Categories > Original > Drama > The Dark Side of the Moon
Chapter Four
As summer came to an end a couple of weeks later, the trees began to shed the frailest of their leaves and the finger-like branches stretched out, pointing their tips towards the blackening sky. A storm was approaching and Mother could feel it. She could sense the power and force it held in the middle of the gloomy mass.
The little white pup, now slightly larger with fully developed teeth, stood by her side and said, “It’s getting closer.”
“I know,” she replied. “Come. We must take shelter before it hits.” She turned and walked down into the hole under the rock den, with Ulva following close behind.
Mother had improved the size of the den and it was now big enough for both to fit in comfortably with a lot of space left over. She crawled along and lay down in one of the far corners.
The white wolf, with the fur on his belly darkened by the dirty ground, looked over at her and said, “It’s quite big.”
“It is as big as I could make it,” she replied. “If I had made it any higher or larger, it would have collapsed.”
Ulva crawled over to her and nuzzled her shoulder gently. “Mother.”
“Yes,” she replied, looking up at the white form through the darkness.
There was silence for a moment, before he said, almost whispered, “How long will we be in here? When will the storm end?”
“I do not know,” she said and looked to the exit of the cave, staring into the shaft of light that poured through. “We could be in here for hours.”
Ulva sighed. His legs were cramped and had begun to throb. He could not stay in this dark, damp hole for more than a few minutes, never mind hours. He pointed his toes and stretched his aching limbs. “Mother, I’m tired,” he whined.
“Then sleep,” she replied, not at all irritated. “If we rest, the storm will pass overhead and we will not even notice.”
The pup curled into the smallest ball he could and, closing his eyes and tucking his nose underneath his tail, he was soon falling into a peaceful slumber.
Mother looked down at him and felt proud. He was becoming a handsome, ashen grey wolf with a slick, glossy pelt and a beautiful, bushy tail. His eyes were now amber that flashed brilliantly like jewels in the sunlight. He was approaching adulthood, the moment that Mother had been dreading for many moons, and would soon have to leave the den to find his own territory. She did not want him to leave but she knew it had to be done.
She glanced up at the roof of the cave nervously and listened to the thunder rumbling angrily high above. Then, a crash and a crackling noise like... fire.
She crawled hastily to the exit and looked around. The tree directly in front of her, which was barely a sapling, was overwhelmed by flames that ate down its trunk, gnawing at its leaves and bark like squirrels. Clambering down, it devoured the tree and it disappeared with frightening speed, leaving a pile of grey ashes where it had once stood.
She wanted to run, run away and leave all of this behind her, but she could not. She thought of Ulva; what would he think if she left him all alone? What would he do without her? In the end, she decided she would stay in the den, in the warmth amongst the roots and the dirt.
Ulva snuggled up next to her and asked, “What will happen?”
“Nothing,” Mother assured him, letting the pup put his head on her paws.
“Alright,” he mumbled in reply and he moved himself closer to her.
Overhead, the thunderstorm continued and moved at a leisurely pace, striking bolts of yellow-white light down to the earth below, alighting trees all over the place, and rumbling angrily high up in the sooty clouds.
By late evening, it had moved on and left behind a clear, purple sky with a few clouds smudged here and there. On the horizon lay the crimson sun, peeking over the curve of the world and bidding farewell for yet another night as it slowly dropped down and out of sight.
Mother came up out of the den and surfaced only to be bathed in a red light. She sniffed at the air, choking on the smell of burnt bark and cinders. After she had recovered, she opened her eyes and peered through the thick veil of smoke that had engulfed the forest around her. She could only see a few lopes in front of her, but fragments of wood were scattered across the grass of the clearing, some were still burning. Walking towards one, she coughed again at the smell of bonfire, which brought an image to mind: twolegs, guns, blood, death... She screwed her eyes shut and forced the thought away.
She turned her head back and looked towards the den. “Ulva,” she called into the darkness. “Come out here.”
Inside, the white wolf was only just waking up and he yawned when he heard her voice, which sounded troubled and concerned.
He crawled to the exit and was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar scent of some-thing thick, disgusting and putrid. He continued out into the murky forest.
“Mother,” he said to her as she approached him and licked his muzzle. “What is going on? What’s that smell?”
“The odour you speak of is fire and burnt wood,” she replied, nudging a blackened branch at their feet with her nose. “I know we have barely been here for a moon but we must leave. The forest was destroyed by the storm and the prey has left to find food. There is nothing left here for us.”
“You said nothing would happen,” Ulva said, not accusing her of lying but upset by what he was seeing.
“I was wrong,” she told him bluntly. “We must leave soon, or we risk starving to death.”
The white wolf looked at her and asked, “But where would we go?”
“I do not know,” she said and trotted out of the clearing. He followed her and together they loped across the dry desert.
The moon rose in the black sky and tiny specks flashed at them in the dark as they ran. Slowly it crept across until the sun rose the next morning.
By this time, both Mother and Ulva were exhausted. Their legs trembled with fatigue, their eyes burnt with tiredness, and they were no longer able to run.
They stumbled over to an odd-looking tree that leant to one side, where on the top branch a massive eagle perched. It lifted off of its branch as they slumped down in the shade below the tree and circled overhead until it thought it safe to land again. It recognised the she-wolf at once, looking down at her weak body and jerking its head this way and that to get a better view of the ‘little bundle of shivers’ that she had once carried through the snow. Now, it saw, he was much bigger and stronger than he had been six moons ago, and the eagle did not think it would be as easy to kill as before.
With a quiet shriek, it sat back on its perch and looked out over the Upland Meadows, rocking back and forth gently.
As summer came to an end a couple of weeks later, the trees began to shed the frailest of their leaves and the finger-like branches stretched out, pointing their tips towards the blackening sky. A storm was approaching and Mother could feel it. She could sense the power and force it held in the middle of the gloomy mass.
The little white pup, now slightly larger with fully developed teeth, stood by her side and said, “It’s getting closer.”
“I know,” she replied. “Come. We must take shelter before it hits.” She turned and walked down into the hole under the rock den, with Ulva following close behind.
Mother had improved the size of the den and it was now big enough for both to fit in comfortably with a lot of space left over. She crawled along and lay down in one of the far corners.
The white wolf, with the fur on his belly darkened by the dirty ground, looked over at her and said, “It’s quite big.”
“It is as big as I could make it,” she replied. “If I had made it any higher or larger, it would have collapsed.”
Ulva crawled over to her and nuzzled her shoulder gently. “Mother.”
“Yes,” she replied, looking up at the white form through the darkness.
There was silence for a moment, before he said, almost whispered, “How long will we be in here? When will the storm end?”
“I do not know,” she said and looked to the exit of the cave, staring into the shaft of light that poured through. “We could be in here for hours.”
Ulva sighed. His legs were cramped and had begun to throb. He could not stay in this dark, damp hole for more than a few minutes, never mind hours. He pointed his toes and stretched his aching limbs. “Mother, I’m tired,” he whined.
“Then sleep,” she replied, not at all irritated. “If we rest, the storm will pass overhead and we will not even notice.”
The pup curled into the smallest ball he could and, closing his eyes and tucking his nose underneath his tail, he was soon falling into a peaceful slumber.
Mother looked down at him and felt proud. He was becoming a handsome, ashen grey wolf with a slick, glossy pelt and a beautiful, bushy tail. His eyes were now amber that flashed brilliantly like jewels in the sunlight. He was approaching adulthood, the moment that Mother had been dreading for many moons, and would soon have to leave the den to find his own territory. She did not want him to leave but she knew it had to be done.
She glanced up at the roof of the cave nervously and listened to the thunder rumbling angrily high above. Then, a crash and a crackling noise like... fire.
She crawled hastily to the exit and looked around. The tree directly in front of her, which was barely a sapling, was overwhelmed by flames that ate down its trunk, gnawing at its leaves and bark like squirrels. Clambering down, it devoured the tree and it disappeared with frightening speed, leaving a pile of grey ashes where it had once stood.
She wanted to run, run away and leave all of this behind her, but she could not. She thought of Ulva; what would he think if she left him all alone? What would he do without her? In the end, she decided she would stay in the den, in the warmth amongst the roots and the dirt.
Ulva snuggled up next to her and asked, “What will happen?”
“Nothing,” Mother assured him, letting the pup put his head on her paws.
“Alright,” he mumbled in reply and he moved himself closer to her.
Overhead, the thunderstorm continued and moved at a leisurely pace, striking bolts of yellow-white light down to the earth below, alighting trees all over the place, and rumbling angrily high up in the sooty clouds.
By late evening, it had moved on and left behind a clear, purple sky with a few clouds smudged here and there. On the horizon lay the crimson sun, peeking over the curve of the world and bidding farewell for yet another night as it slowly dropped down and out of sight.
Mother came up out of the den and surfaced only to be bathed in a red light. She sniffed at the air, choking on the smell of burnt bark and cinders. After she had recovered, she opened her eyes and peered through the thick veil of smoke that had engulfed the forest around her. She could only see a few lopes in front of her, but fragments of wood were scattered across the grass of the clearing, some were still burning. Walking towards one, she coughed again at the smell of bonfire, which brought an image to mind: twolegs, guns, blood, death... She screwed her eyes shut and forced the thought away.
She turned her head back and looked towards the den. “Ulva,” she called into the darkness. “Come out here.”
Inside, the white wolf was only just waking up and he yawned when he heard her voice, which sounded troubled and concerned.
He crawled to the exit and was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar scent of some-thing thick, disgusting and putrid. He continued out into the murky forest.
“Mother,” he said to her as she approached him and licked his muzzle. “What is going on? What’s that smell?”
“The odour you speak of is fire and burnt wood,” she replied, nudging a blackened branch at their feet with her nose. “I know we have barely been here for a moon but we must leave. The forest was destroyed by the storm and the prey has left to find food. There is nothing left here for us.”
“You said nothing would happen,” Ulva said, not accusing her of lying but upset by what he was seeing.
“I was wrong,” she told him bluntly. “We must leave soon, or we risk starving to death.”
The white wolf looked at her and asked, “But where would we go?”
“I do not know,” she said and trotted out of the clearing. He followed her and together they loped across the dry desert.
The moon rose in the black sky and tiny specks flashed at them in the dark as they ran. Slowly it crept across until the sun rose the next morning.
By this time, both Mother and Ulva were exhausted. Their legs trembled with fatigue, their eyes burnt with tiredness, and they were no longer able to run.
They stumbled over to an odd-looking tree that leant to one side, where on the top branch a massive eagle perched. It lifted off of its branch as they slumped down in the shade below the tree and circled overhead until it thought it safe to land again. It recognised the she-wolf at once, looking down at her weak body and jerking its head this way and that to get a better view of the ‘little bundle of shivers’ that she had once carried through the snow. Now, it saw, he was much bigger and stronger than he had been six moons ago, and the eagle did not think it would be as easy to kill as before.
With a quiet shriek, it sat back on its perch and looked out over the Upland Meadows, rocking back and forth gently.
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