January First Person Challenge

[tigerstriped86.livejournal.com]

Title: Thirst for More
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13 to Mature (for brutal inner turmoil and fighting a she-wolverine)

A/N: Edwin is a character that is not ripped from anyone and any such violation is unintended and with my sincerest apologies.  This is a character from a larger original series I've been tinkering with off and on, but this part of the narrative has been rewritten as a complete first person POV.

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I remember seeing them as in my dreams, once or maybe twice before. The eyes could be of a rabid werewolf from the ancient lore I was made to fear as a child. The priests, with bitter amusement, had named them the red hell. But I rail against them alone, guarding the remnants of a world while bitter cold stings inside my chain mail, my snug helmet, and all of the outside world. Winter is approaching at a fast gallop.

 

I can feel my dark pride blanketing against the cold as famine moans behind the walls, partly being a guard against the inner workings of the wall. My stomach moved in torrents that shook hard and yet whisper the name of Edwin, as I fear trouble recalling the taste of a feast or even laughter. The bitter, gnawing hunger turning towards thoughts of Tremaine. The priests had often spoken of Jonathan and David in comparison to Tremaine, and myself although I find it indecent and more than slightly embarrassing to be compared to any character of biblical proportion. Edwin felt small and impotent in such a measure.

 

My head leaned forward, kissing the cold heat of the metal. I can remember how Tremaine’s father had taken us far away once before the cold waste had enveloped the land. The great plains of frozen water stilled my heart then, those dark caves carved into mountains inspiring great awe. The fight between great hissing beasts across the plains made me forget, if for just a moment, the present. 

 

Tremaine’s father, the King, has been long sing dead. His legacy has been trodden upon, a wake of distrust and bitterness all that honors the fair and loving man whom was a second father to me. His heirs are vile, a poison to my thoughts. They heed no counsel, save their own and this was the end result. I turned my head round, greeted by once great stones of shadow and then return to focus on the glowing eyes of the beast.

 

I can feel the absent weight of spear as it drops from my frostbitten hand. The blue tinge to my skin tells a deep and sad story, full of twisted canyons, the thirsty wearing of my own skin. For a moment, it doesn’t quite register. Then the glint of my main weapon reflects on the hard winter stones and my conscience comes to me. The glow of moon plays hide and seek with the sleeping clouds and parched grass sways with an absent winds. For a moment, I was torn. Even that I could admit that when I talked with Jericho in the future. But there was no future in that world for me.

 

You can’t imagine the steps and the tremors of weight that moved through my ankles as I chased the beast with the fiery red eyes. It is hardest to regret nothing except for letting a boy or two live. I cannot bring myself to call Ivan and Romero men; men have wisdom, courage and sacrifice to attain. Ivan and Romero are terrible twins of tantrum.

 

Through brittle shades of grass and trees, I march toward nothingness. I can feel the chain mail fusing with skin, sweat dropping down through my tight helmet with a soft thunk onto the forest floor. All that I have in the world now clings to me.  How fitting.

 

A strange fire and a howl prick my senses. There is no human response when I call to the bringer of life and warmth. The flames mock me as they leap against the wood, barreling with life. My knees gave way in response and at first I did not even register the fatigue, the hard packed ground on my numb skin. I suspect that even a strong man must buckle under pressure at some point.

 

I never let the fire leave my line of vision, fearing that the thing itself may be a trick and nothing further. I had already decided that this forest would make a finer tomb than anything hewn by a human hand. I would perish there, alone, the last sentry of a kingdom gone farther than I knew.

 

Darkness engulfs my absent dreams as I lay close to the fire that very night.   I awoke, screaming silently as a sharp rip moved through the space over me. The power of muscle and jaw work against my armor, slicing the last bit of civility and protection from my naked and pale skin. The cold may sear me deeply, but free my movements more and I live on instinct as ancestors before me. Using my shoulder for leverage, I attempted to roll, catching sight of the she beast, one paw anchoring my leg.

 

Her eyes were the color of dark amber, only a few shades darker than her taut skin. She was not the werewolf of pacifying legend. As all things are, she is a mere hunter, a living savage for her children. 

 

My legs were caught, but not my arms. A smoldering log, still hot at one end, lay slightly out of reach. A groan escaped my lips as the log took a brunt of her claw’s swipe. In the darkness, her breath echoed around the enclosing. The female wolverine sprang against me from a hidden spot. Her teeth were mighty and the reflection of my own eyes against her jaw and demon teeth startled me terribly for just a moment.

 

I brought the log down with a swift motion of my forearm and closed my eyes when her fang scraped down a long length of skin, just a hairs breadth short of bone. The feeling of hot blood running away from my body aids in the adrenaline of the fight. 

 

She circles for another attack, but I sense the moment she comes. A warrior must notice simple things like movement in the muscles above her ankles. Cats are terribly agile and ferocious animals. I have great and tragic respect for this mighty huntress. But I must also play more than the part of a meal and victim. I turn my back, taking a full swing and hearing that sickening crunch as her jaw falls from her form. I fall, absorbing the full weight of the impact.

 

I can feel the muscles in my skin move as I grimace and set to work without any form of rudimentary tool. I set to another few small branches, and I worked until dawn was nearly past. Hints of blue tinged her carcass as my macabre work ceased. The feeling of blood in my fingers irked me and so I ran them through my unkempt mane for cleanliness. I feel disheartened but I do as I must. Edwin is the one to soldier on always, Tremaine’s small voice runs through my mind.

 

I can feel the sigh vibrating through my body as I begin making four incisions into the great beast. The first was against the head, honored back to the earth by a burial. For a moment, I turned my eyes downward against hers. The second and third incisions were against the parts of the torso used for a good meal once cooked or dried. I am luckier than most to have the survival skill of a soldier. That final incision is for the paws as a supplement to my weakening attire, and a necessary camouflage in the forest.

 

I barely notice my own wounds flowing with her blood over the packed earth of the campsite. My stomach dropped as I ripped her tail away, to be used a tourniquet against the gash in my arm. A thought begins to barrel and gnaw through my insides. Thirst and sanitation are twin demons that will not stop buzzing through my head. I’m sure this wild will turn me before long. Such a pity that I could not find water before the world turned dark and my body cold.

Comments

[jamais-toujours.livejournal.com]

I liked the atmosphere you created in this piece and the suspense when the narrator wakes up to find himself confronted with the wolf. Watch out for your tense though - sometimes it slips into the past tense instead of the present.