Vampires & Werewolves & Others [information]

Fenris The Wolf

 Fenris the Wolf

The wind howled almost as loudly as the cub Fenris did. The young cub was no older than one year, and already he was larger than any of the other wolves his age. He knew not who his parents were. He had been adopted by a small pack of mountain wolves before he could remember and had traveled with them ever since. Fenris's life began by being protected by the pack, but even at the age of one, he was more like their protector. He ate no differently than the rest, was no different in any regard that could be seen, and yet he grew twice as fast as they did; and he was nearly as strong as the full grown wolves in the pack. Once they had been feasting on a deer that the pack had brought down the day before when they were attacked by a troll. Three of the older wolves launched at its throat, but the huge troll merely swept them aside with a tree trunk that it swung as a club. One of the wolves that Fenris had learned to call "brother" latched onto the trolls back leg. Fenris howled in rage and grief as he heard his brother's back snap when the troll brought its hand down on the young wolf. Fenris dug his back legs into the ground and leapt with tremendous power. He struck the troll in its chest and it toppled backwards, loosing its weapon. The troll brought its fist to Fenris's ribs, but they did not break. It hit him again and again, but Fenris did not break his hold; he merely sunk his teeth in deeper and deeper into the wretched creature's throat. The troll's arm finally sunk to the earth as the life ebbed from his body. Fenris released his grip, black blood dripping from his hairy muzzle, running down his neck, and staining his paws. Fenris let loose a mighty howl that shook the very ground. The other wolves regarded him in fear, a wolf of only one year old, and yet today had proven stronger than any wolf that had ever been written about in legend, maybe that ever existed. Not even the wolves of Odin could kill a troll by themselves. Fenris tried to live among the pack, but they all feared him, and none thought of him the same. Fenris left the warmth of the pack and slowly walked into the cold black night, the snow swirling around him. Fenris wandered the hills for many nights, never finding rest. When his body growled for food Fenris started putting his nose to the ground sniffing for a trail. Ahead in a clearing he caught site of a rabbit nibbling on some grass that was sticking through the snow. As Fenris crept toward it though, it seemed not to see him but to sense him and it turned to face him. It however did not run, it stared at him, seeming to almost smile. Fenris growled. He smelled the change before he saw it, but the rabbit did change. It leapt forward, and in mid leap became a man, clothed in a garb of different shades of grey. The man had a black beard and mustache and dark shifty eyes. Fenris not so much saw, but felt, or smelled, the dishonesty and deception that seemed to hang on the man thicker than his grey coat of animal skin. Yet, there was something about him, a familiarity.

"Hello, Fenris. I have been waiting for you. You're a hard wolf to find despite your many differences from the others of your kind."

The hair on Fenris's back stood upright, and he growled, "Who are you? What differences?"

The black-haired man laughed, "I am Loki, and you are blind if you see no differences between you and the mere wolves of these mountains."

"I am the same--" Fenris' words were cut off by the sound of a third person suddenly speaking.

"Enough Loki! We do it my way."

Fenris had a sudden thought of anger toward himself for not detecting the second man in the trees to his left. He managed to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of a splendidly dressed man in golden armor. His red beard hung down to the top of his breast plate and was neatly braided into two thick braids. This was all he saw before a spinning hammer struck him in the side of the head. As he slipped into unconsciousness he heard the two strangers talking.