wounded creature. No, she was nothing more than dinner. She continued to stare into those
intelligent, golden eyes as the creature stopped and looked down at her, its
forepaws planted either side of her chest and its hindpaws between her
ankles. The wetness at her loins was
such that she idly wondered if she’d emptied her bladder in fear, while her
eyes drank in every detail of the wolf’s face, from the damp, slightly bumpy
surface of its nose to each individual hair that covered the rest of him. They remained that way for a moment, each
gazing into the other’s soul, before there was a blur of motion from the wolf,
a sudden and overwhelming burst of pain around her throat, a sickening crunch,
and then nothing.
* * *
Malle looked around the
forest. It wasn’t raining anymore, the
ground was dry and the air smelled of hot, baked earth and of flowers. Her clothes too were dry and there was a
pleasantly warm breeze drifting past her, stirring what little grass grew on
the forest floor. A voice spoke behind
her and she turned to face a man, standing comfortably at ease despite being
entirely naked. He was tall, taller even
than Gerald the smithy of Lower Flightfire, and as broad as he across the
shoulder. Though where Gerald’s arms and
torso were rounded with bulk and his wife’s home-cooking, the man before her
was lean and sinewy. He looked as though
home-cooking was not something he would even recognise, and there was not an
ounce of fat upon him. He spoke again
but Malle wasn’t listening, she was too distracted by this specimen before her,
her eyes roaming hungrily over his nude form, noticing the slight twitches of
muscles under the skin as he shifted his weight from one foot to the
other. Noticing, too, the dark, thick
hair that covered his body, especially noticeable on his forearms, across his
chest, and on the widening trail that led from his navel to his groin. There her eyes lingered till she felt her
cheeks flush hot with blood. She hadn’t
seen very many penises in her seventeen years of life, but she could tell that
this one was larger than most. It was
magnificent, to her. Even if it had
suffered the indignity of being hidden behind trousers its shape would still
have been plain to see. The man spoke
again and Malle reluctantly dragged her gaze away from his loins and to his
face. He was tanned, with no lines or
marks to suggest her ever wore any more clothes than he wore now, and his
cheeks and jaw were thickly covered in a wild growth of beard. His eyes were golden, and looked upon her
with clear intelligence, but also with a hunger so pure, so burning and primal
that she felt her heart tighten in fear.
He stepped forward, speaking softly as he reach up to cup her
cheek. His touch was gentle, almost
kind, and though his fingers were stained with mud they felt soft and warm
against her skin. She leaned into his
hand as he stepped close enough that she could smell the animalistic scent that
rolled off of him. The smell of his
sweat, his breath, his hair, his skin, and his sex. This close, it became intoxicating, and Malle
felt her knees weaken as the man curled his other arm around her waist, pulling
her in close to him and taking her weight.
She leaned against him, one hand on the thick hair of his chest and the
other reaching up to hold onto his toned shoulder, and Malle gasped quietly as
she felt his beard and lips brush softly over her neck. He asked her a question, and she nodded her
agreement, moaning quietly as he kissed first her ear, then her cheek. Another query and Malle nodded again, her
breath catching in her throat. Once
more, the man asked her the same question, this time with more urgency, and the
slightest hint of a growl in his voice.
“Yes,” vocalised Malle, at last,
and she felt his hands move lower over her body, smoothly running down her back
to her rump, squeezing and lifting at the same time and pressing himself to
her. Her clothes were no longer so dry,
though the weather could not be blamed this time. His sweat began to soak into the fabric of
her dress as her arms wrapped around him, while the softer linen of her
underwear was so wet she may as well have just stood a lake. He lifted her bodily and she wrapped her legs
around his waist, her skirts bunching up between them and something rising from
beneath to prod insistently at the damp union between her thighs. “Yes,” Malle repeated to his unspoken
question, as he pushed her up against a tree, one hand reaching down to tear at
her underthings, ripping the flimsy and sodden material and casting it aside. “Yes!” She cried, a third time, and all she
felt was a slight pressure against her nethers before her world exploded. Light became sound, sound became touch, and
touch became everything at once. The
forest was gone, and the rest of existence with it, till it was just him before
her, with her in his arms and his prick within her. She hurt, she hurt so much, but that was
nothing against the feelings that flowed through her. Her veins felt as though they were on fire,
and her muscles quivered with barely-contained energy. He pushed deeper within her and the stars
before her eyes gave way to inky blackness as she gave herself to his hunger.
* * *
Malle looked around the
forest. It wasn’t raining anymore, the
ground was dry and the air smelled of distant smoke while small eddies of
breeze sent dry leaves tumbling over her feet.
Her clothes were gone and though the air was cool enough to raise goose
bumps from her bare skin she did not find it uncomfortable. Malle looked ahead and beheld the largest
wolf she had ever seen. He was huge, and
seemed all the more massive as he strode towards her, his golden eyes watching
her carefully. She knelt down as he approached,
her arms spread to greet the great beast as he padded over. She felt his teeth brush her cheek, biting
with the slightest of pressure, just barely enough to dimple her flesh, and she
threw her arms around his great neck.
Her fingers groomed through the wolf’s luxurious pelt as he sat on his
haunches, and her breasts pressed against his chest, the hard rosy pink nubs of
her nipples caressed by soft fur.
Smiling, Malle sat back on her heels and moved her hands to caress his
face, stroking over his head and rubbing behind those huge, ever-alert
ears. He bumped his muzzle against her
chin, before hunkering down to place his head between her thighs, there his
broad tongue lapping out slowly to taste the dewy nectar that clung to the hair
surrounding her sex. Malle sighed
peacefully and ran her fingers through the shaggy pelt of her lover’s back,
cooing soft terms of endearment to him.
Suddenly, the wolf was alert and sitting bolt upright, ears pricked and
his nose sniffing all around. He stopped
as abruptly as he had started, staring fixedly off into the distance and starting
to quietly growl. Malle turned to see
what had got his attention, and spied a solitary doe, wondering serenely
through the forest barely a hundred yards up-wind of them.
The wolf looked to her, a
question in his eyes, and Malle nodded in response. “Yes,” she said, and then the wolf was off,
bounding across the forest floor with a quiet that belied its great size. She was on her feet and following, surprising
herself with her own fleetness as she caught up with the wolf, running
alongside him as they bore down upon their quarry. The doe heard them, but far too late, and was
able only to look round and bleat in terror before several hundred pounds of
wolf collided with it and knocked it to the ground. Malle was barely a second behind, and arrived
at the doe just as the wolf tore its throat out with one swift, merciless chomp
of its great jaws. Blood sprayed against
his face, staining his grey fur crimson and reaching as far as Malle’s bare
feet. With the deer’s life’s juices
dripping from his maw, he turned to Malle and growled a question. “Yes,” she replied, nodding numbly as she
stared at the doe’s ravaged throat.
Kneeling down as the dying animal’s limbs kicked and thrashed, Malle
placed on hand gently upon the doe chin and tilted its head back before leaning
in, her wolf companion mirroring her and watching her curiously. Her loose hair dangled down into the doe’s
raw wound as blood continued to spurt freely, though with rapidly less and less
force as life fled from the stricken creature.
“Yes,” said Malle again, before lowering her head and sinking her teeth
into the hot, wet flesh. Her vision
blurred, and everything else in the world went away save for her and her lover,
and the food before them. Her sharp
teeth tore at the deer’s meat and Malle swallowed a bloody chunk, relishing
every exquisite sensation it aroused as it slid down her throat and down into
her belly, there to sate her hunger.
* * *
Malle looked around the forest. She could not have slept long, as it was
still raining, though not nearly as heavily as before. Up above the shelter provided by the rocky
outcrop, a crack in the grey clouds could be seen, with bright blue sky
beyond. Stretching, she yawned loudly
before sleepily licking her lips and nose.
Then, golden eyes blinking as the early evening sunlight started to
filter through the gaps in the rain clouds, Malle gave her hindquarters a shake
and trotted off into the forest.
