Post by Alucard on Feb 23, 2009 18:03:05 GMT -7
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I gasped a little bit as the crisp air hit my body. It was only September. This would be a very cold winter. I quickly walked from the school house at the southwest side of town towards my house. In the small town of Eagle Alaska, a cross-town walk only took a few minutes, so I wasn’t out for long. When I got to my house, I walked in the front door. It was never locked—few doors in this town were—and my parents were both at work. I laid my book bag down on the bed and wrote a quick note which I stuck to the front door. It said Mom, I’m going to Grandpa’s. I’ll see you later tonight. Love, Jace.
I headed back out into the cold air and began the short trek to my “Grandpa’s” house. The man was not really my Grandfather, but I had grown up in his house as much as my own, so I figured that he qualified for the title. Grandpa was considered to be the resident loon among the one hundred and thirty residents of the town of Eagle, and for good reason. While he was not insane, one could easily refer to him as eccentric. Partly because he lived out by the old saw mill.
Just as I got to his house, it started getting really cold and windy. One of the raven feathers that Grandpa had insisted be twined into my dark hair blew into my face. I brushed it back behind my ear and then stepped into Grandpa’s home.
A light smell of cinnamon and other spices met my nose as soon as the door had closed. I sneezed.
“Hey Grandpa! What are cooking? It smells really good,” I shouted as I walked farther into the old house. I found him in the kitchen, bent over an old cookbook in concentration. “So what’cha making?” I asked again. He held up a silencing finger. “I can’t read this book. It’s written too small,” Grandpa complained. With that, he gave up for the moment and straightened himself. “Hello, White One,” he greeted. That was his name for me because, well, there really is no easy way to say this. I am a werewolf.
Grandpa calls me White One because my fur is white when I shift. He has guided me through the various stages of Lycanthropy so that, now I am able to control my shifting and do it whenever I please. He is also a werewolf, although he follows the Native American traditions, so he views himself as a vessel of the Spirits. I view myself as just a werewolf.
“I am trying to make a cake, but I believe that I have skewed the recipe beyond the point of recovery. Perhaps I should start over…” I shook my head, walked to the cupboard and removed a box of breakfast bars. I took one out and stripped off the wrapper. As I munched on it, watching Grandpa’s musings, he turned to look at me. “I don’t see how you stay so skinny when you eat like that. If you would wait for me to finish this, you could have a piece of it and this is much healthier than those. You know I only keep them in the house for you, right?” I laughed. “Yeah, I know, and I love you for it. Besides, if your cake does manage to survive its conception, I doubt that it would be any healthier than this. That is, if I can actually chew it.” Grandpa was somewhat famous for his failed attempts at cooking.
“You ungrateful little…” He trailed off, muttering darkly. Suddenly, I was struck by an idea that had never failed to get Grandpa out of the house. “Hey, you want to go for a run?” I asked, my dark eyes glinting suggestively. He set the stirring spoon down and thought for a moment. “Only if you promise to keep up this time,” he said, his eyes glinting as well. “Oh, I’ll keep up, don’t you worry about that.”
“Fine then. You can shift in the living room.” I grinned and left the kitchen. As soon as I was in the other room, I stripped out of my clothes and shifted. Six agonizing seconds of bone popping and reshaping later, I walked back into the kitchen to see Grandpa just starting his shift. He was getting slower in his advanced age. Once he was done, he shook himself, tawny fur flying wildly. Are you ready? I asked, using the semi-telepathic communication method of the werewolves. He gave a nod and I turned and bolted towards the door, skidding to a stop inches away from the wooden obstacle. Utilizing years of practice, I scratched at the handle and the door swung open. I leaped outside, waited for Grandpa to shut the door, and then we took off, heading due north towards the mountain that dominated the northern skyline.
We ran side by side, although I was holding back a little bit, all the way up the mountain and even down a little bit on the other side. I looked to the west and saw that the sun was dancing on the rim of the horizon. Time to head back, I said. Grandpa looked at the setting sun and heaved a sigh. Very well. If White One must get home, then we can head back. We turned around and loped up the slope, but stopped at the summit. Standing on top of this mountain, one enjoyed an unparalleled view of Eagle, sitting serenely on the banks of the Yukon River. After a moment of awed silence, I turned to Grandpa. Hey, do you want a real race back to your house? I asked, crouched down in a “Let’s play,” position. Grandpa looked at me, trying his best to appear disapproving. His façade was marred only by a slight twitch of his tail before he tore off down the slope. I gave chase, gaining ground quickly. Running down slope, Grandpa stood no chance. Even in my wolf form, I was three inches taller than he, so I had longer legs which are better for traversing slopes. Especially down slopes. Once I had passed him, I continued running full bore until I arrived at the back door to his house. I sat down and waited for him.
Five minutes later, Grandpa came shuffling out of the dense evergreen forest and stopped right in front of me. You cheated, he said simply before walking past me into the house. I waited a moment before heading back inside, out of courtesy for his shifting. It is not considered polite, so says Grandpa, to walk in on a werewolf while he is shifting, if one can help it. Once I was back inside, I slunk around the counter so that I could look him straight in the eye. How? I asked. He looked down at me, brandishing his stirring spoon like a knife.
“You challenged me to a down-hill race even though you are taller than me and have longer legs than I do. Cheating.”
"Yeah, but you agreed. Did you forget about that part?"
“I never said that I agreed. You assumed that I did, but I never said so.”
"Oh, you didn’t need to say it, trust me. Your eyes have always spoken more than you mouth ever has."
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, sounding affronted. Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Just remember this next time and say no if you can’t stand being beaten. Well, I’m going home. I’ll come back over tomorrow and get my things, okay? Without waiting for a response, I again opened the back door and trotted to my own home. I didn’t worry about people seeing me around town; most of the residents had already seen me and talked to me as a wolf. Many of them had even let me sleep in their living room after a particularly rough shift.
Unfortunately, there was a small family of tourists wandering around. This happened occasionally and when it did, I just had to pretend like I was a big dog, not a wolf. At first, the mother panicked, as any self-respecting mother would when a nearly four foot tall canine comes trotting around the corner. I sat down on the side walk and wagged my tail, trying to behave domesticatedly.
“Look mommy! It’s a doggy!” the youngest, a boy, shouted. “Stay away from him, honey. He could have rabies!” the mother replied, taking hold of her son. “Rabies, Mom? Come on. He’s obviously someone’s,” the daughter, about fourteen or fifteen, said. “I mean, look at those feathers in his fur. I don’t think he put those there himself.” The mother gave a clear help me look to the father, who just shrugged. “She does have a point, Mary,” he said unhelpfully. The girl took a few steps towards me and then stopped, holding out her hand, palm up. Good girl, I thought. That’s how you’re supposed to do it. “Be careful, Abby. He might bite you,” the mother warned. The girl rolled her eyes. I stood and walked towards the girl. I could tell that she was surprised by my size, but she stood her ground, hand still held out. I saw Eric, a friend of mine, watching from the window of the restaurant across the street. He was laughing.
When I got close enough, the girl reached out and laid her hand on my head. “Oh, you’re so soft,” she said, rubbing gently. She touched one of the feathers curiously. “These are pretty. They look good in your fur.” She continued petting for a moment, and then her father called her back. She left reluctantly, with many glances over her shoulder before disappearing into one of the hotel rooms. I glared across the street at Eric and pinned my ears back. He shrunk back from the window, paling visibly.
I trotted back home, meeting a few townspeople along the way who just waved and said, “Hey Jace.” Finally back home, I found my mom with her fists on her hips. “What’d I do?” I asked aloud. I can speak while in my wolf form, but it’s a little difficult to understand if one is not used to it. “You know that I don’t trust that man,” she said.
“Who? Grandpa? He may be a little bit odd at times, but he’s perfectly trustworthy.”
“So you’ve said, but I still don’t trust him. Why does he live so far away from town? I mean, it’s not like this is a busy town. If he wants to be alone, he can just lock his doors.”
“Oh, and that wouldn’t draw any attention either. What has he ever done to harm me?”
“You mean besides those—things—in your hair?” I decided right then not to show her the tribal design tattoo that Grandpa had put on my shoulder. She took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to get into an argument with you. I would just prefer it if you spent a little bit less time with him,” she said. I had to give her credit. She had just gotten into, and out of, a shouting match with a rather large wolf and had not backed down an inch. “And why is that?” I asked warily. She took another deep breath. “Your father has been transferred to the company branch in Oregon and so we’re moving there. We’re going to try to leave next week, before the snow blocks the runway.” Silence rang throughout the room. “Next week?” I asked quietly. She nodded. “Okay, that’s cool.” I turned and walked back to my room.
I gasped a little bit as the crisp air hit my body. It was only September. This would be a very cold winter. I quickly walked from the school house at the southwest side of town towards my house. In the small town of Eagle Alaska, a cross-town walk only took a few minutes, so I wasn’t out for long. When I got to my house, I walked in the front door. It was never locked—few doors in this town were—and my parents were both at work. I laid my book bag down on the bed and wrote a quick note which I stuck to the front door. It said Mom, I’m going to Grandpa’s. I’ll see you later tonight. Love, Jace.
I headed back out into the cold air and began the short trek to my “Grandpa’s” house. The man was not really my Grandfather, but I had grown up in his house as much as my own, so I figured that he qualified for the title. Grandpa was considered to be the resident loon among the one hundred and thirty residents of the town of Eagle, and for good reason. While he was not insane, one could easily refer to him as eccentric. Partly because he lived out by the old saw mill.
Just as I got to his house, it started getting really cold and windy. One of the raven feathers that Grandpa had insisted be twined into my dark hair blew into my face. I brushed it back behind my ear and then stepped into Grandpa’s home.
A light smell of cinnamon and other spices met my nose as soon as the door had closed. I sneezed.
“Hey Grandpa! What are cooking? It smells really good,” I shouted as I walked farther into the old house. I found him in the kitchen, bent over an old cookbook in concentration. “So what’cha making?” I asked again. He held up a silencing finger. “I can’t read this book. It’s written too small,” Grandpa complained. With that, he gave up for the moment and straightened himself. “Hello, White One,” he greeted. That was his name for me because, well, there really is no easy way to say this. I am a werewolf.
Grandpa calls me White One because my fur is white when I shift. He has guided me through the various stages of Lycanthropy so that, now I am able to control my shifting and do it whenever I please. He is also a werewolf, although he follows the Native American traditions, so he views himself as a vessel of the Spirits. I view myself as just a werewolf.
“I am trying to make a cake, but I believe that I have skewed the recipe beyond the point of recovery. Perhaps I should start over…” I shook my head, walked to the cupboard and removed a box of breakfast bars. I took one out and stripped off the wrapper. As I munched on it, watching Grandpa’s musings, he turned to look at me. “I don’t see how you stay so skinny when you eat like that. If you would wait for me to finish this, you could have a piece of it and this is much healthier than those. You know I only keep them in the house for you, right?” I laughed. “Yeah, I know, and I love you for it. Besides, if your cake does manage to survive its conception, I doubt that it would be any healthier than this. That is, if I can actually chew it.” Grandpa was somewhat famous for his failed attempts at cooking.
“You ungrateful little…” He trailed off, muttering darkly. Suddenly, I was struck by an idea that had never failed to get Grandpa out of the house. “Hey, you want to go for a run?” I asked, my dark eyes glinting suggestively. He set the stirring spoon down and thought for a moment. “Only if you promise to keep up this time,” he said, his eyes glinting as well. “Oh, I’ll keep up, don’t you worry about that.”
“Fine then. You can shift in the living room.” I grinned and left the kitchen. As soon as I was in the other room, I stripped out of my clothes and shifted. Six agonizing seconds of bone popping and reshaping later, I walked back into the kitchen to see Grandpa just starting his shift. He was getting slower in his advanced age. Once he was done, he shook himself, tawny fur flying wildly. Are you ready? I asked, using the semi-telepathic communication method of the werewolves. He gave a nod and I turned and bolted towards the door, skidding to a stop inches away from the wooden obstacle. Utilizing years of practice, I scratched at the handle and the door swung open. I leaped outside, waited for Grandpa to shut the door, and then we took off, heading due north towards the mountain that dominated the northern skyline.
We ran side by side, although I was holding back a little bit, all the way up the mountain and even down a little bit on the other side. I looked to the west and saw that the sun was dancing on the rim of the horizon. Time to head back, I said. Grandpa looked at the setting sun and heaved a sigh. Very well. If White One must get home, then we can head back. We turned around and loped up the slope, but stopped at the summit. Standing on top of this mountain, one enjoyed an unparalleled view of Eagle, sitting serenely on the banks of the Yukon River. After a moment of awed silence, I turned to Grandpa. Hey, do you want a real race back to your house? I asked, crouched down in a “Let’s play,” position. Grandpa looked at me, trying his best to appear disapproving. His façade was marred only by a slight twitch of his tail before he tore off down the slope. I gave chase, gaining ground quickly. Running down slope, Grandpa stood no chance. Even in my wolf form, I was three inches taller than he, so I had longer legs which are better for traversing slopes. Especially down slopes. Once I had passed him, I continued running full bore until I arrived at the back door to his house. I sat down and waited for him.
Five minutes later, Grandpa came shuffling out of the dense evergreen forest and stopped right in front of me. You cheated, he said simply before walking past me into the house. I waited a moment before heading back inside, out of courtesy for his shifting. It is not considered polite, so says Grandpa, to walk in on a werewolf while he is shifting, if one can help it. Once I was back inside, I slunk around the counter so that I could look him straight in the eye. How? I asked. He looked down at me, brandishing his stirring spoon like a knife.
“You challenged me to a down-hill race even though you are taller than me and have longer legs than I do. Cheating.”
"Yeah, but you agreed. Did you forget about that part?"
“I never said that I agreed. You assumed that I did, but I never said so.”
"Oh, you didn’t need to say it, trust me. Your eyes have always spoken more than you mouth ever has."
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, sounding affronted. Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Just remember this next time and say no if you can’t stand being beaten. Well, I’m going home. I’ll come back over tomorrow and get my things, okay? Without waiting for a response, I again opened the back door and trotted to my own home. I didn’t worry about people seeing me around town; most of the residents had already seen me and talked to me as a wolf. Many of them had even let me sleep in their living room after a particularly rough shift.
Unfortunately, there was a small family of tourists wandering around. This happened occasionally and when it did, I just had to pretend like I was a big dog, not a wolf. At first, the mother panicked, as any self-respecting mother would when a nearly four foot tall canine comes trotting around the corner. I sat down on the side walk and wagged my tail, trying to behave domesticatedly.
“Look mommy! It’s a doggy!” the youngest, a boy, shouted. “Stay away from him, honey. He could have rabies!” the mother replied, taking hold of her son. “Rabies, Mom? Come on. He’s obviously someone’s,” the daughter, about fourteen or fifteen, said. “I mean, look at those feathers in his fur. I don’t think he put those there himself.” The mother gave a clear help me look to the father, who just shrugged. “She does have a point, Mary,” he said unhelpfully. The girl took a few steps towards me and then stopped, holding out her hand, palm up. Good girl, I thought. That’s how you’re supposed to do it. “Be careful, Abby. He might bite you,” the mother warned. The girl rolled her eyes. I stood and walked towards the girl. I could tell that she was surprised by my size, but she stood her ground, hand still held out. I saw Eric, a friend of mine, watching from the window of the restaurant across the street. He was laughing.
When I got close enough, the girl reached out and laid her hand on my head. “Oh, you’re so soft,” she said, rubbing gently. She touched one of the feathers curiously. “These are pretty. They look good in your fur.” She continued petting for a moment, and then her father called her back. She left reluctantly, with many glances over her shoulder before disappearing into one of the hotel rooms. I glared across the street at Eric and pinned my ears back. He shrunk back from the window, paling visibly.
I trotted back home, meeting a few townspeople along the way who just waved and said, “Hey Jace.” Finally back home, I found my mom with her fists on her hips. “What’d I do?” I asked aloud. I can speak while in my wolf form, but it’s a little difficult to understand if one is not used to it. “You know that I don’t trust that man,” she said.
“Who? Grandpa? He may be a little bit odd at times, but he’s perfectly trustworthy.”
“So you’ve said, but I still don’t trust him. Why does he live so far away from town? I mean, it’s not like this is a busy town. If he wants to be alone, he can just lock his doors.”
“Oh, and that wouldn’t draw any attention either. What has he ever done to harm me?”
“You mean besides those—things—in your hair?” I decided right then not to show her the tribal design tattoo that Grandpa had put on my shoulder. She took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to get into an argument with you. I would just prefer it if you spent a little bit less time with him,” she said. I had to give her credit. She had just gotten into, and out of, a shouting match with a rather large wolf and had not backed down an inch. “And why is that?” I asked warily. She took another deep breath. “Your father has been transferred to the company branch in Oregon and so we’re moving there. We’re going to try to leave next week, before the snow blocks the runway.” Silence rang throughout the room. “Next week?” I asked quietly. She nodded. “Okay, that’s cool.” I turned and walked back to my room.