Why Should You Remember?

A Novella by PNEK MEKS

First Song: Step upon the Path

The most curious thing about fate is it sets the barriers very quietly to

place you on a path. Then, before you know it, it’s too late to turn back.

The pup whined pathetically in desperation, in fear, in pain. The wolf laid its weak and scraggly form upon the ground, kicked dirt over the form and turned back. The pup still whined, a weak frightened and pitiful sound. The wolf’s ears laid back against its head as it continued on, disappearing into the heavy foliage. The pup’s whimpers echoed on with all its might through the dark of the night. The stars blinked in and out of existence, a great horned owl sounded over head in a flurry of wings. It’s beating feathers drawing closer. The pup screamed out once more in blind fear.

The wolf rolled over and stretched in a lazy way, stretched from toe to toe on its side. The wolf then stood up, shaking from head to tail tip, dislodging a very small portion of the dirt trapped in its fur. The thing was filthy and decrepit looking. Scars on the face gave it a fearful look, dirt and twigs, burrs and leaves, feathers and caked mud clinging into the dulled grey fur. The tail had a chunk of fur missing somewhere in the middle. A gash that was the result of tangling with a bear showed on the left side of the neck. Bites that left the right leg bare in one patch itched as the wolf bent to nibble away at fleas and other bugs that made its skin crawl. Three claws on the hind right leg were cracked off, as well as one on the front left. The wolf was a horrible mess; its honey colored eyes the only beautiful thing about it. The she-wolf Salanar was a scavenger, an outcast, a traitor. Summing it up, she was a lone wolf.

She stretched, front paws reaching out far ahead of her as she pulled backwards on them, her jaws parting in a wide yawn that showed chipped fangs. She shook herself once more, dislodging yet another small sum of the debris before trotting off through the thick briars of the outlying section of forests, the no man’s land that existed between the wolf packs that lived on either side of the river. She stopped at a ledge where the waters of the falls pooled on the rocks, taking a long drink. She lifted her head and tested the air; the crisp cold winds echoed the approach of the Frozen Water and Dying Season. Most of the trees were already bare, or close. She tested the air once more, finding the scent of the Fluff Tails and Long Ears. They had yet to burrow away, and would remain for most of the season. Padding carefully and quietly along, she began to track her morning meal.

Past the time of no shadows, Salanar had managed to down a Long Ear. Her morning meal had turned into an afternoon snack. Her paws ached and she felt itchier then ever from trying to sneak carefully among the briars. Her head tilted back to look at the Sky Eye sliding towards the mountains. She sighed heavily and went to turn when an interesting scent drifted across the briars. The scent was one she had not smelled fresh for a long time, the scent of another wolf.

Salanar slunk silently towards the scent. Pack wolves were supposed to keep to the territories and she was the only lone wolf in the no man’s strip. As she drew closer, she caught a second scent. This wolf was not alone. She tracked the moving wolf through the briars carefully through the dieing light of the Sky Eye, the light of the Mother’s Eye covering the land bleakly during her time of Hunting. The blinking lights of the ancestors glimmered. She heard whimpering and yelps. The other wolf turned back towards the territories after dropping the second scent in the reeds of the swamp. The cries were pitiful and pathetic. Salanar edged slowly closer. These noises, they were noises pups made. Her ears perked, the call of a Night Feather and beating wings drawing close. She peered through the darkness and bolted forward. Racing the flying death towards the pup, she snatched the weak and scraggly creature up in her jaws, the Night Feather’s talons raking at her ears. She bolted into the boggy and uneven lands of the swamp, the pup’s whimpers of fear and protest haunting her ears, the stench of fear strong in her nose. She made even land, farther from the mountain and the briar patch. The far side of the swamp was dangerously close to pack territory. She breathed heavy, unable to get the gulp of air she needed with the pup in her mouth. The little fellow squirmed in her grip. She sighed laying it down. She had saved it, but now what?

Second Song: The Struggles of Mother Hood

Only the strong can survive it, only the brave will try it,

and only the foolish learn to enjoy it.

The farmer was awoken by the sound of the rooster at dawn. He got up, like any normal day and dressed. He headed down stairs, pulling on his heavy boots and pulling on his coat. He picked up the pail that he kept at the door and headed out towards the barn. The morning was crisp and chilly, frost glittering on the grass. Entering the barn the farmer met with a horrifying site. His milk cow was splayed on her side, a wolf head buried into her utter. The farmer raged, dropping the pail and grabbed for the shot gun kept on the barn wall. Spinning around to find a rather shocked wolf, he aimed as it turned tail to run. The echoing shot rang through the barn as the cow trumpeted in alarm, kicking to get back to her feet.

The nippy morning came earlier then Salanar would have liked. She blinked awake in the brisk and chilly breeze and felt something nip at her belly. Thinking it was a flea she bent to nip back only to find the small fuzzy form of the weak pup she had rescued the previous night. The little fellow was kneading desperately at her stomach, it nipped her again and she flinched, snatching up the pup in her jaws. She sighed heavily. The pup was hungry, and clearly wasn’t weaned yet, but where was a lone wolf supposed to get a supply of milk?

Padding wearily along, following the edge of the pack territory, Salanar wandered with the pup dangling from her mouth. The little pup whined and whimpered the whole way. Salanar’s own stomach growled painfully. The Long Ear she had eaten the day before wasn’t holding her, but the cries for food from the pup chased away all the prey within range. Salanar needed to feed the thing before it starved. That’s when the smell of the Spotted Hard Foots came to her. She had wandered too far from the mountain, and was now on the fringes of the Up Walker’s land.

She bedded down quietly. The Sky Eye was at its peak, and crossing the open flat land would be difficult with out the cover of shadows and darkness. They would have to wait for the Sky Eye to sleep. She tucked the little pup into the foliage and buried him carefully to keep him warm and safe. She began her hunt among the foliage for a meal for herself.

As the Sky Eye disappeared behind the mountains, and the darkness of the night over took the world, Salanar sat picking clean her Fluff Tail. Licking her lips, she starred across the dark Up Walker’s land. As she picked herself up, she uncurled her tail from around the pup. She dipped and plucked him up in her jaws and began a slow and careful gait across the open land. Her nose filled with the scent of Up Walkers and Spotted Hard Foots.

She pushed into the wooden barn and an overwhelming scent of Spotted Hard Foot and milk ran up her nose. She set the pup down and investigated further into the strange den. Salanar heard heavy breathing and peered around a slight wall. There sleeping was a very large Spotted Hard Foot. She padded up and cleared her throat.

The cow opened her eyes to see a Wild Growler standing in front of her. She blinked her eyes and trumpeted loudly, kicking out with her front legs. “Growler! Growler in the barn!” screamed the cow. Salanar flattened her ears against the sound and yapped at the Spotted Hard Foot. “Quiet down Hard Foot! I’m only here for a favor. You help me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Hmph!” the cow turned up her nose. “First of all, I am not a, Hard Foot, yoooou mangy Growler. I am a cow! And why should I help yoooou?”

“Not really me, cow or whatever, the pup,” she pointed her nose towards the small little whimpering pup. He was shivering and hungry. The cow looked past the wolf. “I’m sorry for the poor dear, but what am I to do?”

“He needs milk, you have milk. So, you can lie down, and he’ll get the milk!”

“And why can’t yoooou give him the milk?”

“I don’t have any milk to give.”

The cow breathed deep, fidgeting in her stall. “Yoooou know very well a cow doesn’t moooove well on the ground. Yoooou plan to kill me while I’m vulnerable.” Salanar sighed heavily. It was true, if the cow laid down it would be an easy meal. She shook that thought away. “I promise on the eye of the great Mother that I will not harm you for the rest of my days.” The cow eyed Salanar suspiciously, but her ears picked up the pitiful cries of the little pup. She sighed, “Against my better judgment, I will help yoooou.” The cow stepped out into the larger space of the barn and bent to her front knees, letting her back legs buckle under her, and in an awkward movement, rolled to her side.

Salanar picked up the pup and laid him beside the utter of the cow. She sighed as the pup began feeding almost immediately. The sight was the most bizarre sight she had seen in a long time, a cow that would willingly lie down to help feed a wolf. It would never happen again in a life time. Salanar bent close to lick the little wolf to help warm him up, when she heard a clang on the ground. Her nose caught the scent of an Up Walker.

Salanar turned, staring at the Up Walker who held a long silver branch in its paws. Salanar knew of the silver branch. It would screech at animals and kill them, leaving an acrid smell in the air. Salanar turned, snatching up the pup and bolted. A loud screech echoed and she dodged, the cow trumpeting as she crawled to her feet, kicking out at random. Another screech, and pain shot through Salanar’s shoulder, but she kept running.

The screeches grew less and less, as Salanar ran further and further. She pelted back across the fields under the waking Sky Eye, along the territories, and further up towards the swamp. She collapsed in a thick clump of dying cattails, frosted over from the cold morning. Panting heavily and huddling tight around the pup, Salanar shook. Her shoulder stung, bleeding slightly down her leg. She licked over the wound, it wasn’t deep.

The pup buried into Salanar’s side. She sighed laying her nose close to him. “You’re such a little fellow. How am I to take care of you without getting killed?” Salanar closed her eyes quietly, the Sky Eye edging further across the expanse of clouds.

Third Song: Heart Decisions

It is never easy to make a choice of life and death.

It is even harder when the life isn’t yours.

The sky wept tears upon the dark earth. The wolf lay down in the ferns, weak and unable to continue. Her sides burned like fire, yet she shivered. Whimpering noises filled the air. The pup beside her was afraid. The smell of blood and smoke still lingered in the wolf’s fur. She had to get up. She had to keep moving.

The afternoon light filtered down through the cattails. Its rays warmed Salanar’s fur weakly. She opened her eyes and starred up at the blazing Sky Eye over head. She had slept for most of the day. Pulling herself to her feet, she shook to rid herself of debris. She sighed heavily looking down at the little pup sleeping soundly. “I have to find you a real mother.”

Salanar rose then, picking the pup up gently and began to follow the edge of the swamp. Her paws moved carefully, not wanting to go wading in the swamp again. She felt worn and tired as she moved. The pup went on sleeping in her jaws. Her eyes gazed longingly into the thick furry trees of the pack territories. If she still belonged, another female of the pack who had a litter would take him for her. He would have food and warmth. She sighed heavily. Her life was not with a pack anymore.

The memory of the night she became a traitor hung in her mind. It was clear and it stung. It had been on a night of the Mother’s Rest. The packs were at war over a small piece of land that was still available for claim. They had been for months. There was an old rule, that on the night the All Mother turned her eye from the earth to rest wolves were to protect each other, no matter which pack they belonged to. Salanar had been on patrol of the boundary lines with two other wolves. They came across a rival wolf that was passed out on the territory. He was wounded, with the retched scent of smoke and blood on him.

First to move was Salanar. She dashed forward and bent down, nosing gently looking for the wound. The younger of the two wolves from the back growled fiercely. “What are you doing Salanar? He’s the enemy!”

“It’s the night of the Mother’s Rest! We have an obligation to help any wolf on these nights.”

“We shouldn’t when they are at war with us!”

Salanar was about to retaliate, when the older of the two wolves growled loudly. His stern gaze starred at Salanar. “We leave him to die...” The older wolf walked on, calling the younger wolf to follow him. Salanar stood there, staring after them, then down at the wounded outsider. She bent, finding the wound, and began to lick it clean.

The earth beneath her paw slipped. Salanar snapped out of her day dream in order to catch herself from falling into the thick muddy swamp. Her awkward stumble awoke the pup in her jaws. He squealed and whimpered, crying out in hunger. Salanar kept moving as she was close now to the briar covered land that was her home, the land she had been banished to for aiding an enemy wolf on the night of the Mother’s Rest. She would never be taken back in, but maybe. Maybe I could convince them to take this little wolf.

Salanar tucked the little wolf into the thicket. Before trying her luck, she wanted a full meal. Sticking her nose to the ground, she scented the earth and the briars about her before heading off. The scent of Fluff Tails and Long Ears was still about. She headed for higher ground tracking her prey, the scent of her quarry starting to mix with other scents, in particularly, that of the wild Hard Feet.

Salanar knew that the scents of Hard Feet were usually followed by the scent of the Up Walkers. They were too close to where the pup was hidden. Now was the time to head back and move the pup to a more secure location. Usually when Up Walkers were in the woods, it meant that the frightening Silver Branches were as well. She edged back towards where the pup was hidden, carefully, slowly.

In the process of retracing her paw steps, Salanar emerged just before a downed Hard Foot. She froze, staring at the lifeless form, still bleeding warm blood. On the other side in the thicket was the pup. The scent of the acrid Silver Branches hung about the dead Hard Foot. She looked up as a branch snapped, an Up Walker appearing out of the thicket. Her eyes grew wide as the Up Walker gave a surprised yelp and aimed, firing off the branch. Salanar swerved and jumped towards the Up Walker, the branch firing once more. She nearly tripped as she snatched the pup up quickly in her jaws and ran on. The branch sounded three more times in hot pursuit. Salanar dove over the nearest ledge and landed in a patch of dieing ferns, she collapsed.

Her hind leg was wounded. The wound was deep and painful, burning horribly. Salanar took a deep breath and shook. The fearful cries of the pup drifted to her ears, the night was dark and black. The ancestors barely glimmered. The great All Mother had closed her eye to sleep; leaving her pup’s to fend for their selves. Salanar was terrified, but she needed to get up, tonight was her only chance to find the pup a home.

Salanar staggered to her feet and scooped up the pup in her mouth, dragging her hind leg, she wandered towards the forests edge, unwaveringly staggering under the branches of the Forever-Leaf trees. Salanar scented the area and caught the scent of wolves. She staggered onward, it was slow, painful and every step jarred the wound in her leg, which was already matted thickly with her own blood. The sounds of pups at play drove her onward.

The female wolf lying in the thicket with her litter looked up, growling angrily and then became silent upon scenting blood and spotting the bedraggled wolf that entered. Salanar laid the pup on the ground and looked pleadingly at the female across from her. “By the name of the All Mother, I beg you on this night of her rest; take pity on this young soul,” the weak words slipped from Salanar’s mouth. The female got up and walked forward. She gently licked Salanar on the forehead and quietly responded. “I hear the words of the weak and recognize the law of the Mother. I will take this soul and care for it.” The female picked up the pup and turned, her own litter following quietly. Salanar slowly, painfully, and sadly limped back to the No Man’s land. Before she disappeared, she called back, “His name is Arushan.”

Final Song: Memory Fades

The world can only remember what it sees.

Though, sometimes, the world remembers what it felt.

The howl echoed across the frozen night sky. Two men waited on the edge of a field, flashlights out searching for a dropped wallet. The older man looked up. “Sounds like a victory to me,” he commented as he watched the crescent moon in the sky. The younger man looked up at him curiously.

“It sounds so painful though, how do you know it’s not regret?”

The older man laughed, “What animal knows regret?”

The younger man looked up at the moon, his breathe rising in plumes in the chilly night air. The older man went back to searching for his wallet, grumbling the entire time. Another howl echoed across the frozen forest to the field. The young man looked sad, and quietly commented, “We do.”

Arushan was the name of a wolf from the past. His legacy was one of survival through many trials despite his mother abandoning him. The pup that Salanar had left with the pack female fit that name very well. Arushan had opened his eyes that night, after Salanar had departed back into the No Man’s land. He remembered very little, but in his dreams he could smell a wolf he never knew. He would always awaken frightened, because the smell always had a mix of sadness and Silver Branch at the end of the dream. He often worried about the mysterious wolf from his dream hunts.

Arushan grew up with his adopted litter mates. His mother, the partner of the Beta, was always kind to him. Even his father was kind, despite his circumstances for coming into the life of the pack of the Forever-Leaf trees. He grew strong quickly, learning everything he needed to know from the pack.

Between learning the religion, the laws, the trial of hunting alone and with his comrades, Arushan slowly forgot the wolf of his pup-hood dreams. He spent his days out on hunts, protecting his pack, and patrolling borders. The Mother’s Eye opened and closed many times through his life. When the Alpha had passed in a Hard-Foot hunt, Arushan’s father moved up to replace him. In turn, Arushan claimed the spot of Beta, knocking out several other young males who had wanted the position as well. Arushan was a fearsome opponent, but he was fair. Then, the mystery wolf would appear in his dream hunts again, clouded by mist with a scent that was hard to decipher.

It was during the Frozen Water and Cold Season. Arushan was on border patrol with two other males. It was a night of the Mother’s Hunt, She still watched quietly, but was intent on Her hunt. Arushan’s party came upon and elderly wolf, fur matted and missing. The wolf had scars and was dragging her leg. Arushan growled a warning to her. The old wolf looked up; her dull eyes seemed to catch a small light as she scented the air. She stepped towards him, still dragging her hind leg. She was thin and probably sickly. No matter, Arushan knew he had to drive her off, or kill her.

Arushan growled again and gave the formal warning, “Turn back now or die. You have no permission to be here.” The she-wolf kept coming forward. The other two males growled the warning as well. She persisted to draw near. Arushan rushed her, and went to bite at her shoulder, hoping the tactic would drive her back. She didn’t dodge, and the bite landed, eliciting a yelp from the old wolf. Arushan attacked again, the old wolf still didn’t dodge.

Salanar was confused, why was the pup, which she had protected and brought to safety, attacking her? Why didn’t he remember her? She remembered him, despite his scent’s slight change. Her scent hadn’t changed at all. Why wouldn’t her remember? She yelped again as his claws racked into her. He was strong, he had grown up well. Salanar was a little sad, and then she almost laughed on the inside. Why should he remember? Why should a pup, whose eyes had not been opened, remember her?

Arushan was done; this wolf would not leave despite his attempts. He growled and attacked, pinning her to the ground, his teeth digging into her throat. Salanar struggled, trying to catch her breath. It was no good. She couldn’t through him off. The blood began to pool and she choked out in her dying breath, “Goodbye, Arushan.”

His ears perked at the words. In his shock he took in a breath and caught the scent, the strange scent of the mysterious wolf from his dream hunts, the one that was veiled with the slight scent of the Silver Branch. Arushan backed up, his eyes wide. Why was it only now that he remembered her? Arushan left out a piercing howl. The sound echoed through the cold night. The wolves say it shook the stars, it shook the trees, and that even the Up Walkers would hear it in their dreams. The howl was a strange sound, it was sad, and yet beautiful. Was it regret? Was it a goodbye? No one knows, and why should they?