Achlys
It was cold. Yes, it was October, but I didn't expect it to be this cold. The chill seeped through my clothes, penetrating my skin, and settling in my bones. The merciless wind shook leaves from their branches, making it rain red, orange, yellow, brown. I try to raise my hand to catch one, but my arm feels too heavy.
I don't know how long I've been laying here. Seconds, maybe? Minutes? Hours? I don't know why this happened -to me or to anyone- or even how, but I knew those wolves were out to get me. After all I'd done, bringing them food when it was cold and there was no prey, keeping hunters away from the woods, I did everything I could to save them. Still, they chose to attack me.
As if in a painful memory, I could still feel their claws digging into my abdomen. I felt their teeth, some worn while others sharp, biting into my arms and legs. None of them attacked my face or throat, or other things that could easily kill me. They attacked what would hurt, but wouldn't be life-threatening. It was as if they were human, and knew exactly where to attack repeatedly to make it hurt the most.
Soon, though, they left and the memory faded. A few of them turned to look back at me, as if to say shame. One stayed after the rest, his yellow eyes boring into mine. He lingered for a moment before running off after the others, biting at the heels of any wolf who was too slow. The attack itself didn't last long, but the memory made it seem even shorter.
I lay back and listened as they howled. I imagined the first to be the yelllow-eyed wolf, the one who stayed after all the rest and watched me, the leader. I liked to think that he was protecting me from any further attacks, assuring me that it was an accident that I'd gotten pulled into this. I thought of reasons they'd attack me: they thought I was a predator; I frightened them; I was stealing their prey; I was on their territory.
I admired the peaceful animals. Many people are frightened because they're wild, and most images shown of wolves are bloody messes, instead of the beautiful animal that I saw behind every mask of blood and filth. I knew how calm they could be, unless, of course, you were threatening their pups or themselves.
Some people, the ones who aren't afraid, think of wolves as large dogs. They attempt to tame them, they try to take the wild out of them. I know it's not true; wolves and dogs are very different. Dogs can bend to a man's will, wolves are much too dignified to do so. You can dress dogs up in ridiculous costumes, talk to them in baby voices they'll never understand, and tote them around in purses or some other such. Wolves would never stand for it.
I hear footsteps in the woods, and I want to see who it is. I am curious, so I try to lift my head. I barely make it an inch off the ground before the effort leaves me exhausted. I lay my head back, finding it impossible to move another inch. I closed my eyes, willing to accept the inevitable.
I was ready to die.
I accepted that there was a chance that I could be laying out here longer than I have been already. I could be stuck here, in the cold, for hours. Thinking back to what I'd learned in school, I compared that to my situation now. I was cold, so hypothermia could be setting in. It was unlikely, but there was the possibility. I couldn't move, yet I was shivering, so I could be going into shock. That possibility was more than possible. In fact, I think I was.
I knew that if someone didn't find me, and fast, I could die today.
