Gun fire. Dogs howling. The wind slicing through his hair as he ran through the rustling woods. Heart pounding. A lust for blood. The smell of sweat in the air. More shots. Men shouting, cheers, excitement. A stag had been hit. They pursued, the pack of dogs leading the way to their kill.
Mud flying, boots stomping. The chase continued. Skin caught his sight in the distance. His pace slowed. Between the trees, silk skin amongst the forest floor. He strayed. The pack continued without him, unnoticed. He came upon the scene slowly. Grey fur, glistening white teeth, alarmed and encircled the delicate body. He starts to yell, to shout, misreading the situation, trying to scare away the wild wolves. They backed off, hackles risen at the intruder.
Closer he came so see her. Pale skin, cloaked in mud. Crimson liquid spilling from her thigh. A trespasser on her skin, a small hole from where it originated. A bullet nestled within.
Panic gave him strength to overcome his assumed threat of the wolves. He scooped her cold body into his arms, sought out a nearby lake. He removed his hunting jacket and laid her body upon it. Gently he bathed the wound, mud giving way from her skin. The now garnet coloured water cascading down her thigh, leaving pale soft skin in its wake. The bullet not too deep. He tore at his shirt, strips of fabric to make a tourniquet to attend her, using a stick to tighten the loop. With delicacy he removed the bullet, then coated the wound with an ointment from a tin he obtained from his breast pocket. The battered tin containing basic supply’s, he bandaged her thigh. He removed the tourniquet slowly and her life flowed back into her thigh. He waited, the wound stayed sealed, the blood stayed within.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, she felt warmer although her body still motionless. He bathed her body further, he felt compelled to nurture the beauty, to wash away the dirt of the forest. The water slowly revealed her body, her curves, her breasts. He didn’t feel ashamed for looking at her, admiring her. She felt natural. Her eyes opened at his touch. Her face wrinkled in a snarl at the sight of him, she jolted to move. Pain reminding her of the trauma, bound her to relax her muscles. He looked her in the eyes, uncertain what would reflect back at him. He could see the wild in her soul, the wolf within her. He opened his mouth to speak but knew she wouldn’t return any words.
He was suddenly aware of the wolf pack drawing closer, closing in to reclaim one of their own. He knew he was not needed anymore, he had to return her to her pack. He got up, slowly backed away as they closed in. At a distance he allowed himself to glance back, a vision of grey fur curled up around her was returned. As he made his way back to the hunting group, he felt a warmth that was not there before. He will never forget her. His she-wolf.
I was writing a post for the Safe Word Club which featured my thoughts on alternative headspaces, that gave me inspiration to write this story. I also managed to accidentally post the photo on here earlier *face palm* so if you did want to see the photo (or read my post) please click the link.