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hexyouup[ Here, one is transported to a peaceful, tranquil forest. Today, as many days before and after, a young boy sits beneath a massive tree in full bloom swamped with crows, his back to its trunk. Henry is but a child not yet even in his teens, dressed in shabby clothing both squalid and in utter disrepair. It’s clear from the look of him he’s missed many a meal, his arms and legs spindly, stomach relatively concave; but his dark eyes are clear and bright, his face round and healthy, his personality boisterous and robust.
For a young man discarded by his parents and his town both, he’s remarkably buoyant and resilient overall. A happy little fellow indeed, despite it all.
And why? Because of the wolf that approaches next, absolutely massive in size, terrifyingly threatening in appearance. Upon seeing him, she growls ferociously... but the boy simply growls back. For a moment it’s a tense, chilling standoff until the at last, the beast lunges--
--and attacks the child with a fury of fervent licks. A chorus of bright and cheerful giggling erupts as the onslaught continues, enough to topple her victim completely over onto his back in a very canine submission pose. ] Okay, okay! Uncle! Uuuuncle~!
[ She relents at that, sitting back on her haunches while he rights himself back against the tree, and they proceed as normal. ]
Hee hee! Welcome home~! How was your day? [ A beat. ] Wait, hang on-- I meant, “arf-arf-awooo~!”
[ While she hasn’t done the job of raising him in total, for as long as he’s been here as a stray himself, (albeit of a different species), she’s been teaching him wolf language. Henry’s not quite adept at it yet, (he’s always had something of a knack for birds more so than mammals), but he’s told that in time, his earnest efforts will pay off. For now, however, she’s content to nestle at his side, and he to fluff her fur only briefly before settling into her soft, familiar warmth like a young pup.
Henry is asleep within minutes.
Out like a light as he is, he doesn’t stir when she leaves in the night... and doesn’t return. Sunrise doesn’t tell him that, of course; no -- it’s the crows that alert him, pecking him awake to report her disappearance, her injury, in cackling caws. The smell of blood is thick in the air around him, a trail still visible even in only moonlight. He’s on his feet and sprinting in an instant, stomach knotting, eyes burning the faster and farther he runs. Clear into his humble hometown village, where familiar faces gather around a bloodied, downed wolf -- his wolf -- savagely pulling arrows from her body. In the middle of the town square, she’s in a pool of crimson, but he’s on his knees in it to be at her side anyway, both hands in her fur, jostling her gently. ]
Hey, talk to me! [ Silence answers, and Henry knows. He knows, then and there, that he’s come too late; that he’s lost the only family that ever loved him. And to who? The greatest monsters in all the world: Mankind.
A choking sob from him interjects amid his pleas, loud and unrestrained. He pushes past it. ] Say something!!
[ Normally, she would -- especially when the boy resorts to crude barking, howling, trying to speak her language out of sheer desperation for any sign she might not be gone; that he won’t be alone. Even as they laugh and shake their heads at this budding loon in their midst, he continues. But even back then, young Henry can’t commune with the dead; only the living, which she is no longer among. And nothing tells him that more than her lack of response.
For moments, they poke fun at his expense, offering comments of, “I told ye the child was none but a beast!”, and the like. Then finally, the joke he’s made of himself inadvertently in doing all this goes cold and stale, much like the body he still frantically rubs and jostles all the while.
“Arright, we seen enough. Away with ye, boy!” ]
No! [ He’s vehement, determined -- but ultimately too small, too weak, too frail. And more than all those things, too hated. A savage kick from a sturdy boot, nestled perfectly into his curled torso, is enough to send him flying, the villagers unconcerned with the coughing that results, the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Aye, she’ll make a fine pelt, this one. Biggest I e’er seen!”
And under his watchful eyes, take her pelt, they do; but Henry gets some consolation in the gory remains, a hideous, skin-less mass he pulls from town in the middle of the night and drags singlehandedly back to his forest hideout. The townspeople don’t take kindly to it, of course -- that was meat they intended to eat, you see. Waste not, want not, and all.
...But, not anymore.
Upon following his trail back to the tree, they find the outcast boy cuddling a decomposing heap in his lap, near head-to-toe in her old, browned blood, still mournfully petting her skinless remains. When he sees them now, there’s no move to attack or defend. Rather, there’s merely a placid response, complete with a despondent look in his eye, head leaning to one side as he greets with an eerily cheery, ] Ooh, lookie -- we have guests~!
[ One of them retches on sight; the other settles for turning away in a flurry of uncouth language. Suffice it to say, they don’t return. Henry, however, continues to talk to her -- even though she doesn’t answer -- right until she’s naught but bones and vile gristle. See, if he doesn’t say goodbye to her, then she’s not really gone, right...?
Eventually that day does come, however. Though he’s staunchly, stubbornly refused to put her in the ground thus far, the crows have talked him into it -- and the bugs have ensured she’ll only need a shallow pit for what remains. Henry digs the grave himself, and through stalwart, but heartbroken tears, places her inside, and covers her up. The rest of that day is spent lying beside that heap, dirty hands petting the mud and offering broken pieces of his humblest gratitude.
The townspeople he once knew never see him again. ]
For a young man discarded by his parents and his town both, he’s remarkably buoyant and resilient overall. A happy little fellow indeed, despite it all.
And why? Because of the wolf that approaches next, absolutely massive in size, terrifyingly threatening in appearance. Upon seeing him, she growls ferociously... but the boy simply growls back. For a moment it’s a tense, chilling standoff until the at last, the beast lunges--
--and attacks the child with a fury of fervent licks. A chorus of bright and cheerful giggling erupts as the onslaught continues, enough to topple her victim completely over onto his back in a very canine submission pose. ] Okay, okay! Uncle! Uuuuncle~!
[ She relents at that, sitting back on her haunches while he rights himself back against the tree, and they proceed as normal. ]
Hee hee! Welcome home~! How was your day? [ A beat. ] Wait, hang on-- I meant, “arf-arf-awooo~!”
[ While she hasn’t done the job of raising him in total, for as long as he’s been here as a stray himself, (albeit of a different species), she’s been teaching him wolf language. Henry’s not quite adept at it yet, (he’s always had something of a knack for birds more so than mammals), but he’s told that in time, his earnest efforts will pay off. For now, however, she’s content to nestle at his side, and he to fluff her fur only briefly before settling into her soft, familiar warmth like a young pup.
Henry is asleep within minutes.
Out like a light as he is, he doesn’t stir when she leaves in the night... and doesn’t return. Sunrise doesn’t tell him that, of course; no -- it’s the crows that alert him, pecking him awake to report her disappearance, her injury, in cackling caws. The smell of blood is thick in the air around him, a trail still visible even in only moonlight. He’s on his feet and sprinting in an instant, stomach knotting, eyes burning the faster and farther he runs. Clear into his humble hometown village, where familiar faces gather around a bloodied, downed wolf -- his wolf -- savagely pulling arrows from her body. In the middle of the town square, she’s in a pool of crimson, but he’s on his knees in it to be at her side anyway, both hands in her fur, jostling her gently. ]
Hey, talk to me! [ Silence answers, and Henry knows. He knows, then and there, that he’s come too late; that he’s lost the only family that ever loved him. And to who? The greatest monsters in all the world: Mankind.
A choking sob from him interjects amid his pleas, loud and unrestrained. He pushes past it. ] Say something!!
[ Normally, she would -- especially when the boy resorts to crude barking, howling, trying to speak her language out of sheer desperation for any sign she might not be gone; that he won’t be alone. Even as they laugh and shake their heads at this budding loon in their midst, he continues. But even back then, young Henry can’t commune with the dead; only the living, which she is no longer among. And nothing tells him that more than her lack of response.
For moments, they poke fun at his expense, offering comments of, “I told ye the child was none but a beast!”, and the like. Then finally, the joke he’s made of himself inadvertently in doing all this goes cold and stale, much like the body he still frantically rubs and jostles all the while.
“Arright, we seen enough. Away with ye, boy!” ]
No! [ He’s vehement, determined -- but ultimately too small, too weak, too frail. And more than all those things, too hated. A savage kick from a sturdy boot, nestled perfectly into his curled torso, is enough to send him flying, the villagers unconcerned with the coughing that results, the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Aye, she’ll make a fine pelt, this one. Biggest I e’er seen!”
And under his watchful eyes, take her pelt, they do; but Henry gets some consolation in the gory remains, a hideous, skin-less mass he pulls from town in the middle of the night and drags singlehandedly back to his forest hideout. The townspeople don’t take kindly to it, of course -- that was meat they intended to eat, you see. Waste not, want not, and all.
...But, not anymore.
Upon following his trail back to the tree, they find the outcast boy cuddling a decomposing heap in his lap, near head-to-toe in her old, browned blood, still mournfully petting her skinless remains. When he sees them now, there’s no move to attack or defend. Rather, there’s merely a placid response, complete with a despondent look in his eye, head leaning to one side as he greets with an eerily cheery, ] Ooh, lookie -- we have guests~!
[ One of them retches on sight; the other settles for turning away in a flurry of uncouth language. Suffice it to say, they don’t return. Henry, however, continues to talk to her -- even though she doesn’t answer -- right until she’s naught but bones and vile gristle. See, if he doesn’t say goodbye to her, then she’s not really gone, right...?
Eventually that day does come, however. Though he’s staunchly, stubbornly refused to put her in the ground thus far, the crows have talked him into it -- and the bugs have ensured she’ll only need a shallow pit for what remains. Henry digs the grave himself, and through stalwart, but heartbroken tears, places her inside, and covers her up. The rest of that day is spent lying beside that heap, dirty hands petting the mud and offering broken pieces of his humblest gratitude.
The townspeople he once knew never see him again. ]