I wasn't sure if the bulk of it could fit into the message so I'll post here just in case. Just copy and past it into word and indent at the beginning of paragraphs. I know it's a little longer than 2 pages
but I couldn't think of a way to fit a good story into 2 pages.
Sorry.
For as long as he could remember, since the early days of his childhood he had no name, thus the townspeople simply called him Farmer. They say he came during a snowstorm wrapped in naught but ragged clothing and wrapped around him was a skin of wolf hide. When the folk first found him, early after the blizzard had passed, he was nearly a frozen corpse; only the fur skin had saved him from certain death. The townspeople took him in and cared for him until his fever subsided. When he awoke, all memories of where he came or who he was had escaped him. All of the merry town folk of Carahall alternatively housed, fed, and nurtured him. They found that he was clever with words, and dexterous with labor. Since then, he had helped the villagers tend the fields, and plowed the farms, earning him his name.
Ten years had passed since then, and now he was considered a grown man by many standards at the age of eighteen. Like his usual demeanor, Farmer was always keen to aiding others. Even though he now had his own home, he spent much more time with the villagers, helping with various tasks from cleaning to mining. Today was no exception, as the bright of day was near approaching; Farmer was already in the stables saddling his mare to plow the fields. As Farmer strolled across the countryside, leading his mare down the half-mile rocky path that would lead to the meadows, he stopped occasionally to sniff the surroundings sensing for moisture in the air. Rain came abundant this year, and harvest was especially rich this season, but winter was fast approaching. The air was brisk as waves of wind gusted across the plains; the trees and leaves danced and swayed in the morning light. Farmer paused often, with his back pointed west, wanting to take in the scenery before the touch of snow. From a distance, the ground rumbled with trampled steps of what sounded like a pair of horses followed by the creaking wheels of a wagon. “Sound the bells, rally the folk, I come with dire news!” bellowed the driver.
As the folk gathered nervously in the center of town where important meetings would be held, at the sound of the ringing of the city bell which was usually reserved for emergencies, Farmer had made his way back with intrigue on the commotion. When the masses were gathered, at the center of the wooded platform stood the driver of the wagon, beginning his account of what occurred. “Three nights ago my fellow rider and I made way to the cities to sell our merchandise of wheat and grain. We traveled with no encounters and few delays, on the second night we made camp by the foot of the mountains. As we set camp and lodged a fireplace, we heard howls in the night from the mountains,” panicked and short of breath he continued. “At first we thought nothing of it, but later decided to take turns to sentry just in case. My partner volunteered to stand guard first, and so I took the opportunity to lay rest in our tent. I awaked to screams for help in the midst of night,” now fear sharpened his eyes. “As I rushed to the source, I found my companion repulsing a large wolf as it clawed and bite at his neck. I tried to come to his aid when I saw that he gone limp and moved no more. Distressed and panicked I knew I would fare no better so I cleared the camp and grabbed the reigns and made way back here,” the man finished with stuttered words that edged with guilt and pain.
Murmurs filled the town as they begin to speak with panic and distress. Wolves in the mountains meant that they would soon come to bother the meager flocks of sheep and cattle, or worse if they were hungry, the villagers would share the danger. Everyone was frightful of the revelation, because the while the village was prosperous, the numbers of folk increased much since the last decade and food was barely enough to go around. Added to that were heavy tax increases these past seasons due to the bountiful harvest. What were left were scanty proportions which every bit would be needed to last the winter. Without it, many families would go hungry until spring.
As the weeks caught on, snow had already layered the ground with a bed of frost. Then one morning, true to their fears, a carcass of one of their finest cattle was found with mauled scrapes and streaks of crimson bite marks. It wasn’t missing sorely any meat, as it appeared the wolf had taken off with whatever it could carry, but the remains were now infested with flies and vermin. The villagers had no choice but to surrender the precious meat, for it was no longer safe. But now it meant that there weak supplies just became that much less. The following week, a similar incident occurred when two of the sheep were ravaged with similar destroy. Once again their meats were forfeit and the wool was beyond cleansing. Distraught filled the town, as they cried of anguish and concern. “We must find a solution to this wolf problem, for we cannot afford this heavy loss,” agreed many among the town. That day, a counsel was called among the villagers, as they decided on a course of action. “We must send someone to rid of the problem, we must send one to hunt it down,” as they arrived at the only solution. Fear embedded on the eyes of the men, for they knew it was necessary but also was it perilous.
Eyes wandered around, looking for a brave as well as able body to best the beast. None volunteered, and silence spread as eyes diverted attention. From the counts of the wagon drivers story, the wolf was enormous in size, and ferocious, and more importantly it was hungry. Fearful were the men, who all knew what must be done but none dared to speak for fear of being nominated. Finally, one voice and one voice only, spoke with calm and composure, “I will go.” All heads turned to the source, and it was Farmer who stepped among the crowd. Awes and gasps sounded from villagers as the cleared a space around him, as Farmer claimed sole attention. “I will go, and hunt this wolf down if I can, and if there are more then I will burn their cave and the lot of them. If I cannot best the beast then I will clutch him, and take him with me to Hades,” and with that, Farmer said no more stalked away. He packed no more than a set of spare clothes, minor supplies, some food for a three-day, his hunting spear, and the fur coat which a tailor of the village crafted from the wolf hide they first found him with. That afternoon, the villagers all came to see him off, offering thanks, praise, and well wishes, for they had nothing more.
Well into the evening and early into the night, Farmer traveled with few stops, taking only short rests for food and water. That night, he cleared more than half the distance before he set camp. He slept no more than a few hours before unrest overcame him. Before sunrise, Farmer cleared camp and set on his way once more. By midday, the foothills of the mountains were visible. His pace quickened with anxious steps. By the evening, his was already well over the edges of the mountain base. He climbed, but very slowly, for his hands was sluggish from numbness. The cold had stolen much function of his fingers. Finally he was forced to stop, when he found a platform. He tried to flint a fire from the stones of the mountain, but it gave no heat. After an hour of tries, he gave up and continued his climb. Inches turned to feet, as feet turned to yards as he made measured but steady progress. By the late of evening, he was finally a considerable height above the ground, and the surface of the mountain began to level off, as more and more platforms were within reach. He intended to retire for the night, happy with his progress when Farmer noticed a large arch that was the mouth of a cave. He wasn’t sure at first, as the night stole the light, save for brilliance of the half moon. He came as close as he dared, and waited. Listening for any sounds, or movement, Farmer laid still and waited for near an hour before he resumed his approach. Slowly, with spear in hand preceding him, he walked lightly on the balms feet in toe-heel steps. When he was a few yards into the cave, the there was no wind, but the air was still very cold. His breath was slow but heavy, with cold sweats dripping from his forehead down into his eyes. I didn’t dare to wipe them, for fear of distraction. Steady, and slowly he advanced into the dim lit cave. He cursed his luck for being unable to light a fire earlier, so he could save light for a torch. The further he advanced, the darker it became, and soon he had to rely on the cave walls to guide his way. No sooner did he reach and felt the cave turning widely out, did he hear the least he would ever expect. It was a voice. It was deep and female. “You are either very brave or very foolish to come after me alone. Either one does not help your dangerous situation.”
After the initial shock, he composed himself to answer, “I do not have argument with you, stranger, all I wish is to slay a beast that has hunted in our town, and exhausted our meager supply of meat.” With that he reached closely to the walls and steadied slowly into the cave stomach. The dark was replaced by a soft glitter of light, which he saw was the light of the moon reflected off a small pond in the cave through a solemn large crevice in the ceiling. Farmer looked around nervously, trying to find his stranger.
There was no one in sight, instead he found mostly scattered frames of bone, save for a mound that appeared to be a complete set of an animal. He came closer for a look and found that it was the remains of a canine-like creature, judging from the skull. It was too large to be a dog, gigantic by size, and so Farmer derived it must be a wolf. His initial reaction was shock, followed by confusion. Has the stranger beat him to the deed? It can’t be. These remains were old and dried. He couldn’t contain his curiosity and with impatience yelled, “Who are you? Show yourself; are you the slayer of this beast?”
From the darkest corners of the cave where the light did not reach, came a pair of eyes, round and glowed with a golden hew. The pupils were dark sharp vertical slits, which made them all the more menacing. The eyes approached the light to reveal a massive she-wolf. Her mane was shaggy, long, and soft-like. Her fur was dark, but her paws and nasal were snow powdered white. A long strip of silver stretched from the top of her head, to the base of her tail. She stood nearly five feet tall and just shy of seven feet long from nose to tail. Farmer had seen few wolves in his time, but never this closely, and never this large. She was terrifyingly beautiful, by any standards. Horrified, but in awe, he could only stare, gripping tightly unaware the spear in his hands. The she-wolf padded slowly out of the shadows and into the light. She advanced closer, which Farmer responded with subconscious by stepping backwards away. Finally the she-wolf stopped by the mound of set of wolf bones. She lowered her head until her nose-tip touched the cranium of the skull. Then, to his astonishment she spoke, “this was my father. A decade ago, during a bitter winter, most of the hunt had fled the mountains. Food was scare, and what little we found did not last. Finally the herds left the mountain altogether. A snowstorm brewed, and he could no longer go out to hunt anymore. Hunger bit us, and made the unforgiving cold unbearable. At last we could not endure any longer, and we starved near death. My father then left the cave alone in midst the winter storm. When he came back, he was wounded badly, but he carried home fresh meat. Hungry as we were, we did not question it and ate openly. The meal only sated our hunger for so long, so the next night he stalked off alone once more. Again he came back wounded but with fresh meat yet again. We ate. The pattern repeated for nearly a week, and each time he came back gravely wounded, worse than the last. Then on the seventh night, he stalked off for a very long time. When he came back, he did not enter the cave, but called to us, saying that he had found a large prey and he needed help to carry it inside. Eagerly we sprinted to the cave entrance, and found a large animal, blood filled with no skin or fur. My father was nowhere in sight. We howled through the night but there were no reply. Starvation overcame us and we dragged the prey back into the helm of the cave and feasted. This had been our largest game for nearly two seasons. We ate generously. We saved a portion for my father’s return but days passed and there were no signs of him. Finally we were bested by our hunger and ate his share too. It was only when the meat was nearly completely flayed when we saw the animal for what it was. The skull was as you see that of a wolf. My father had sacrificed himself to feed us. The injuries he sustained were not from hunting, he had torn off his own flesh.” As the she-wolf finished her story, two tear drops fell to the ground. One was from the she-wolf, and the other slid down from the cheeks of Farmer. The she-wolf looked up and noticed for the first time, the particular fur coats that wrapped Farmer. With sudden graveness “where did you get that?” she demanded.
Before she acted any further, Farmer related his tale of his only memories of childhood, and the recounts that the villagers had told him. Brief but detailed, he told her everything he remembered, but what he learned was little, and the story was short. A pause of silence after he finished, before Farmer unraveled his now realization, “your father saved not your family, but I as well.” Sorrow returned over the she-wolf and she relaxed her gaze once more, touching her nose to the wolf skull of her father. Farmer sat in silence, and sympathy, only watching. After a time passed, he notice that he still held the spear in his hands tightly raised. He lowered the weapon, feeling stupid. After another moment, he began explaining his journey to slay the wolf, weighing his words carefully. When he finished, he added that he no longer meant to harm her, but appealed that they can’t afford to lose any more stock.
“My cubs must eat, and game is hard or no longer available in the mountains, I must find them elsewhere,” the she-wolf countered.
Farmer pressed on, begging that she spare their stocks.
“Each time I hunted in the village, I could only eat my fill and carry what I can hold to my cubs, it is not enough. I do not wish to harm the humans if I can avoid it, but I hunt wherever there is food. Your business is resolved here, and although my cubs are hungry, I will spare you. Leave now, and don’t return if you do not care to chance your life.” And with that, the she-wolf stalked off into the shadows deep into the cave where she came. With this new conundrum, Farmer left the cave with unease. He laid tent and made sure that it was far from the cave entrance. He thought hard that night desperate for a solution, but none came and the restlessness took him. He awoke the next morning and came up with a design. He would search the mountain for hunt and offer it to the she-wolf for suffice of both needs. He knew as is, the villagers would have to do with little portions, and some may even starve as is. If the she-wolf were to hunt anymore of their flock, then many families would be with no food. As the day progressed, he searched and tracked with keen but to no avail. The she-wolf had been right, there were no more animals left in the mountains.
That night he came and pleaded again, only to come back disappointed. During the day, he continued to explore the mountains. After a few days, he realized his meager provisions, although wisely conserved, had nearly run out. He had no choice but to convince the she-wolf soon or starve also. That night Farmer sat in his tent, out of food, and little water, save for the freezing liquid he managed to melt from the snow. He thought about how his villagers, those who all cared and raised him as a foster child, and gave him a home as well. He thought about how many would have to go hungry, or even starve this winter. He knew they could not afford to lose more. Then he thought about the she-wolf, and her cubs, who were the kin of his savior those years ago. He couldn’t recollect the actual events, but he knew the hide he was was made from the skin the father of the she-wolf. He could not betray his savior by slaying his offspring. He thought, and found nothing. The winds screeched, as snows begin to fall hard. He rolled himself, and clutched tightly to the fur coat. It was then an idea sparked. That night sat and sent prayers for his townsmen. He prayed that they would survive the bitter cold, and lacks. He prayed for the she-wolf and her cubs as well. Then he stripped off his boots, and clothing, and the wolf fur coat as well. He left them, and walked in nude to the entrance of the cave. Each step stung, as the snow ate at his bare feet. The wind howled and it blazed on him, and snow caught on his body and soon accumulated. When he reached the cave entrance, he sat down. Shivering as the frostbites turned to numbness, he waited. He waited, and thought of moments that were dear to him. He remembered when a child, for the first years of his stay, he would ride in the back of the horse drawn wagons of hay and pretended it was a carriage. Then he thought of the first time the towns smith showed him the forge, and he crafted his first hunting knife. He thought of the warm golden crusted apple pies that they enjoyed on those rare occasions of celebrations. He thought of the fields he plowed those long hours, feeling content of the fresh air and nature all about. He thought of his mare, which he raised since it was a calf. He thought of the first time he received a gift, and that was the fur coat that the towns tailor made for him, using her best laces and buttons. The snow amassed him, as he sat slowly drifting out of consciousness, and with a smile, he thought no more.
The morning came with calm, and the daybreak came and the storm was passed. Birds greeted the early sunrise with soft hums, and they were the only sound. Padding from cave emerged the she-wolf, as she met the light at the mouth of the cave. There was something blocking the entrance. Sitting in the middle of the passage way was a rock in the shape of a triangle, covered in snow. Slowly, she came to inspect closer. To her dismay, the rock had a face, where icicles dangled from its beard. The rock had limbs where its legs and arms were crossed, and its hands were buried under armpits. She licked off the snow which covered the face of the rock. The rock was not a rock, and underneath the mask of snow was the face of Farmer. The she-wolf’s eyes widened with shock. Then, her eyes melted with drops of tears from each eye. Two touched the ground, and blended with the snow. She howled to the wind, until her voice ran dry. When she could howl no more, the she-wolf returned back into the helm of the cave, with the rock on her shoulders.
This post was edited by Holland on Feb 3 2009 03:33am