Withering Thyme

Underneath the penetrating light of the moon three shadows raced over the hilltops. As they approached the edge of the hillock they slowed to a casual pace, eyeing the slope below them.

“Down there,” one figure motioned before plunging down the hill. The others followed suit, vanishing into the night.

Dart had never felt so alive. All of his senses were heightened; his eyes saw further in the darkness and his nose flared, recognizing every scent and preserving it in his memory. As his feet padded the soft earth he allowed the wild sensation to guide him.

‘This is what humans miss,’ he thought.‘This closeness to the Earth.’

Erow led the way and Streke followed behind, talking Dart through the rules of the pack.

“The Alpha is Lynx and you don’t want to mess with him. One day he simply appeared, challenged the then-pack leader and he won. Nobody since has dared to override his authority. His past is obscure and I can only assume he’s from distant lands,” Streke said.

“What does he look like, this Lynx?” Dart asked, for the first time wondering if he would make it in the wilderness.

“You’ll see soon enough,” came Erow’s hushed grunt as she stopped in the middle of a clearing. They had entered the forest and stood at its edge. The wolves had warned Dart never to go deeper, for that was the domain of the werewolves.

Dart sniffed the air. All he could smell was the scent of pines and he was about to ask why they had stopped here when an unearthly sound pierced the blanketed solemnity of the night.

It came from the distance beyond the forest and rang out clearly, seeming the loneliest intonation Dart had ever heard. Suddenly Erow raised her head and howled, responding to the far-away cry.

Streke realised his companion’s confusion and explained, “That was Lynx.We are meeting the pack in this clearing.”

For a while they sat beneath the trees silently. Every once in a while Dart’s ears would prick up and he thought he perceived the noise of paws against the soil. Strange smells came from every direction and he wished he could identify them.

A deeper blackness than the darkest of shadows stepped out from the thick branches. Dart saw the outline of the wolf and the sight of its transfixing blue eyes seemed to read into his core. Its eyes were darker than Erow’s and the deep shade was accented by the wolf’s obsidian coat. Instantly he knew that he was staring at Lynx and he understood the reverence that Streke had used when he spoke of him. The Alpha was not extraordinarily large or muscular, but there was an inexplicable air of intelligence and discernment about him.

Meanwhile more forms entered the clearing and yellow eyes fell on Dart’s scrawny shape. The entire pack was wary, having noticed the scent of something foreign in its midst.

Although the rest of the wolves remained near the edge of the clearing, the Alpha walked forward and continued to gaze at Dart with something akin to interest.

“Darthonian.”

The voice was not as Dart had expected. It was neither gruff nor gentle, but somewhere in-between. Its tone was firm and yet broken; rough and tame; deep and soft.

“Lynx.” The name had passed his lips without him even thinking and he felt the wolves around him tremble slightly. He realised too late that no one ever spoke to the Alpha in such an informal manner. Streke gave him a look that conveyed timid terror.

“I mean—er—Alpha.” Dart mumbled in an attempt to repair the damage.

Lynx’s eyes lit up, flaring with fire. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

The hairs in his neck stood on end and Dart breathed in relief at the Alpha’s words. “How do you know my name?”

“Maybe I shall tell you someday,” was all Lynx replied before he turned around and spoke to the pack. “I know all you nostrils sting with the smell of this werewolf, but his eyes show a willingness I have never seen before. He has rejected his fate and not united with the ranks of his kind. It is only fair that we give him a chance.”

Unlike Streke and Erow, Lynx did not mouth ‘werewolf’ as if it were an offensive term. Instead, he said it in such a way that Dart pitied himself, for it made him momentarily desire his human body. For a second all his muscles screamed in protest, wishing to tear out of their cramped form. They reminded him of the village and everything he had perhaps lost in another world—another life.

Then the longing died away and his instincts stomped the desire out. He knew he fought an inner battle between two identities meshed in a single form.

Focusing on his surroundings, he heard one wolf, grey and rugged, shout out into the night, “How many packmates have we lost to the savage werewolves? Those beasts are neither wolf nor human. They are monsters cursed and condemned by Death itself to roam the world and reap havoc! Nay, I say we cannot have dissension ally with us and destroy our pack from inside out.”

Another wolf said, “You are the one who aligns yourself aside dissension, Apex. We must give this young werewolf a chance. The Alpha has told us he has honourable intentions and thus far the Alpha has been right.”

Apex snarled and tried to spring at the other wolf, but Erow leaped between them, displaying her razor teeth. “Enough!” Looking ashamed, Apex backed away, although he kept glaring at the other wolf with a seething expression.

“I agree with my father. Dart deserves an opportunity to prove himself,” Erow announced.

Dart coughed incredulously.“The Alpha is Erow’s father?”

Streke nodded his head, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Adopted. I think he kind of felt bad for her, being from another pack and all. He understood her need to be accepted.”

“She’s from a different pack?”

The brown wolf nodded again and then whispered, “Shh.”

Lynx growled and the pack hushed. “Darthonian will join our pack. But he must promise us that he will stay clear of us during his transformation and also that he will not betray us, leading hunters to our grounds.”

With an aspect of intense consideration, Dart furrowed his brows, his human-like brown eyes capturing the depth of his concentration. After a moment he replied resolutely, “I swear that I shall never lead hunters to kill the pack.I will leave when I am human and contribute as a wolf. Teach me and I promise to learn rapidly.”

Lynx bowed his head and responded, “Welcome to out pack, Darthonian. I trust that you will be as great a hunter as you were in human form.”

The pack was resting in the clearing and dawn was many hours away still. Dart lay on the ground seemingly asleep, but his ears listened attentively to the voices of Streke and Erow.

“How long do you believe he will last?”

“Do you have so little faith?”

“If he manages to survive against the wild, will he escape the Werewolves that will obviously be searching for him?” Streke inquired.

Erow nudged him gently, giving him a condescending look, “We will help him. Unless you plan not to? After all, you are the one that found him.”

“It’s just…” Streke sighed, “…he may be a man but he is as defenceless as a cub while a wolf.”

Dart groaned in his sleep and the two glanced at him, appearing troubled. “He must rest and us as well,” Erow stated. She peered backward at the white wolf. It was so funny, she thought: He slept exactly like a human…

~

In his dreams he was still human. He sat in a chair, the one his father had made many years ago, and he grabbed the bucket outside the door. Each sensation was acute. The feel of the bucket in his hands, the touch of the wood. As he approached the water streaming below his home at the bottom of the hill near the edge of the village, he enjoyed the wind rushing through his shoulder-length brown hair. The sleeve of his shirt rustled against his skin and he felt the weight of his boots as he trudged down the hill. For a moment he wanted to roll up the legs of his pants and feel the grass wave against his skin.

Human. He was human. He had to remind himself over and over again. Werewolves were legend.

Now he was very close to the river and could hear the birds singing to each other up in the tall oak trees. As he stooped to fill the bucket an odd sensation overcame him. It was as if he had just been stung by a thousand bees and suddenly they all vanished without leaving a trace. Bending down, he felt the wooden bucket leave his grasp. His boots fell off his feet.

He looked down into the water and saw a creature that was not him. It had dog-like brown eyes and long fangs protruding from an angular white snout. He wanted to yell, but all that came from his throat was a harsh yelp. Suddenly he felt someone—or something—push him from behind. He plunged into the water and it was raw ice. At that moment he knew he was the creature and the creature was him.

Dart awoke and stared for a long time at the claws on his hands and feet. No, they were not hands and feet, they were paws. Standing up, he was aroused by a mad thirst.

‘I must find water,’ his mind commanded.

Without turning to look at the group of wolves around him, he let his senses consume him and he left the shade of the trees behind, dashing into the open plains. There was a stream around here, he knew it. Erow had pointed out the gargle of the waters during their trek to the clearing.

Nose pointed toward the ground, he ran. He knew more than anything at that moment that he was running from his past.

Soon he heard the trickle of water and he came up to a small bank. By now the sun was breaking over the distant mountains in the east. Dart sat at the bank and watched the sun splay rays of light across the water. It reminded him of the sunrise in his village. His home had overlooked the river and every morning he woke up early to fetch the water and stretch his legs, pleasuring in the sun as it cast colours into the morning sky.

Now who was fetching the water? His muscles screeched once again to be let out.

Dart bent his head and lapped up the water. A strange reflection stared back at him. A white wolf. There was nothing special about the wolf. It was just a wolf.

Looking away, Dart observed the opening in the forest not far away. His pack was there! It was not just Streke’s pack or Erow’s pack. It was his pack and he was accepted and belonged. Swiftly he decided to head back and speak with his friends. Today he would learn to hunt and adopt the stealth of a wolf. The full moon was slow to arrive and he had to wait until then to return.

Could he return? He had not thought that. The villagers must think he was dead and if he returned only to become a wolf every few months what would they think?

Bile filled his mouth. He could not return to the only home he had ever known. A deep hatred surged through him as he recalled the attack that had caused him so much pain.

“Werewolves,” he spat and as he said this it was as if another being had spoken from his mouth. He did not recognise this voice that spoke with such vehemence. Dart looked at the forest and this time he did not see the clearing where his pack slept. Instead he saw the forest where the werewolves---his enemies—lived. It was as if he relived the agony of his transformation during that moment.

“I cannot live stuck between two identities,” he murmured. “If I cannot be human I will be a wolf. There must be a way to control my transformations.

“And those monsters should not be able to ruin more lives. I must end their reign of terror. If I am trapped in this miserable body I can at least save others from my fate.”

Staring at the dark trees he made this resolution. Then he turned around, returning to the stream. This time he swallowed the water slowly, relishing the pure coolness as it ran down his throat. When he peered unblinkingly at the image in the water he no longer saw just a white wolf. He saw himself.