A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing - Prologue

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A wolf vaulted stone pillars jutting from the eastern side of a mountain. He perched at the highest point and studied his surroundings. His keen eyes glimpsed fish netted and tied off by oceanside docks, and his nose caught the scent of tripe simmering on charcoal flames that dotted the shoreline. The laughter and songs of the fishermen made him cock his head. His stomach rumbled fiercely, and he released a muted howl.

His worn body showed clear signs he had deserted his pack for a while. He had scratched his itchy hide nearly to the bone where starved ribs peeked out under patchy fur. His tongue dangled loosely from his mouth, and his heavy breathing croaked as he staggered down the mountain towards the sea. 

Staying close to the ocean, he avoided detection until he got close to the torch-lit docks. What was left of the wolf's grey fur, illumined by the torches, did not fail to draw the attention of the fishermen. He saw the glint of sharp steel take shape in their hands as he approached their nets. He wedged his mouth through them and was gratified by bits of fish flesh, releasing the sweet flavor of blood and sea salt into his mouth. 

Some fishermen ran towards him with shouts and curses. The wolf growled, barring his bloody teeth. They stopped and looked at each other, giving the wolf time for a few more bites. Then the fishermen regrouped and charged, rattling the dock with their steps. The first one got too close, and the wolf grabbed his shin with his fangs and shook his head from side to side as the fisherman screamed, but another slashed at his back with a sharp blade. The wolf yelped in pain as he jumped into the sea.

He swam through the icy water as fast as his broken body could back to the beach, where another group of fishermen awaited. As his feet touched the sand, he started to run but a net tripped him up—his nose slamming into the ground. His sharp teeth could not cut it, and he flailed helplessly. The fishermen kicked him until he stopped and then dragged him into a locked crate. His whimpers drew no pity.

The mule cart supporting his crate trudged slowly through the sand, and he howled with all the strength he had left. The fishermen yelled and banged on his cage with the butts of their knives 'til he stopped. 

But his howls had not gone completely unnoticed. 

To be continued...

Comments

  1. John ClarkMay 18, 2021 at 12:39 AM

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    ReplyDelete

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