The Wild Ones Ch.1 & 2

baywolf25 wrote:
Chapter 1

The darkness of the night was split only by the pale light of the moon hidden in the cloud bank. #FF0000 ">[I suggest you don't start your story with a scenery or weather description] There would be a storm later, but at that moment, the evening air was calm and silent as the day creatures slept in their hidden beds and airy lofts to wait for the bright light of day.

This time was ruled by the night creatures. The kinds that stalk and skulk and howl at the moon with its round pale face. #FF0000 ">[This sentence is a little weird... "its round pale face" looks like it's referring to the creatures] Such creatures were what made the dark scary #FF0000 ">for its danger, and out of the hidden gloom, fiery eyes glistened with greed and hunger.

The night beckoned to its hunters. It enticed them with its velvety inkiness, #FF0000 ">[Did it just get purple in here? ] and camouflaged them with its secret folds. The rustle of leaves and crunch of twigs indicated the prey. The hunters were silent, skilled, and deadly.

Nothing saw them, until #FF0000 ">it was too late. Safety does not come easily in the Wild#FF0000 ">, unless it accepts you as a Wild One. But even then, the hunt is on.

#FF0000 ">[I'm not a fan of beginnings like these, as it told me absolutely nothing. Is this a medieval fantasy story or urban? Is it fantasy at all? Your images are far too abstract to grip me]


Chapter 2

A sun-dappled deer grazed peacefully in a small meadow in the foothills of the mountains. Those jagged peaks with white caps once had a Human name, but it was long lost to the inhabitants of the land.

The deer—a young buck with tiny spikes for horns—moved leisurely through the rich summer grass. It was unaware that it was being watched by a pair of dark eyes from the trees sheltering the meadow on one side.

The eyes did not blink in their intensity. Not a movement of the deer was missed, and slowly, almost unnoticeably, the eyes moved closer to where the young buck was grazing.

The buck looked up for a second, its brown eyes too trusting in its own youthful invincibility and aloneness, before it bent its head back down to snatch away at the tall sea of grass. The returning snick-snack of teeth on grass blades a comfort to the deer, it meant it was alive.

The eyes had frozen as the deer had glanced its way, but moved again as it appeared they hadn’t been spotted.

Foot by foot, the eyes edged closer and closer until only a wide tree and ten feet of waving grass stood between the eyes and the deer.

The shadows of the forest evergreens ate up the form belonging to the eyes. Whatever stalked the deer was invisible.

Suddenly, #FF0000 ">[Using the word "suddenly" when something happens suddenly prepares us for the events that follow, and therefore should be avoided if you actually want to surprise the reader] the eyes seemed to glow #FF0000 ">[seemed to whom? If you're writing in third person omniscient, the eyes should either glow or not glow. They can't "seem" to glow, as the narrator doesn't have eyes in this case] bright gold and then in a flash, a blurry brown figure bolted from its hiding spot under the tree and towards the deer as it grazed.

The buck only had time to raise its head in surprise, before the form was upon it and slashing its throat with deadly force. The buck fell to the ground with the brown figure standing half-crouched over its dying form, almost protectively. The guardian angel of death. #FF0000 ">[This made me do a small face-palm. Is this an actual, literal guardian angel of death? If it isn't, those words seem extremely tired and cliche to me]

The silence of the meadow continued unbroken by the violence. If anything, it seemed #FF0000 ">[here, the word is used a bit more appropriately, since what you're describing is a lot more abstract than a quantifiable glow] as if nature approved and was silently commending the hunter for its conquest. Survival of the fittest was more than a mere suggestion in the Wild.

Breaking the silence, a calm female voice whispered, “A clean kill. The deer will feed me as the earth has fed it.”

The voice came from the brown figure that had killed the buck. She stood up to glance around the clearing, and her dark golden eyes took in the area with a practiced skill. Her eyes told her that she was alone, but still, all day it had felt like something—or someone—had been following her.

The feeling was not comfortable, because to survive in the Wild, it was best to remain unseen. #FF0000 ">[If she wishes to remain undetected, why did she speak just now?] So far, she had managed to survive for ten winters, ever since the time of Great Loss. She did not like to think about that time.

Instead, she focused on each day, each kill, and each moon until the next came. Living in the Wild was dangerous, but she knew these woods and hills like she knew the paths of her mind. Here, she was the one to be feared. The great hunter. She was the Queen of these paths.

She was known in the times before as Amberose, and still sometimes she considered that name and what it had meant. There was no one to call her that anymore.

Amberose shrugged off the feeling of unease and turned instead to the buck lying at her feet. Its life was gone and its brown eyes were glazed in the presence of death. She bent down and made quick work of the carcass.

Her knife moved delicately and swiftly to dissemble the flesh with skilled strokes. #FF0000 ">[Did she use the knife to kill the deer?] It was soon just a bloody pile of entrails that she would leave for the lesser predators that prowled the night, and she wrapped the remainder of the meat in the skin of the buck. Even the long bones she would take and find use for. The meat she would keep and take to her den to cook and cure for storage.

It may have been the beginning of summer, but winter came quickly in the foothills of the mountains that she called the Appalachias because of some memory from her past life. The name tickled at the tendrils of memory in the recesses of her mind.

With the burden of the meat on her shoulder, Amberose began the journey back to her den. It was not too far, but with the extra weight, it would take her about an hour to arrive there, and she wanted to get back in time to set the watch fire and begin cooking.

Being caught out in the open at night was not smart—even for someone as strong and dangerous as she. She was not the only one who hunted these hills. There were other Wild Ones, and they were not above thievery. She had to protect what little she had accumulated for the winter months.

She left the meadow behind her, and set off in the direction of the nearest mountain. Her den was beckoning her, and she ignored the inkling of being followed in her haste to be back in her haven.

It was because of her distraction that she missed the pair of eyes following her. The hunter had become the hunted.