A/N: My submission for the Endangered Animals Club contest, in honor of National Endangered Animals Day on May 20th. I wrote it in about two days, so it could use some editing and expansion. Most importantly, however, this is for the red wolves <3
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When I set off for a walk in the woods, I wasn’t expecting anything special to happen. Heck, I didn’t even bring a camera. All I really wanted was a dose of freedom and, I suppose, the added bonus of the pine-scented air, neither of which are easy to find in the clogged streets of Nashville.
Early that morning, I stepped down off my grandfather’s porch and gave the wooden black bear standing guard at the gate a congenial pat on the head. When I entered the forest the evergreens instantly welcomed me into their abode, enveloping me in dappled shadows. As my mind wandered my footsteps wandered as well, taking me over sprinklings of pine cones and beneath boughs of needled branches, where hardly a human footstep had ever fallen. I was confident in my sense of direction and didn’t bother following the main trail. Most of it, though - wandering from the trail, I mean - had to do with Oreo.
I tried not to think about it, but the dirt road revived all the old memories of the precious walks we used to have together, passing by Oreo’s urine-marked trail items such as weathered wooden posts, abandoned mailboxes, and mossy park benches. Whenever we’d stay at my grandpa’s house we’d go on at least three long walks a day, just because he loved the forest so much and loved marking his territory.
Those things simply hurt too much to look at,. Not to mention his freshly dug grave, in one of the meadows further along the trail.
I trekked further into the sea of trees and, as pitiful as it seems, concentrated on experiencing the soreness in my thigh muscles instead of worrying over the pain in my heart. Gradually, the pine needle carpet began to slope upwards. The forest thinned out ever so slightly, and the earth gained a more rocky composure. A normal human being would have turned back at this point, satisfied and too weary to travel much further from home, but I of course pressed onwards, wondering if perhaps at the summit of this hill I could see my grandfather’s house, isolated in its own little pocket of trees.
Not long after that notion was surmised was it forgotten, for hardly a few minutes later, I discovered the so-called “something special,” that which I teased my readers with in the very first sentence of my narrative.
When I stopped for a quick breath, I could hear something treading ever so softly over the pine needles and cones in the cluster of trees up above. I stilled my footsteps and waited, breathless, squinting into the trees ahead. Whatever it was, it must have heard me first. After several moments of silence, it didn’t show itself. I figured it ran away, stealthily and silently.
I was happy - giddy, really - to have a reason to explore, and kept walking, my eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Now I was less interested in escaping from my sorrows and more engrossed in finding this creature.
Hardly five minutes later, as I was climbing onto a mantle of needle-speckled rock and staying as quiet as I could, I spotted a tall cluster of boulders. After weaving through the dense foliage that sprouted from the cracks in the ground, my pulse quickened. I could see the entrance to a cave.
“Good God,” I said. Guess I forgot the part about being quiet.
At this point, I reeled in my excitement and reminded myself to be extremely cautious. I had no idea what, if anything, was in that cave. What kind of animals live in the wilderness of Tennessee, anyway? Cougars? Wolves? I thought of my uncle’s wooden black bear and added those guys to the list of possible cave creatures, too.
I looked down, grabbed a big stick, tapped it on the rock next to the tiny cave, and, after several seconds of white-knuckled silence, inched inside.
I gasped when I saw pictures on the wall. There were ancient little drawings, painted in faded red and black, and traced over cracks in the stone. What were they called? Hieroglyphics? I reached out to touch them, then stopped, my hand hovering in mid-air, with the distinct feeling that someone was watching me.
At the entrance of the cave stood a wolf, its legs and paws a rusty orange color and its fur a mix of brown, red, and black. I looked into its golden brown eyes, and it into mine, and before I could stop myself I stumbled backwards and fell, brushing the hieroglyphics with my hand.
I started to get up and grab the stick to defend myself from the wolf, but when I grasped it, the wood simply dissolved in my hands. I looked up and watched in horror as the rock-hewn cave started to fade away, gray slabs of stone peeling away from the walls like paper leaves from plaster, exposing startlingly blue skies and green plains. The wolf still stood there and I cried out to it, confused and scared.
The words do not be afraid echoed in my mind. It was the wolf, speaking to me. This is my story, it said. Just listen.
~*~
The year is 1854.
The Native American warrior Red Wolf sprints across the plains, his tears blinding his eyes and smearing the black warpaint on his cheeks. He should have never left them. He should have stuck close to the pack and scared them away and into the mountains before the white men could find them. By this time, they were almost certainly all dead.
Even when the gunshots died away, he could follow the scent of the campfire easily. The white men didn’t know how to cover their tracks. When he found them, Red Wolf flung himself wildly into the fray of their camp, caring not when he crashed through a pile of firewood and startled the horses, caring not when he brushed against the flames and leaped over the yolk of the wagon, but caring only when he saw the line of red wolf carcasses lying in the dirt, being prodded and prized by the white men.
Red Wolf whisked out his hunting knives, poor weapons for such enormous revenge, and leaped towards them. It was hopeless. He fell among the others, defeated. Extinct.
~*~
That was only the beginning, Red Wolf said.
I shakily rose to my feet and left the cave, salty tears clinging to my cheeks. But if anyone would have looked into my eyes at that moment, past the rim of tears, they would have seen the fire of determination dwelling in my soul.
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