Page 53 of To Touch A Silent Fury
Then, I pulled the spike out and, in the same movement, grabbed the leaves from my cheek, pressing them firmly onto the bottom of his paw. The wolf whimpered again, pulling against my hold and snapping his teeth at me.
I thought to flinch, and then something new tempered me. It was as if a word was spoken on the wind, or in my head, or through the trees.Hurts.
I shuddered, but I did not stop pressing the leaves against the trickling, bleeding wound. An awareness came over me then, one both foreign and familiar: there was no true intention in his biting jaw. How I knew that for sure, I could hardly say. In that moment, I just felt it; knowing through my touch that he was reacting out of fear and pain and not a will to harm. I had no awareness of his feelings beyond that, if he even had the depth to feel them the way I had learnt to read them.
If anything, it was akin to reading the expressions on a child’s face; I could discern a base layer of what an animal’s state was, for they don’t shield from it and know only the primary emotions of life. It wasn’t the same as my power, for I had only read humans, and to read a human is to plunge into an underwater world of someone else’s making. A wealth of experience informing all manner of choices. This was like feeling a ripple on a muddy puddle. An echo of a hint.
I held him as hard as I could, knowing (not through my power but through my very human survival instincts) he was far stronger than me if he truly tried to be. If he wanted to be away, he would have been the moment I grabbed his limping leg.
“I know, I know,” I murmured. I’d let him go in a moment, as soon as at least some of the juice from the tappenlid weed had sunk in. It would help the healing, not that he cared. He only knew that I’d grabbed him and now he was hurting even more.
The wolf clawed his paws deep into the snowy ground and pulled once more. I had to plant a boot against a tree root to keep from sprawling forwards. My face burned red in the freezing night air, my cold hands gripping his foot as I counted down the seconds. Just a little longer.
As soon as I reached thirty seconds, I released the beast. He scampered off with another whimper, the patch of lighter fur on his right flank flashing before he disappeared into the thick, dark, ghostlike trees and out of sight. I fell onto my backside,looping my arms over my knees as I stared out at where his tail had disappeared in perfect silence.
I felt sorry for him, of course. The cub was alone, and I didn’t understand why. There was a large roaming pack; I saw them or their trails each year, and yet, this cub wasn’t with them.
He was maybe a span of months old now, and seemed to keep a small hunting ground, one which included my small patch of wilderness. He seemed scared of me, if anything. I was certain that would wear off soon, when he reached his true adult size.
The main reason for helping him on this night, though, was far from altruism.
And now, there was a new strangeness to it all. I knew it was not natural for me to have had any sense of the beast. Whether it was from my power, or something darker, I couldn’t say. Maybe it was just my loneliness, finding its kindred refrain in nature. Two beings not meant to be alone. It might be poetic to believe so. I was more concerned that I was going mad.
A branch snapped behind me.
I turned as fast as I could, which wasn’t very fast when seated, and immediately cursed myself for leaving myself at risk. On one knee, I held out a hunting knife as I looked in the direction of the noise.
I breathed, holding myself still like a windless lake.
Only one snap. A small twig from the sound, and the lightness of it indicated it wasn’t some larger beast like a bear or moose. No accompanying heavy breath, nor snagging fur against bark. No hops or pattering to indicate a fox, or hare.
One snap, and then pure silence. A medium-sized predator. And yet one who had not killed me instantly.
“Yvon?” I spoke, the words soft on my lips, and yet I knew she would hear.
From behind the tree I’d pinpointed, a woman stepped out. Somewhere between eight and ten spans, she was my only friendin Gossamir. One more than I ever expected given that I was an outsider. Her clothing was nearly the same as mine, which wasn’t surprising, since I was wearing her old ones.
Brown leather boots, lined with whatever fur the season had brought; hardy khaki trousers and a thick grey coat, fur-lined at the hood. Nothing pretty, just built for function. It was warm, and that was all.
In the Soundlands, cold was the biggest killer. Noise was the second.
Her blonde hair was hidden from view, but her assessing blue gaze was not. “Only a cacof would tend to a wolf like that.”
She signed the words ‘wolf’ and ‘tend’ sharply, as if they were insults. The word ‘cacof’, however, was signed normally, for it was always an insult.
I lowered my knife, making a few signs to punctuate my soft words. “He was wandering around my pit for two days, whimpering. He would have drawn someone here.”
Yvon pursed her lips. “You should have killed him, then, I measure.”
I tucked my knife into the sheath at my side as I stood. I traced the shape of a crescent with my free hand. “I thought the wolves were of Amune?”
Yvon reached into her pocket and brought out a jar filled with a dark mud-like substance. She threw it to me, and I caught it lightly. “The wolves are some of his children, yes. But above all is nature and survival. If a creature puts you at risk, your choices are your own.”
I looked down at the jar. “You broke the twig on purpose.”
“You should have heard me before it.”
“I am honoured you think a cacof could,” I said, giving her a small smile as I signed the crude signal for 'outsider'. I raised the jar, shaking it. “I still have some of the lastmud.”
