Of Wolf and Man
The only chapter - short story
Once upon a dark night, all celestial light silenced by the ominous, thundering clouds overhead, a man traveled league after league across the plains and through the forest, slumped over his horse’s neck. He was emaciated almost beyond salvation; for a fortnight he had rode, with no time to stop for rest or even food, for his message was too direly important to pause even to save his own life. So too was he thirsty, for from his canteen he had already imbibed every last drop, being very fastidious about it out of desperation.
This bedraggled rider was not as lonely as he imagined himself to be, however; unbeknownst to him, mere yards away something equal to him in hunger effortlessly matched the horse’s stride, a creature born of a wolf’s bite and the full moon that hid its luminescence this night. Through its bloodshot, yellowed eyes, it watched him droop ever lower, fighting simply to stay in the saddle. It chose this moment to reveal itself, circling in front of the tiring steed and putting an end to its perpetual flight.
The horseman was nigh delirious at this point, and knew it; he thought to himself, ‘What is this chimerical apparition I see through my fever-stricken eyes? Its physiognomy frightens me, despite its duplicity in appearing in reality, when truly it exists in nothing more than my mind. Maybe if I envision its disappearance, it shall be so.’ The monster simply gazed in rapt fascination as the small, pink thing stared intently at it, seemingly attempting to will it out of existence.
Eventually he realized this was fruitless, and thought he would try his hand at charging through the creature, thinking it but an ephemeral wisp of a thought, an imagined hurdle in his path waiting to be overcome. His stubborn steed, however, evidently thought otherwise, refusing to budge even an inch out of both instinctual fear, and sheer exhaustion. ‘Fine,’ thought the messenger, a touch more worried now, ‘if the horse won’t do it, I’ll just shout it out of my view and out of my thoughts.’
“Begone, creature of the night, beast of nightmare origin and hellish visage! If I allow myself to stop for all the fabrications of a weak mind, dreadful as they may be, my purpose will never be carried out! Stand aside and let me pass.” The fiendish monstrosity, once having known a soul, understood speech; the little being’s panicking paroxysms were almost amusing to behold. All thought and reason had left it, but if it still had any left, it would have bemoaned the fact that all it could find in its starvation was two equally deprived individuals. As it was, the night was the only witness to their screams.
This bedraggled rider was not as lonely as he imagined himself to be, however; unbeknownst to him, mere yards away something equal to him in hunger effortlessly matched the horse’s stride, a creature born of a wolf’s bite and the full moon that hid its luminescence this night. Through its bloodshot, yellowed eyes, it watched him droop ever lower, fighting simply to stay in the saddle. It chose this moment to reveal itself, circling in front of the tiring steed and putting an end to its perpetual flight.
The horseman was nigh delirious at this point, and knew it; he thought to himself, ‘What is this chimerical apparition I see through my fever-stricken eyes? Its physiognomy frightens me, despite its duplicity in appearing in reality, when truly it exists in nothing more than my mind. Maybe if I envision its disappearance, it shall be so.’ The monster simply gazed in rapt fascination as the small, pink thing stared intently at it, seemingly attempting to will it out of existence.
Eventually he realized this was fruitless, and thought he would try his hand at charging through the creature, thinking it but an ephemeral wisp of a thought, an imagined hurdle in his path waiting to be overcome. His stubborn steed, however, evidently thought otherwise, refusing to budge even an inch out of both instinctual fear, and sheer exhaustion. ‘Fine,’ thought the messenger, a touch more worried now, ‘if the horse won’t do it, I’ll just shout it out of my view and out of my thoughts.’
“Begone, creature of the night, beast of nightmare origin and hellish visage! If I allow myself to stop for all the fabrications of a weak mind, dreadful as they may be, my purpose will never be carried out! Stand aside and let me pass.” The fiendish monstrosity, once having known a soul, understood speech; the little being’s panicking paroxysms were almost amusing to behold. All thought and reason had left it, but if it still had any left, it would have bemoaned the fact that all it could find in its starvation was two equally deprived individuals. As it was, the night was the only witness to their screams.