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A Wolf in the Dunes


ThumperJack
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A Wolf in the Dunes

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             A bright flash of light. A reveal of sand and sun-bleached remains scattered across dunes. A feeling of dread in the presence of emptiness. His mentor stood nearby watching as he cleared his person of his weaponry, his provisions, and anything else beyond the clothing covering his back. 

 

             His eyes trailed over rocky crags and strange, towering stones. The leather wrappings of his feet were already catching grains of sand that bit into his soles as he climbed to the top of a particularly steep dune, using it as vantage to peer over the rest of the terrain.

What he saw only took his growing dread to new heights. There were no identifying landmarks beyond the scattered remains of an ocean long dried up. He knew not of where he was, or of which direction they had arrived from. Were he a younger, less experienced man, this may have daunted him into a much deeper daze than it did. Though troubled, his sense of survival was strong and his instincts still sharpened. He knew that in order to begin finding his way back, he would need to find provisions. Water, firstly. 

 

             His search began in whatever rocky lowland he could find, peering through layered stones and scanning cliff sides for the open maw of a cave; anything that might lead to a source of water. Yet as the hours went on and the morning turned to midday, the sun’s glare grew all the more harsh. Sweat dripped down his face and along his arms steadily, and his steps began to slow and become sluggish.

 

             By the evening, he was all but spent. He could feel his body beginning to fail him even as he struggled his way onto a dune and it was proven further once his foot kicked into a stone buried beneath the sands, sending him into a falling tumble down the slope. Upon reaching the bottom of the dune, the man simply laid there and took a long, pained breath. Perhaps a rest would do him good. Just thirty minutes. An hour at the most. Then he would be right as rain- Oh.. how wonderful the word rain sounded right now.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 


             His consciousness returned with panic swelling in his chest, lips parting to gasp for breath only to fill with sand. Whatever exhaustion that had put him to sleep before was swept away by the fear-driven adrenaline coursing through his veins. His hands reached up toward the sky only to find himself clawing through layers of more and more piled sand. It took him a few moments too long to realize that he had been buried alive.

 

             Luckily for him, he was able to claw his way up and out from the sediment with panicked kicks and wide grasping motions until his head finally breached the surface. The misfortune, or rather.. The next misfortune.. Was in the buffeting blasts of grainy winds that struck hard against his face the moment he broke through, providing only momentary gasps of air between more choking mouthfuls of sand even as he spat out clumps from what he swallowed in the dune. With haste, he ripped off his shirt and wrapped it haphazardly around his head and face before beginning to stumble off into the darkness of an early morning and the unknowns of a raging sandstorm.

 

             Though the matter of dehydration had only been briefly interrupted by the ordeal and his legs were already growing wobbly, threatening to give out under the weight of his steps. His mind was wandering and his vision betraying him with shadows born of rocks in the distance.. Or were they closer? He could no longer tell, nor did he care. All that mattered was shelter, water, and rest. He was so tired.

 

             Eventually, the wolf found himself laid out upon his back in the shelter of a cavern that blocked the wrath of the storm just enough for him to breathe clearly. He spat a bloody glob of grain filled saliva onto the stone floor, trying to gather his thoughts to no avail. He was starting to hear voices in the wind outside. His name is called by familiar tones. 

 

Eonan..

 

… Eo?

 

Hey- Eonan…”  

 

             He brought his hands up to cover his ears, trying to blot them all out and yet even through the roar of a sandstorm and his efforts… he could still hear his name. They asked where he went. They asked why he wasn’t there. Why? Why? Why?

 

             He tried to tell them that he was here for them. That he was coming. He clambered to his feet and began to run into the fog, calling for those voices. He begged for them to reveal themselves even as he collapsed onto his knees and stared up into the dark, hazy sky. The voices all began to grow silent and so too did his hope. He didn’t want them to go. A sense of failure set into his heart. Failed. Failure. He failed.

 

             Something shifted. Some feeling caused his chin to lift and his eyes to open amidst the sandy winds to look up and see.. A woman. Wood elven with straw blond hair that grew darker, almost chocolatey, at the roots. Her burnished gold stare met with Eonan’s and her lips drew up into a teasing grin, “Oh pup.. Why d’ye mope on th’ ground? Ye’ dinner's almost readeh.”

 

             “.. Haelun?” The man’s voice rasped in confusion, eyes trailing to the hand that seemed to guide his chin up from its decline. A howl pierced through the storm and Eonan’s eyes shot toward where he thought the source would be, finding the vague shadow of a wolf in the distance. Almost immediately, his chin was drawn back toward the image of his mother as she tsk’d, “Ye’ canne’ be so worried about shadows all th’ time, pup. Up.. up! Come see wot ah got for ye’.. Come, come!” 

 

             Her green inked arms lifted into the air before turning to gesture ahead toward.. Another cave? Confused, he began to halfway stumble and halfway crawl toward the mouth of this cave.

 

“There ye’ are, pup.. Eyes up. Remember ye’ only ever learn in fligh-”

 

             Eonan’s hand fell and landed upon open air, sending him into yet another tumble down a series of smooth slabs of rock before landing with a splash. Gods.. he must have hit his knee too hard on one of those rocks- Wait, a splash? He began wildly flailing his hands around the ground surrounding him, finding himself sitting in a very shallow pool of water. Greedily, he laid himself flat into the pool to begin drinking. After a minute, his golden eyes lifted from his bounty to look around for his mother. However-

 

             She was gone. There was no trace of her, nor of the wolf that had stalked them outside. Yet.. whether she had been there or not, the mere thought of her voice instilled a renewed confidence in Eonan’s heart. Upon shaking legs, he pushed himself up to stand and take in the atmosphere of the cave. For the first time in that first, harrowing start to his journey.. He took a deep breath.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 


             From that first day onward, the wolf took it upon himself to make the most of his predicament and do what he did best.. Plan ahead. To dash out into the desert and hope to find some road or sign of direction home was foolhardy and stupid, an act of desperation amidst his dehydrated haze and an unexpected storm. With water found, the next step was to gather the rest of his provisions for the journey home.

 

             For the first month of his stay in that cave, he made daily trips into the dunes in search of a viable source of food. Initially, he had to survive off of the spicy berries growing in the shade of towering obelisks of rock or on the very small reptiles he could catch with his hands. On one of these hunts for food, he came upon the ancient wreckage of a boat. He had seen a few of these in passing, though only now did it click for him that these wreckages were a blessing. One to be reclaimed.

 

             He entered the husk of the past and pried a long, oaken rod from underneath a sand covered shelf. A jagged rock from one of the nearby formations was used to carve that rod into a makeshift spear, walking staff, and even a fairly decent lever for prying larger planks of wood to be brought back to the cave. By the end of the second month, he had turned that cave into a fortified shelter against the harsh wrath of weather and beast alike. His choice of prey had also turned from the small lizards that skittered under rocks to the larger Straadoth reptiles that stalked the dunes just as he did. It was a learning curve for the wolf to learn how to hunt just one of these creatures, acquiring new scars as proof of his trials by error. 

 

             Within four months, the wolf had become a strider upon sands. A cloak of straadoth skin fastened around his shoulders with what remained of his shirt turned into a full head-wrapping. He sported chitinous goggles taken from stortfel beetles to protect his eyes in the chance that he were caught in another sandstorm. Often, he would sit upon the stones that formed the roof of his cave dwelling to stare out across the desert expanse to plan, plan, plan. His next hunt, his next landmark to chart, the next step toward home. A roll of parchment he had scavenged from a wrecked cart, some odd range of miles away from his cave, was being used to map out the desert. 

 

             Upon the eve of the fifth month, he had all but one final piece needed for his planned return. The planks he had used to fortify his dwelling were torn down and lashed together with fibers and long strips of straadoth hide to create a sled, the bottom of which layered with more of that reptilian skin to better glide across the sands. With the sled resting over the entrance to his now cleared cave dwelling, he trekked out into the sands to find and lead back a pair of the armored stortfel beetles to be tied with scavenged rope. While tying the last knot upon his makeshift sled, he paused and withdrew a small crumpled piece of parchment that carried with it an image of himself, a red-headed mali'ame woman with antler marked cheeks, and two younger mali'ame with a mixture of the two's features. This family seemed to wrestle for dominance upon a couch in some lush cave dwelling, smiles and laughter upon their faces. He looked to this picture, the one thing he allowed himself to carry from home, often. It was his will to survive, to make it home.

 

             That next morning, just as the sun began to rise over the dunes, two beetles broke over that horizon pulling the sled and the Mali’ame wolf upon it. Within several days of travel, that sand began to grow less and less filled with sunbaked sediment and more with arid grass and the layered hues of the mesa. Upon reaching the coast of that southern landmass, he took to the palm trees that littered the beaches with prayer and respect before felling only what he needed to convert his sled into a raft. With this vessel, he and the beetles floated across the strait to make landfall upon the main continent of Almaris.

 

             From there, it was only a matter of time until he made it home. A Wolf trudging back from the unknown ‘pon the backs of beetles.     

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The Arvellon Chieftess returned to the village with Eonan's belongings, placing them within his home with the Bruin. She kept a watchful eye on his family while he was away, just as she'd promised. Even if from a distance. For the entire time he was gone, she'd make her way around the village. Not only keeping an eye out for the people within, but to watch for his return.

Finally, she saw him. That familiar, tiny 'ame made her way to the front gates, bearing a proud smile as she greeted both him and his beetled companions with an eager wave. 
"Welcome home, wolf man."

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The young Norväyn had been busy in his brothers absence. Wasting hours in the training grounds or forges of the vale patiently waiting to hear or see anything about his seeds chieftain.

Finally, the day came where he saw a ragged man approach the gates. One look and he could tell who is was,
"Eònan... ye look like shite."

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Greene would gaze towards the gate upon hearing of his father's arrival. He'd stand, brushing himself off as he stepped away from the forge, and smiled. "Some good news, at long last," he'd say to himself, as he moved to welcome back his father to the Vale.

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Relieved, Miven bellows across the tree-fallen bridge, "Wot the fock! Look at ye!" Her lips curl into a smile amidst her clambering and for the Wood Elven man. 

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