Shelter from the Storm, Part One
Eiro stooped under a twisted white branch of the great old tree. All around him, the wind turned wild and raced back and forth like a mad dog chasing its tail. It wailed as it twisted around the black canyon below. Eiro shivered and flattened his ears against his skull. This was it, he knew it: The edge of the world.
The lanky black wolf hunkered down on his haunches and sat below the dead tree. All around him, twisted white husks of a great forest writhed in a frozen agony, their bark as pale as the bleak sun overhead. The grey sky cast little shadow, though all the world here seemed dark, deary and biding. Several meters beyond, the forest fell away into a rocky terrace of crumbling grey stone, pockmarked with stringy yellow grass like leprus hairs. Beyond that opened the maw of the abyss--the bottomless canyon known as Dlyn'yaan. The Empty Death.
Eiro drew in a harsh breath on cool air. He wanted to look back to the eastern horizon, and though the line stretched flat and grey for as far as his eyes could tell--he knew somewhere lay lands of green forests, fresh water and friendly faces.
He realized he shouldn't linger here too long. Evil was said to be the only thing that never slept.
Rocking forward onto his leathery pawpads, Eiro started to creep southward along the edge of the dead wood. He moved like an animal caught out in the open, with quick, jerky dashes and long pauses as he scented the wind and turned his ears looking for any hint of sounds above the constant, steady moaning of the canyon's mouth. Sensing nothing did not ease his mind. No matter what he did, he could not shake the sensation of impending doom, nor loosen the knot in his gut.
He picked his way to where the trees grew like giant plump mushrooms, with their tightly interlocking canopies of finger-jointed twigs umbrellaed over stout trunks that looked bloated and somehow spoiled. He sighed with despair. The canyon only grew wider, its far side nearly lost in a sheen of ashy mist. It seemed impossible to cross, and the sides inscalable, let along bottomless.
He ran one black paw over his face and through his thick ruff. He didn't know how long he could keep travelling in this land of no food, no water, no life. He needed to get to the other side. Eiro drew in another icy, stale breath of the arsenic air.
A crack of thunder made him jump in his skin. He whirled around, and his ears dropped in horror. To the north, a great black mass of cloud was rolling down the canyon's spine. It spat blue-white lightning along its underside, followed by the distant roar which grew ominously louder.
Eiro whirled around, panic driving deep into his heart. He spied several of the giant trees with ugly black scars, one so destroyed it was little more than a chard husk of blackened, upturned roots. Remembering an age old adage, he scurried toward it over the sharp rock outcroppings toward the lightning struck giant. He hardly noticed as tiny razor edged stones cut into his pawpads in his frenzy to seek shelter from the storm.
He crawled beneath the upturned roots of the tree, pressing his back to the cool, moist earth which clung to the bark. The great storm rumbled and stampeded its way closer. The temperature dropped sharply and Eiro's nose stung as ice crystals formed along his muzzle. He panted, filling the wooden cave with a breathy, wintry haze.
The wolf's teeth shook with the bellow of the titan thunder. He squeezed his yellow eyes closed and curled up as tightly as he could away from the raging storm. Suddenly, like someone had torn a hole in the sky with the jagged lightning, hail poured down. The tiny shards of ice bounced off the roots and stung his outwardly facing leg and arm. He whined quietly, wishing to be home, wishing he'd never left.
The thunder broke again and he jumped involuntarily, pushing all his weight against the tree. To his surprise, the bark crumbled inward and he tumbled into the hollow of the white monster. He crawled blindly forward a few feet, hands groping but finding only smooth, polished wood. The noise of the storm was muted, and Eiro could hear his own frantic breathing. A little ashamed--how could a fully blooded hunter like himself--all be it a young hunter--be afriad of the weather? He tried to shape a sheepish grin, but his teeth were chattering too much from the cold.
As the darkness gave was to his adjusting eyes, he gazed in wonder. The hollow of the tree seemed much larger than he would of guessed, assuming logically the trunk of the tree must of been half buried under the rock and soil. The inside was smooth, rounded like the innards of a great cooking pot. Spidery black burns--which looked oddly uniform, like writing--stretched out into the shadows. Eiro moved forward, extending his arm to touch them.
"Who is this who's come to my bed?" whispered an airy, feminine voice.
Eiro snapped his hand back. "Who--where are you!" he yelped. He was so cold, he had trouble forming the words.
"I am she who lives, the only who lives, in this great...empty...land."
A black shape moved in the deeper ends of the tree, wormy, lithe--undefined. The wolf strained his eyes.
He licked his lips. "I--I needed shelter from the storm. I mean no intrusion. Please show yourself."
A deep, muted thrumming like thunder from outside began, but did not fade. The spidery runes on the walls began to glow a dull, aching red. The creature which was revealed, too Eiro's pleasure, was no strange monster or misshapen freak. The vixen seemed perfect, from her sly, questioning green eyes, voluptuous curvy body which trailed down to her full, black tipped tail. Her fur was a soft grey, like mist on the mountains, or new steel. She wore nothing, only lounged with her chin resting on one black paw, her smile spreading like warm oil.
"You look cold," she breathed. "Let us keep warm together."
"I--I am cold," Eiro admitted, scooting closer and bobbing his head. He was still cautious, but also so relieved to see a familiar kind of face so far away from his forests.
She welcomed him into her arms. He felt so good beside against her, the butt of his tail pressed against her groin, his shoulders against her breasts. She laid her muzzle against his neck, and her breath smelled of flowers and spring.
"It gets so cold here," she breathed.
Eiro swallowed hard. He felt a great heat building in his lower belly.
"How...why are you here?" he managed, though honestly, he was having difficultly making words fit together.
The grey vixen slipped one of her arms through his and pulled him closer. His tail was between her muscular legs. She squeezed it.
"A long time ago, I came here. I was a travelling gypsy, of sorts. I made this place my home, and it keeps me well. Though the nights grow lonely."
He could feel her smile, more than see it. He closed his eyes and stuttered a breath. Her hand traced his chest, and moved down...
This is crazy! his mind reeled. This must be a dream! He sucked in a quick breath and exhaled a hot stream. Above him, the condensation was forming tiny ice crystals. Their spider-webs spread slowly but he felt no cold. Only a growing, centered heat as he hardened in his sheath.
"I--I'm travelling too," he stammered. Her hand was playing with his belly fur, a finger width or two away from the tip of his sheath. "I left a season ago from my home--I wanted to see the edge of things...find where the world ends..."
"I have seen the end of things," the vixen cooed. Her long, pink tongue ran the length of his jawline.
"Does it end here?" he whispered. His heart hammered in his chest. He could barely think or breathe for the sexual tension he was fighting to suppress.
"It does for you," she sighed. Her hand moved down the length of his sheath and he managed an achey, shuddered sigh as he gave in to ruin.