6Hills - The Wolf’s Head

The Wolf’s Head
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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.