Prologue: The Runt (0)Mature

Silver Clocks is a story about time, love, loss, and war within ones self, and touches upon a darkness and hunger that is eligible to grow inside all of us. It is how we balance that hunger and darkness that truly defines us.


The moon drank the sky. 

Paws scrapped across soft black ground. A chase was on. He loomed over bushes and branches and small trees like a giant amongst peers. Do not get caught. Do not get caught, the words raced through his mind with no meaning. He leaped over a log and continued down a river bank, splashing water onto his black furred back. His pink tongue licked it off his face. It tasted of of frogs fish and salt. Some of his favorite things. 

A cracking blast was heard in the distance and he shot into a quicker pace. He was on all fours now, like a new mooned pup. He dashed left and right and paid no mind to the rabbits and foxes scurrying away. Had it been a normal night he may have feasted on two or four, but not tonight. Tonight was the hunt. And he was the prey. 

Another blast cracked into the sky. Was that closer? he panicked. His eyes darted all around the darkness of the woods looking for the shooter. The being couldn’t be seen in this hell. The prey jolted down a small hill and across a steam, passed through a broken tree, and leaped over raspberry bushes. Another blast went off. It’s not giving up, he thought. 

He doubled back and finally lost the sounds. He drank from a small pool and feasted on a dead fox. When he was finished he was strong and had blood smeared all over his mouth and hands. He licked his face clean and hands and turned to head back into the darkness. The moon creeping lower than normal now. Sending its gaze into the trees and beyond the rivers. Impulse came and he let out a curdling howl into the moons surface. It seemed to call back, though he knew it was his brothers and sisters scattered across the woods and fields miles and miles away. 

They called him Wil, his brothers and sisters did. ‘Will to live’ was what they had always said. When he was a mere pup he had nearly died from being too small and too weak. He was sick unlike the other pups. Born with his brothers and sisters he was the runt. Though he kept alive when all thought he would die. So they called him Wil. He wasn’t much of a runt no more, still not as strong has his older brothers but still strong enough to fight and to win. Once he had taken down a bear, but he had done it on a hunt alone so no one had believed him. It was the truth though. 

It had been a night much like this, though he was somewhere in the mountains. Stalking a large thick rabbit; it was a quick little bastard that gave him trouble. Though he finally cornered it and took it down. While he was feasting was when the bear came. Looming over him like a mountain all on its own. The bear roared and he got low to the ground and leapt onto it’s thick furred throat. Tearing and chewing into its flesh. To no avail he was thrown off into a pile of dark mud. He bared his teeth at the enemy and paced in a circle. The bear clawed at him and got him in the face. He tumbled down to the side and jolted up and rushed the bear. All power behind him, he crashed into the bear’s gut, tearing at its stomach. The bear gnawed an ear off, but he broke through the flesh and tore wide as he pulled away. The bear stood massive and leaked entrails and tubes to the mudded ground and collapsed into a heap of limp bone and thick furs. 

The sound was coming back now, at least he thought he had heard it. His gnawed ear twitched to the breaking of twigs and sound rustling.  It appeared tall and wide and black in the shadows. It smelled of man and blood. He backed away from the shadow and as it entered the light he could see the rifle. Oh, son of a– The blast took him in the left shoulder sending him into a rabid frenzy. 

The wolf bared its teeth yellow and white, blood and saliva dripping down. He leapt into the air and tackled the shooter the ground. The man struggled and cried and shot again, the wolf whimpered and yanked flesh from the man’s neck. The man screamed in agony, yelling for help. The wolf scrapped more flesh away and swallowed. He back away from the choking man, That was no bear, he thought. 

Wil limped off then. Slowly raking through bushes and trees, and managing a staggering stance. His bare feet caught jagged branches and blood dripped from his two wounds. A midnight breeze caught his bare back. When he fell it was almost graceful. A pile of dead leaves caught him and the moon stared down above him. It’s white face winked at him as he closed his eyes and darkness took him. 

The End

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