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The Storm
...for Little JoNellaSwirling clouds heavily laden with snow sweep overhead in the night, piercing frigid winds sweep over the wastelands...
...and a form, snow and rime-crusted, slowly takes shape in the blizzard, head down, struggling through the drifts, yellow eyes slitted against the bitter cold winds... muzzle clenched in determination... following distant, mournful cries... the cries of a heart-broken child and Lady... A soul-cry from the the ones he loves...
...Several times, the old wolf staggers and falls, his feet swept from beneath him by hidden ice and powerful winds... but he struggles again and again to his feet, bruised, battered, but forging determinedly towards a distant ridge...
...hours later, weary, worn, the wolf crests the ridge, and looks into a valley, unseen by the sleeping inhabitants... but the soul-cry comes not from within the sheltered valley, but closer, from drifts near the ridge... and the wolf turns, ears forward, tears streaming down his cheeks to form delicate crystals... and he heads into the wind towards a storm-wracked solitary pine just further down the ridge... a solitary but strong pine, beneath which comes the soul-cries....
...and there, nearly covered in the drifts, he finds the sleeping forms of the Lady and the Little Lady, and his tears flow freely... and he sets rapidly and silently to work, digging the snow off of them, packing it around the base of the pine... yet so gently they do not awaken... and he watches them relax and stop shivering as the wind and snow are blocked...
Soon, the Old Wolf has packed and formed the drifting snow into a high walls, surrounding and sheltering them from the bitter winds... braced around, into, and onto the pine, sheltering its branches too from the bitter cold...
...the Old Wolf continues digging, reaching the soft pine needles beneath the snow... and he continues packing the snow higher around both sleeping forms until a while later, he and the sleeping Ladies are inclosed in a soft white dome... secure from the bitter cold without... the howling winds but a memory outside...
...finally, the old wolf walks gently over to the sleeping forms, and gently wraps himself around them, carefully covering both with his fur... tears flowing freely down his muzzle... and he breaths a deep sigh of relief as he senses their chills disappearing...
...one tear splashes in the open palm of the Little Lady, and she stirs in her sleep, shifting her arm slightly to reveal a tightly clutched stuffed and bedraggled wolf... and a racking sob shudders through his frame...
The Old Wolf gently and carefully reaches down and takes the stuffed wolf between his teeth... and lays it between his paws... and then quietly and carefully replaces each worn hair of the stuffed wolf with his own fur...
...a while later the stuffed wolf is renewed, and the Old Wolf chuckles at how much it looks a miniature of himself... and softly smooths surrounding fur over the bare skin over his heart from whence the fur for the stuffed wolf was drawn... and breathes part of his own being and soul into the care and love worn stuffed wolf...
Gently, tears flowing once again, the Old Wolf places the stuffed wolf back in the Little Lady's arms... and lays his head across the Lady's and Little Lady's entwined arms...
....and they shift gently in their sleep, hands quietly grasping the fur of the Old Wolf's neck and shoulders...
Tears streaming down his face, the Old Wolf gently nuzzles the Little Lady, and as her eyes start fluttering, he nuzzles the Lady, whimpering and crying from the depths of his soul...
...and he looks deep into the widening eyes of both Ladies, grieving and sorrowing for the suffering he has caused them... and lifts his head in anguish and howls into the night for the pain he has caused them to endure...
...and crying, tears flowing, he reaches out to them....
April 22, 1994
Last updated: Saturday, 03-Jan-2015 18:13:07 PST
