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Cycle

Puffing smoky breath like a decrepit steam engine, the black-furred wolf stomped dispassionately, closing his arms tightly around his broad chest. Whether the action was one of the subconscious or conscious mind, intended for personal warmth or sole comfort, an onlooker could not ascertain for sure, but they could wonder briefly and wander on. Little attention was paid to a lone figure in the hospital grounds after all.

He huddled in the scant shelter of a wild-eyed holly bush, scarlet fruit popping out of sunken eye sockets, and sighed languidly, lolling back into the prick of pain with barely a wince. It was a frail, double-edged protection from the lazy wind, he admitted grudgingly, but one could not afford to be choosy in their location for a quick draught of nicotine: a bristling windbreak was his sole offer. Damn places wouldn't let him smoke indoors anymore. Rules and regulations blocked his path like spots of dust on his reading glasses, always aggravating and always there. Lighting the pale, wrapped wand with an easy motion, he took his first wan gulp, smoke mingling with breath, and absently roamed his eyes over that neat, royal blue packet.

'Smokers die younger'; well, who would've thought? An early death was never the reason he smoked the blasted things in the first instance - who would want an early death? And, if so desired, surely death was easier to come by in some simpler, less patient, cunning form? His vice was the product of one thing alone, or should that be one person alone. Many years ago he had quite resolutely decided that the lesser evil was indeed recommended in extreme cases, particularly when he must staunchly act the part of the supporting arm. Or leg, or wrist - it did not matter. Any body part would do, truth be told. Whatever his hyena wife decided to clutch on to with those crooked claws of hers would be more than he was genuinely willing to give. Nothing was for her: he was only there for one reason.

The wind snarled in a sudden, biting gust and the wolf swore viciously, cradling the burning length in the cave of his large paws. Of course, he had more care for his daily dose than the pains wrenching at his wife's gut as if to forcibly rend new life from her flesh. She would be fine until delivery, he mused, stamping at the solid ground to circulate cooling blood around his frozen limbs. Didn't want the cub anyway, did she? Thought she'd just put it up for adoption, didn't she? Well, he'd show her, all right, he would. He'd do right by that one. She had no say in the matter. He'd do the right thing for that little one.

The thought made him smile.

Playing a rude interruption to his reverie, his only daughter, his grown cub in his image but with chocolate fur, grabbed his paw and knocked the half-smoked cigarette to the ground where it was trodden into the frost. It's time, it's time, she was repeating like a mantra or a string of prayers, towing him by the wrist up the steps, into the pristine hallways and through the maze to where he assumed coolly that the source of his discomfort lay. Knotting her brows together in a frown, which sadly darkened her delicate features, she dragged him onwards like a disobedient puppy, an untainted dessert spoon dangling limply from her fingers. She had been in the canteen. Run faster, more quickly, please, hurry, hurry, she bid him desperately.

Yet...he could not. He could not run faster. He could not run at all. Grasping his chest, he tore at the clothing, fighting to relieve the sharp pain digging spikes into his nervous system, doubling over as his head spun nauseatingly. Then there were white-clad doctors blocking out all light, lupine family members shrieking for help - any help - greedy onlookers staring with slack jaws, slick linoleum beneath his cheek. A bitter taste in his mouth. The stage was frenzied, characters whistling past, in and out, ushered along by the director at a pace too rapid to pay heed to. But his world had narrowed to pain, excruciating, searing along his limbs even as his breath came in increasingly desperate, ragged gasps. As if from a great distance, he dimly watched the spoon fall from his daughter's paw, clattering soundlessly. Not a soul paid it any mind.

He never saw his cub.