South of human

...Yeah. More song titles. Ending is really abrupt, and I'm not crazy about it, but oh well. For Nikolai.

Day had already broken cold and grey, and the man turned aside from the main road and climbed the bank of earth, where a branched-off trail led through the spruce timberland East. It was a steep bank, and he paused for a breath at the top of it. He excused the act to himself by glancing down at his wristwatch.

 

It was nine o’ clock, and not a hint of sun in the sky. Normally a crisp blue this time of year, it was now blanketed fully with clouds. It brought an intangible pall over the face of the landscape, a subtle gloom that attempted to lower the spirits of those beneath the shadows.

 

In Dante’s case, it wasn’t working.  He had grown used, for the most part, to the dreary weather of the area, and it failed to dampen his good mood. It felt good, being out here, in the middle of nowhere. It gave off an aura of safety, and he could be temporarily deluded into believing no one could find them here.

 

Glancing off into the horizon, he scanned the hundreds of trees that covered most of his sight, slightly discouraged. He had no idea where to search within the towering foliage, and most certainly didn’t want to get lost within them. It would surprise him none if it would be impossible for someone to find their way out of them. 

 

He had good humor on his trip to the area, and had recently arrived in the particular area. After pleading with Greg the previous night about going out for the day to explore the area, and hopefully bring back something for them to eat, he finally got his way. He would, Dante assured, be back to their improvised camp by six that evening. Darkness would be falling soon afterwards, a fire would no doubt be going, and something hot to eat would be ready.

 

The thoughts of food led to his hand straying to the protruding bundle in the pocket of his flannel jacket. He would’ve preferred more than the few biscuits, but he wouldn’t go hungry.

 

Finally making up his mind, he descended the crest, a far easier task than climbing it, before plunging in among the large spruce trees.

 

A variety of scents bombarded his nostrils unexpectedly, giving him a sudden headache. Shapeshifter blood gave him a higher dependency on the sense of smell than regular humans, and the sudden attacks on his nostrils was disorienting. They seemed to be coming from each direction, and it took a few minutes of walking before he could finally sort them apart. Fifteen more minutes, and he started to fall into the natural rhythm of walking silently, subconsciously avoiding the brittle leaves fallen from dead trees and dry twigs in order to keep himself silent as he moved.

 

Finally, he could roughly pinpoint the directions that most of them were coming from. The overlays of old and recent trails, in addition to the sharp scent of the cold, were still more than slightly confusing, but it was clearing up.

 

He had no doubt that when he was started the actual hunting of his trip it wouldn’t be too hard to find something that could

 

There was a fair enough chance to find something of decent size, as it was still before the first frost, even though it was plenty cold enough. The wind was picking up already, and he assumed it would rise to a frenzy before noon. As it was, some of the cold air snuck between the trees from the West, washing over everything within the fringe of the forest. A slight shiver went down the man’s spine, and he moved the hood to better protect himself from the chill.

 

He managed to silence the sounds of his breathing, but it still left a visible sign of frozen moisture in the air before it finally disappeared.

 

For several miles he continued through the woods, until he tread across the bank of a small stream.

 

He had heard of the location before. Glancing down again at his watch, he saw that an hour had passed. Four miles an hour was the speed he was making.

 

He decided to celebrate by resting and eating his crude lunch there.

 

Settled down on the remains of what looked to be a recently-fallen tree, he extracted the food from his pocket, devouring it in no time at all.

 

The foreign beauty of the low mountains was a refreshing change from the warmer areas of Colorado. It was nice, being able to enjoy the view without a care, not even having to worry about hunting yet. There was no use trying to catch anything yet, since it wouldn’t be until later in the afternoon before he would return.

 

Eyeing the river, he distractedly listened to the quiet murmur of the water, his mind thinking back to the route he had taken to get to the area. While he hadn’t been overly focused on noting what was around, it was obvious that there was little that would be able to feed both of them for the night and morning after. What there was would only barely do so, and was too hard to catch to be worth it.

 

The place Greg had decided they would camp for the night had been located next to a small creek, quite a bit smaller than the one currently before him, but he had no doubt, as his eyes trailed to the area where the river disappeared, that it was a branch of the one before him.

 

Pushing the cloth his small excuse for a meal had been covered in back in his pocket, and still feeling plenty hungry, he finally stood and started downstream. He was in no rush, knowing he had a good few hours to waste, taking a good amount of time before he turned a bend and disappeared from the view of the multitude of birds perched in the trees, barely acknowledging his passing through.

 

~~

 

The water was clear, cool enough to bring goose bumps to his arms, and swifter than it had looked from his spot on the bank. Dark fronds of weeds beneath the surface undulated in the current, looking like mermaid’s hair, and darker shapes of fish darted through it, startled by his sudden intrusion into their home. The brazen heat from the sun was gone, and as it lazily traveled towards the horizon it lit the grass and flowers along the western bank

It was colder than he had accounted for, but he quickly adjusted to it. Pile of clothes was set neatly on the bank, and he paid the cold no mind as he scanned the water for something large enough for his standards.

 

The flies skittered about madly, often passing close to him as they made their way, and the water was limpid enough that he could clearly see the forms of his prey as they quickly moved through it.

 

It didn’t take long. His arm lashed out quickly, a movement familiar from his improvised fishing he had done often before. The first attempt slipped through his fingers despite his attempts to keep a firm hold on it, and he, already slightly annoyed, immediately dove under the water and grabbed again at one of the quickly retreating fish. This time he kept his grip on it, tossing it out onto the bank before rising after it.

 

It was a fair-sized fish, quickly dispatched, and he figured it along with another would be enough.

 

He waited a while on the bank, feet dangling, unmoving in the water, waiting for the chaos under the surface to cease and the calm lull that had once existed to return.

 

Once he slipped back into the water, he didn’t need to completely submerge to catch the second fish, and it proved to be almost too easy. Pulling himself out of the water for the last time, he shook his head in a very dog-like fashion, sending droplets of water scattering across the grass. He lay sprawled out once more, drying in what little sunlight remained, before dressing again, pushing still slightly-damp hair out of his face, taking a last glance at the area before moving on.

 

~~

 

After all of the packed, dried food they had been eating for the last few days, the fish tasted heavenly.

 

It was cooked on a spit of wood over the fire, and its flesh was as pink as the turning night sky, and tasted as pure as the river itself.

 

They sat by the fire, few words spoken between them as they ate, just watching as the light faded on the river and the sky slowly melded from it’s light pink to dark blue to a star-washed black.

 

The moon was three nights short of full, and it almost felt as if he could see every blemish of it’s surface. It cast a pale silver light on the shoulders and boughs of the Douglas firs, and sent long shadows from them across the long, unkempt grasses of the clearing where they had camped. It lighted on the dew that was already beginning to accumulate around him.

 

The light of the low autumn sun filtered lazily through the ochre leaves of the tall trees, limbs dancing in the wind. The dense fog that had invaded the forest for most of the day was all but gone, though a slight, stubborn mist still remained. In the lighting, though, it looked almost unearthly, as the hazy golden shafts of light shone through it.

 

A few caramel-colored leaved cut loose from the branches as the breeze stirred through them, and they swirled in lazy circles to eventually alight on the ground below, heedless to the two men they surrounded.

 

Dante watched sullenly as the flames moved upwards to meet the blushing sunset. The slowly dying flames, against the soft, pink-hued October sky, reflected in brown eyes, though his mind was elsewhere.

 

It wasn’t, by any means, quiet or peaceful. Not with the calls of animals as they began to either nestle into their homes for the night, or wake from them to hunt ‘till dawn. But to him, it was almost as if he was underwater, the muffled, barely audible noises barely penetrating his wandering thought.

 

He vaguely noticed the smoke as it coiled upwards into the slowly darkening sky, twisting and writing before finally fading away into the air. As it dispersed and the flames slowly began lowering further to the ground, his alpha’s form could be seen, if he had been paying attention. Instead of looking towards the fire, however, he looked instead beyond Dante, into the trees, presumably towards the birds that occupied them.

 

Brown eyes, oddly illuminated by the defining shadows and glow from the fire, watched as the last glowing embers began choking out, and the last feeble flame licked at the air, reaching towards the star-spangled sky.

Reviews

[D.R. Wilsey Jr.]

I have to admit, although I have a huge dislike for this current trend of vampire/werewolf fiction, this is some rather decent writing. Your descriptions are vivid and clear.

However, there is a lot of cleaning up to be done. You must watch your perspective and tense. Also, one of the biggest problems I found in this piece was your propensity to repeat words.

For example:

"The flies skittered over the water, moving around him like water breaking around a rock, and the water was limpid enough that he could clearly see the forms of his prey as they quickly moved through the water."

I felt as though you were beating me over the head with some words when repeating them so often. Watch your writing for small things like that which could harm your story. I always found it helpful to read a piece out loud to ensure it was clear.

This would stand on its own and ensure a longer life if you dropped the references to "shifters" all together. It reads as a good wilderness story and experience without it. However, this is just my opinion and you're obviously free to include whatever you want in your writing. As long as you're writing what you want and not trying to capitalize on a current trend.

[Druvian]

Actually, this story has nothing to do with either vampires or werewolves. I highly doubt I'd ever write anything on either; the character is a shapeshifter.

Thank you for taking the time to read and review this, though. It is very helpful and appreciated.