zerofly's Big Book of Stories

To Burn a Wolf

"Dear Loshuni,

I still remember the wind that whispered in my ears and the chill that tore through my very bones. I remember how the night painted the sky with an ink so thick the snow had dimmed and lay dull and the stars, unable to see the snow, hid behind the darkness of the sky. I remember the pale, squinted eye of the moon, her cold, lifeless stare piercing the souls of those who ventured under her watch. The darkness of night was silent. Suffocating. Yes, I remember it well.

As I write, I wonder if you do as well? Though I do not expect you to, do you remember that night? I assume you are wracking your brains, searching for the memory. Don't hurt yourself. There is only so much a single braincell can endure. Ah, but I jest, I jest! I was simply wondering. Wandering thoughts are fickle that way, in which they can either lead to something or nothing, are they not? Though, tonight I do not expect my thoughts to reach further than this parchment and wherever you are when this letter reaches you.

Under normal circumstances, I suppose it's not usual to remember with such clarity. But, then again, I rarely have the privilege of normal circumstances. Poetic, isn't it? Though, perhaps 'privilege' is too strong of a word, mind you. I do not resent the path I have been guided down, nor do I regret anything along the way. It's the principle of the thing. We wish for what we do not have. Greener pastures do not always exist and all that. However, complacency is it's own double-edged sword. I was lucky. I found you, a green patch inside my browned and withered pasture.

As I reminisce, the lines are beginning to blur. Even a memory's stitching can loosen. Some things will never fade, though. I'm sure you will always remember the pounding at the door. Oh, and my hair. When will you let me live it down?

I laugh in our home, as I'm sure you wish me to, but it sounds so empty nowadays. More often than not it trails into a sigh, as it just did. I miss you terribly, Loshuni. Summers are cold and winters are unbearable. I long for the day we are reunited.

Ah, but my parchment supply is running low. You did always say I was wordy.

Until next time,
Simris"

He sighed, a small, sad smile perched upon his lips. Slowly, he placed the quill in the inkwell.

"Dear Simris,

I remember..."

A silent, deathly beautiful night lay ahead of him.

The okanio stood in the curtain window of the fortress. The glass was cold and hard, offering no comfort for the warm soul that resided in the fire wolf's thick fur as he watched the silent and snowy night. He breathed noiselessly, the only sign of his exhales a cloud of fog on the glass that came and went. It was dark, cold, and lonely, and yet he continued to watch the pale eye of the moon and the snow it softly illuminated.

He stood in that secluded window as though he was simultaneously waiting for someone and no one at all. Perhaps he was. Or perhaps fire wolves are nocturnal and, despite having lost the barbaric life of traditional okanios, nature is harder to deny. But who would know? Certainly not him. He stood in that window, thinking why, why, why like a broken record. But that's the thing, isn't it. He stood and he thought. Never once did he run and find. The answers he sought could never be found in the books of a library or the depths of memories.

At least, not his. Now, someone else's...

After all of these years, I still manage to get ahead of myself sometimes. An introduction is past due, I believe. Do you see that okanio, that fire wolf? Yes, that's me. Surprised? Oh, don't deny it! It's quite normal, I assure you. Simris was not prepared, even as he watched me write. You may be confused. I suppose this book, the very book in your hands, is my autobiography. It is my story, the majority of my life in word form, printed and sent out for others to read.

It's slightly terrifying, thinking of all of you reading this. What do you think of me? Of how I lived? I suppose you don't really know a whole lot so far.

As you read my story, keep this in mind: What would you have done?