Silverfish

Dark Clouds Rising

A small gray wolf follows a narrow pathway that leads him away from the rest–just for a moment.

He promises himself that, the red memory of losing his way along the opposing side of mountains flashes before him. But of course that was the beginning of last winter, and now he has somehow convinced himself that he is much more inclined to his surroundings arriving in mid spring.

As he makes his way down the path he notices the English ivy around him shivering rapidly against its sturdy host, an obvious indication that the wind was picking up. He glances upwards at the sky, sort of lazily gawking at it for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion that a storm was approaching in the East. The sun poking delicate rays through heavy blue clouds, highlighting them with a white halo.

The wolf also began to notice the cool taste of water dancing about the air, leaving an odd, comforting taste in him. It sparked recollection of when he was a pup, somehow, and took him deep into his past.

His pack lived somewhere else then, far away from those familiar mountains, where other kinds of beings shared the earth. He remembered fearing those beings, frequently hiding away until his mother came to his side, her touch always relieving any sort of discomfort within him.

He missed her. In fact, this random nostalgia brought him to a place which now only engenders pain in him.

He felt her loss with a terrible burning in his chest, the wind also now appearing to push against him with an equal amount of vigor, tearing and pulling at the surrounding trees.

It took the leaves and dirt with it, flailing about the wolf in an increasingly violent manner.

He realized perhaps he should turn back now, taking those daunting memories with him.