Imogene

**This is a work in progress** A short story about a girl and her wolf.

She could not feel her fingers.  The bitter cold ripped through the poorly woven gloves and to her bones, she could feel nothing. Far off, she heard an owl call out in the quiet noise of the forest.  Searching, her blood-shot eyes bounced off the starry brilliance of the constellations, not noticing the brightness of the moon or the eerie stillness of the sky. She kept her breath shallow, steady, but inaudible; again her eyes danced across the sky, across the landscape, still searching.

Imogene curled into herself slowly, millimeters at a time. Beneath her layers of two ratty t-shirts, a frayed sweater, and a torn down jacket, she moved her bitterly frozen hands to rest in the hollows of her armpit. Her bone-thin legs were covered in layers cheap, patched jeans and worn long-johns. Wool socks and hand-me-down hiking boots kept her feet warm enough, the most generous gifts she’d ever been given.  All that she had ever owned, she carried.

Her back to a gnarled old tree, she sat still, knees to chest and watched as the night passed. As her eyes closed, her shoulders released and the weight she carried was lifted momentarily. She relaxed, resting in the eerie stillness. Moments passed before she snapped awake; hyper aware of the leaves crunching underfoot and of the skittering of tiny forest creatures.  Ears flattened against her skull, she strained to hear what creature was approaching.  She counted to ten, her heartbeat slowed, the world slowed as she focused on her intruder.

Whatever the creature was, it did not weigh much. Padded footsteps only broke the surface layer of the forest floor. She counted the cadence of the step, four feet, two at a time in unison.  For what she could tell, the creature was twenty steps from her gnarled tree. Twenty steps to decide.  Plan A, kill it. It would not take much effort, she reasoned.  The hide could provide more protection from the elements and she would have food again. Sixteen steps.  Plan B. Hide. Wait for it to pass, will it to not see her.  Twelve steps. 

Four steps from her, it stopped cold. It felt the presence of another, but was unsure if friend or foe. Imogene paused, briefly undecided, and then leapt into action. Four small, quick movements and Imogene had secured her place on the back of the creature, with her thin arms wrapped tightly around its furred collar. Her legs pressed into its ribs and she squeezed, locking her ankles together as it shuddered and fell to the ground. Imogene could feel the long, deep draws of the slumbering animal beneath her. The warmth of the animal permeated to her chilled bones. 

Too long, she warned herself, Stop hesitating. Decide. She uncurled her legs from round the animal and ever so slowly, pushed the sleeping beast leftwards, freeing her leg from beneath it. The coarse, white fur was matted to a thin, but muscular body. It was awkward, as if experiencing a growth spurt; lanky legs and a body too small for its head. Erect and pointed ears, a long snout, and eyes rimmed with black; the wolf resembled a bandit.

                She watched it come to slowly, every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for a fight. The wolf, a male, rose onto his haunches and leveled its gaze at Imogene’s throat. Imogene stood, rod straight and tall over the wolf, encompassing the air and space between them, asserting her dominance.  She stared silently into his obsidian eyes, daring him to make a move. The hair on his back rose, his head ducked, and the tension in his muscles was palpable. Quietly but firmly, Imogene exhaled, “Calmate,” as she stepped forward to place her palm upon his head.  Like magic, he eased and the energy between them became tranquil and serene.  He nuzzled her palm and bowed to her presence.

                Imogene dropped to her knees beside her wolf, deftly stroking his body, feeling for injury or pests. She felt the tension and struggle leave her body momentarily, relaxing in the bonding moment, breathing in the cold, winter air and acquainting herself with her new companion. Salvador, she called him.

                Imogene had never been a patient girl, nor a compassionate one. It was not in her nature to understand another being’s shortcomings or failures. What she expected out of Salvador was intelligence and perfection, and what he taught her was though one may be abundant, the other was scarce.  The pup in him was eager to play and eager to please; any harsh word was hard on his spirit. Her standards were impossible. 

                After a hard day of training in which not much progress was made, Salvador tugged at her sleeve and nuzzled her palm.  With a glare, she shrugged him off and continued to wallow near the tree where she had first taken him down.  She could not understand where she was going wrong in training Salvador, why he didn’t understand stalking and stealth. She wracked her mind, and while she was lost in her thoughts, he wandered off toward the edge of the western fields.

                It was spring now, the frost had melted and the trees were beginning to sprout newly greened leaves.  Minutes passed, nearly an hour, before she realized he was gone.  Panic clutched at her chest, her eyes were wide with worry.  She heard a yelp in the distance and felt the world fall from beneath her feet. 

                She moved quickly, barely feeling the ground beneath her feet. The fullness of the trees did not slow her as she compelled herself forward, frantically searching for Salvador, aware and not unaware of her surroundings. Her heart was beating an erratic pace against her chest, her eyes wide and unblinking, always searching for Salvador. She breached the edge of the wood and stood breathless.

                Streaks of yellow, orange, purple and pink painted the sky; the sun in her descent was a blood red and a chill was beginning to permeate the air. Imogene could not register anything but her beloved wolf lying prone in the distance. His white fur had grown full and thick in the months since he found her, his body had filled out and was no longer lanky and awkward.  As if seeing him for the first time, she noticed the definition of his muscles now, how he had grown and was no longer a lost pup. 

                The panic in her chest had not abated; she dropped to her knees and crept slowly towards Salvador.  The grass in her palms felt like tiny shards of glass, the ground on her joints was like crawling over hot coals.  She never noticed the hot tears spilling from her eyes. She never noticed her shallow, labored breathing or the tiny, hysteric whimpers escaping her throat.  Once her ice-blue eyes locked on to him, they never wavered.

                The outside world no longer existed.  The blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the forest, her nostrils filled with his woodsy scent. Shaking fingers stroked soft white fur, red-rimmed eyes searched his body for wounds, for breathing but failed to see either; Imogene was there but not, so far lost in her fear that she could not see nor hear the hunters approaching, nor did she care how exposed she was, lying on her belly, panting hysterically, willing her precious Salvador to be alive, to be his raucous, playful self. She begged him, begged what Gods she never believed in, to breathe life into him. She was in the open, more vulnerable than she had ever been of all the time she had spent in the forest.

                The hunters were two brawny, tall beasts of men with wild eyes hidden behind masses of hair and beard. Animal skins covered parts of their physiques and each man’s muscles bulged and twisted like the old branches of gnarled trees. Their bodies emanated strength, power, and dominance.  From across the western field, they could see the girl and the wolf; her pitiful whimpers sang out to them like a homing beacon. The animal was only stunned, struck by a miniscule sleeping dart from Elowyn’s shooter.                    

                 A more skillful hunter had never lived before in their tribe; Elowyn was strong, sure, and menacing. His influence over the younger hunters had always been prominent, each young male sought Elowyn’s guidance, but his arrogance had deemed them all unfit; too stupid, too weak, too clumsy.  He wasted precious time on no one, trusted no one, save for Kirik but even that had its limits. They were brothers but only by blood. The bond shared between the two men was only by necessity.  Kirik was useful to Elowyn. The tribe shaman, Kirik had, on more than one occasion, saved Elowyn’s life. Elowyn often killed enough game to feed the tribe throughout winter, for which the tribe was grateful and thusly bore his drunken tirades and ill manner.

                Swiftly, Elowyn and Kirik descended upon Imogene.  Kirik’s  arms wrapped around her middle and hoisted her from the ground, away from Salvador. Aware that something had her, but not sure what, Imogene began to thrash about, kicking and screaming, scratching, writhing in any attempt to be loosed again.  But Kirik held fast, tightening his grip around her waist until she could no longer breathe. Her body went limp and he slung her lazily over his shoulder.

                Elowyn examined Salvador astutely. Not quite full grown, but of a decent training age, Elowyn concluded that the animal would be trained to hunt for him. It was not uncommon for hunters in the tribe to take an animal familiar, but this would be Elowyn’s first. He tied the animal’s front and hind legs to each other and shouldered him about his neck. 

Author's Note

I would like feedback concerning flow, imagery, and use of language. any comments are welcome.