Our Story, Prologue
#1 of Our Story
Prologue
To understand our story, you first have to know a little bit about us and where we come from.
My name is Aiden; I'm a 22 year old wolf with dark grey fur on my back, arms and legs, streaked through with patches of black. A softer, light grey fur covers my chest and belly. I stand a little over 6 feet tall, and usually I'm found wearing comfortable jeans, with a black sleeveless shirt tucked into them, over which is a green short sleeved button down, which I always leave unbuttoned.
My eyes are a weird greenish-blue with flecks of gold, like looking into a deep pool of water just as the sun is rising, framed behind a pair of grey rectangle glasses balanced on a muzzle which, while retaining the strength and confidence of my breed, is more slender than many with softer edges and curves. My eyes are the one thing about me that males and females of every breed seem to find attractive. I often catch people staring when they think I'm not looking, and then quickly look away when I meet their gaze.
I'm rather thin for a wolf, not quiet scrawny but definitely not in the same league as my older brothers and grandfather. They are all large, proud wolves, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and powerful legs. Both of them work in construction where their strength and toughness is prized, and my grandfather has spent his life working for the auto industry.
My mother, while not as strong as my brothers or grandfather, is definitely not one to cross. She backs up her kind personality and easy going demeanor with a spirit of iron and a right hook to match. More than once, someone been seen walking into her office, heard shouting, and then been seen literally flying out her door onto the floor of the school.
It's long been rumored that one of my ancestors must have been a fox or coyote or something like that and that I drew the genetic short straw which would account for my somewhat less than wolfish physique.
Though I may not be as big as them, I'm no pushover. My slightly smaller frame is surprisingly strong and flexible, more athletic, than built. This allows me to be able to move much faster than my bulky siblings.
More than once, this has caught them off guard when they try to pick a fight. Evading their attacks and countering them has always been as easy as walking, and the looks of anger on their faces are priceless. They are definitely stronger, but they have rarely been able to lay a claw on me and have absolutely no chance of catching me if I decide to make a run for it.
This, unfortunately, usually makes them all the more determined to 'get me next time'. You'd think they would have learned by now.
One of the weirdest things about my family is our belief about scars. In my great-grandfather's time, scars were a mark of pride, symbols for all to see that you are not afraid to stand up for yourself, your friends, and your family regardless of the risk.
Personally, I think the idea has a certain romantic flair to it, a throw-back to the days when honor and devotion were more valuable than money and power. In today's world, where honor is only heard about in history books, devotion is bought and sold to the highest bidder, it's easy to see why we've held onto the belief.
Well I definitely have the scars. More than both of my brothers combined. There is one running down my right leg, from knee to ankle, another running at an angle across my left thigh. My chest, back and stomach is marred by uncountable slits and gashes. My right shoulder and arm look like they were used for sword practice, and my left arm has one running across my shoulder down to my elbow. The most visible though, is a wicked scar that runs from above my right eyebrow, down across my eye to the base of my jaw.
Many of these scars I got in a car crash James and I were when we were teenagers, not because of the typical testosterone induced fights that most males of my age, including my brothers, seem to live for. This means, that I don't get the admiration that someone who got injured fighting for his family and beliefs would receive.
Some of my scars have come from fights; including the one across my eye. Usually, the fights are the normal sibling squabbles with my brothers who torment me constantly, usually because of my smaller size. Though sometimes with bullies and ruffians who are determined to cause me real harm.
If the truth be told however, I prefer to avoid fighting if possible. I've never found the swinging fists, flashing claws and resultant streams of blood very appealing. I'd rather use my time and energy, working in my carpentry shop building new furniture or outside working in my yard. In the case of my claws, I mostly use them for personal grooming, or to give a friend a good back scratch. I'm widely regarded as one of the best 'scratching posts' around.
This is one reason I'm shunned and picked on by most of the wolves. As a young male wolf, I should be out fighting, trying to impress young females, and displaying my dominance over those weaker than I. To my brothers this is as natural as breathing; it's normal. Though for me, words like 'natural' and 'normal' are painful, because in the eyes of my family, I'm just about as far from 'natural' and 'normal' as you can get. The fox asleep in my arms is proof enough of that.
James, 24, though slightly shorter than me, is very tall for a fox. He has the same slight build as I do but has gorgeous reddish orange fur with golden orange highlights that make him look as though he's made of flame and magic, rather than flesh and fur. His long tail is bushy and elegant, and when it catches the light at the right angle, it looks like a plume of golden red flames. It's one of his greatest points of pride, as well it should be.
His pure white chest and belly fur is soft and downy, often picking up the reddish highlights of his arms and legs, accenting his slender form and build. He has a few scars from the crash as well, mostly on his left shoulder from where he was thrown into the window, but since he was driving, he was protected from the worst of the impact and flying shrapnel.
But it's his eyes that make him absolutely stunning. Orbs of startling green, remind you of pieces of frozen jade shot through with veins of silver. When you gaze into them, there is nothing but love, confidence, and the silent promise to defend those he cares abut till his dying breath.
His family is even bigger than mine. In addition to his mother and father, he also has an older sister and a younger brother. While my brothers like nothing better than to torment me mercilessly, James and his siblings have always been the best of friends.
His family had spent most of their lives in the city, so the transition to the sub-urban life here was difficult for them, especially on his parents. In the city, his father was the manager of a very successful electronics store while his mother took care of the accounting.
They were fairly well off, living in a large house and lacking none of the luxuries of wealth. They able to give their family everything they desired. That is until a string of thefts caused their business to go bankrupt.
To poor to continue living where they were, and to proud to ask for living assistance from the government, the family moved to the country, away from all the expenses and excitement of the city. Away from everything his parents had worked a lifetime to build.
Its 3 A.M. according to the lighted blue display of the clock sitting on the dresser next to my bed, and things are peaceful and quiet. The only sounds are the quiet chirping of the crickets drifting through the open window and the rustle of the trees. The full moon hanging in the sky out the window is sending shadows and half formed images running over the white carpet and up the sea green walls while a cool breeze flutters pictures of family, friends and other assorted decorations.
I'm lying here thinking about my life, and trying not to wake this gorgeous creature, still sound asleep my head on his shoulder and my arm wrapped protectively around his chest my slow, deep breathing causing his neck fur to sway gently back and forth. Each breath brings his soft musk to my nostrils, a calming, familiar scent that brings a content smile to my face while it attempts to lull me off to a peaceful sleep. I could lie here, like this forever, for never have I felt more complete, more loved than I do here and now, with him in my arms.
Lying here half asleep, my mind wanders though the years. Events of my life flash through my head; moments, and decisions that have brought me here, not only to college, but to be lying in bed with my best friend. I snuggle closer to him as sleep finally takes me, my mind coming to rest in a small grassy park where a young wolf and fox are laughing and playing.
This is our story.