The Cannon of Civilization
Just a story that I wrote for my creative writing class. Spent a few hours on it. Didn't really revise it that I can remember. I just figured I'd put it somewhere instead of letting it fester in my documents folder for the rest of eternity. :P
I dunno. If you like it, say so. Might do something more with it in the future... might not.
The Cannon of Civilization
The valley, dotted with large dull-green trees, frosted the breath of all beings living within it. A warm paw pad had been placed upon a rock, its yellow furred toes spread on the cold surface.
This surely placed foot belonged to a warrior on the lookout. A being created to run, his strength was made apparent by his thick calves. Evidence of his physical prowess was evident throughout the rest of his body as well. He was by all definition a large cat that walked on two feet, a cheetah to be exact. As lanky as one might expect, but there is no doubt that this creature is usually not one to be crossed in a fight of any sort.
He stood, peering around his environment, his senses keenly searching through noise for anything out of the ordinary on this early morning, when the sun had just managed to creep over the hill behind him. It projected the pointed shadows of the trees onto the fine mist in the valley before him, the light transforming the blue haze into a blazing gold in a mere second. He drew short breaths, and sat still, his arms at his side, one of his paws grasped the crudely cut blade strapped to his side. In a life where lone traveling was required for survival, quick and adequate protection was needed.
This was life. Everyday was extraordinary.
Finally shifting his weight to his other leg, he peered to his left, gazing along the ridge of the steep hill on which he chose to perch. He then stood up, and began walking along a path that was more suggested than it was defined by the countless other individuals who had beaten it before he got there. He kept his ears perked as he walked as silently as possible along the shale that tiled this rocky ridge.
His position both helped and a hindered. On one hand, it was hard not to make any noise, but on the other, it helped. As he pondered his daily trek, he suddenly became grateful for the split second that he had to react to the sharp crunch of rock from behind him, followed by a high-pitched shriek of his own name.
"TAI!" howled the noise. Tai had barely reached for his weapon to unsheathe it, before he was suddenly brought to the ground with a disturbing crunch, as he tumbled down the rocky hill, with whatever attacked him still attached to his back. Luckily, there was a group of bushes that broke his plunge to the bottom of the steep crag. He roared in pain as he landed in them face first.
He had not been vigilant enough, but he nonetheless sprang up, and threw his attacker away from himself, and within half a short breath, he was crouched in defense mode, snarling as he turned toward the heap of fur that lay feet away from him, which had already managed to rebound itself.
"Ndugu!" screeched Tai in a very cat-like manner, "You could have sent us both down!"
Ndugu, a cheetah like Tai, but only mildly bulkier, slightly older, instead of a set of blades, possessed a long spear which he clenched with both hands, pointed due north, directly at the heart of the other cat. He hissed and followed it with a laugh.
"How do you ever expect to be on top if you can't even beat back your own friends. Your enemies would be at your throat with much more malice than I."
Tai snarled, and now that he knew that his lifelong friend was nearly the cause of his death, stood up, and winced. Only now had he realized that the bush that prevented his fall was not just a bush, but also a bush with large dead thorns. The primal rage he felt was held back only because he knew that if he attacked his friend, the situation would only be worsen.
"Sometimes," heaved the assailed cat, "I wonder why I tolerate your presence."
"Ha! You can't be serious, Tai. Without me you'd be dead, and that same fate would be mine without you."
He coldly ignored this bit of affection, and looked up. It was easier from this point to just venture down the valley toward the river. He could clean up there as well; as he was certain that he was bleeding from several places. He did not want the wolves to smell blood the first thing in the morning. He noticed that he had a slight limp from the tumble. It didn't seem serious, as he was still able to lean his weight on his foot without cringing in pain--too much.
The two remained silent as they worked their way down the mountain. Herds of thoughts were running through Tai's mind.
"You're careless." Tai rumbled shortly.
"This coming from you, my slow friend, who didn't react and tumbled down a hill?"
"Don't test me today, Ndugu. You know very well what I mean. Yes, vigilance is necessary, but if I'm too injured to help you because you mindlessly tackled me off of a cliff, then you have only yourself to blame when you are getting your throat ripped out by those who want us dead."
"I'll give that to you, but you can't deny that you were slow at trying to stab me. Had I been trying to kill you, my spear would have pierced straight through your heart. This is not a good sign for our plans."
"Yes," began Tai, now beginning to draw attention away from his embarrassing defeat, "because our plans are unfolding so well as we go through each day doing nothing to forward them."
"We are not ready. I keep telling you this. We have to wait until the winter, when the rest of our kind is as desperate for food as every other pathetic creature in this abysmal land."
"You assume that we will not be among the pathetic ones." Retorted Tai.
They soon reached the bottom of the rocky cliff, and both began heading toward the river, both still arguing off-handedly and perhaps a little louder than they ought to. The sun had risen by now. It had been nearly an hour since Tai took his unexpected plunge. He was still limping, but he didn't feel much pain in the presence of a good argument with his good friend by his side.
As they neared the banks of the river, Tai and Ndugu begrudgingly ended their argument the way they usually did. Both of them Heaved great sighs, and changed the subject.
"Well then," laughed Tai, "you suggest that we prepare. Tell me, your shoving me off the cliff can't be all you had in mind." He kneeled at the bed of the moist river, and looked at his reflection as best he could. He had a sizeable gash across the golden bridge of his nose, and he had blood dried to the side of his mouth. Nothing lasting, it seemed. The scar across his nose would certainly remain, though he couldn't proudly state that he received it in a battle against a ferocious competitor.
"No," responded Ndugu. "I did want to show you something, but that can wait until we rest a bit. We have plenty of time before the days begin to get colder. That's when it will really matter."
Tai finished washing his face, and for the time being skipped bathing in the company of his friend. "Let's walk," he huffed as he stood up on his paws.
"Walk?" Snarled a voice that emerged from somewhere in a tree on the opposite side of the bank. "You couldn't even hope to squirm after we're done with you."
And suddenly the cheetahs' noses were filled with a smell that they shouldn't have missed. They were being watched, the whole time by the very creatures they despised.
"Wolves." Ndugu whispered defiantly
"We're ready," growled Tai.