FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Well, here we go again. This one took longer to work out in my head then most. Had some concepts that needed refining. Anyway... I hope you enjoy it.

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Toran crouched down behind the small boulders, barely peaking over the edge of the pile, his red hair hidden by the hood of the buckskin hunting cloak. Despite the bitter cold of the winter morning that made his lungs sting with every breath he hardly dared to draw, he didn’t move a muscle, even though his knees were starting to ache and his arms holding the bow felt frigid, held motionless in the open air. Granted, the white buckskin wrap that surrounded his torso kept him modestly warm, but it was taking a lot of effort to ignore the air that seemed to bite through the sleeves of his shirt as if it wasn’t there. Beside him, Senyr crouched in an almost identical position, his own bow in his lap. In the clearing before the two teens, a tall stag stood, its head bent to the ground, biting off another mouthful of the hearty kinnikinnik that grew there, sheltered from the heaviest of the recently fallen snow by a grove of juniper bushes. Even from where he crouched, Toran could see that the creature’s back leg was crooked, probably broken and badly mended. It was honestly surprising that the stag had been able to stay with the herd spread through the trees for as long as it had.

Beside him, Senyr slowly moved his hand and touched Toran’s leg; giving the signal out of the stag’s sight. This was the fifth hunting expedition the pair had undertaken since the tribe had left the plains with Toran in tow, but this was the first time that he had been the one chosen to bring down their quarry. So far, the winter had been the best time of his life, better than anything he had ever experienced. The journey west from the plain had not been as joyful as it could have been of course, what with him half expecting to see riders heading for the camp at any moment, or else hot on their trail in the distance, coming to drag him back to the ranch. But the expected pursuit had never shown up, and if they had been followed at all, it must have been long after they had left. Finally, when they had crested the first ridge of the mountains, truly entering the hybrid lands, the worry had faded away and he found himself instead admiring the rugged beauty of the mountain terrain, the vibrant colors of late autumn still lingering in the lower slopes. When they had reached the lodges of the winter camp in the mountain valley at last and settled in, it had taken him exactly two days to decide that this whole experience had been the best choice he ever could have made.

Sometime during that second night it had started to snow, depositing only a couple of inches on the floor of the valley where the tribe camped, but the temperature must have dropped just enough so the blanket he had curled up under wasn’t enough. He had woken up warm and contented before the truly spectacular dawn, to find that he and Senyr, who had slept beside him as always, were snuggled up close again, but this time, he was the one who was tucked up against the wolf’s back, one arm curled around his chest. When Senyr had woken up a few minutes later, he hadn’t made any effort to move, both of them enjoying being warm and comfortable for a little while before finally getting up in search of breakfast. After that, when the tribe left their lodges to find the snow in the valley, Senyr’s family had presented him with the same winter clothing that the tribe wore. It was sometime after he had slipped into the comfortable hide garments that the tribe wore and had been going about his chores that it had finally struck him. Human though he was, in a strange way, he belonged here among the wolves; perhaps even more so than he belonged at the ranch with his own kind. That day had been months ago, and it seemed like a life time.

Now, he wore his lengthening hair in the same style as the wolves, wore the same clothing (with the sole exception of his linen shirt, a necessity because of his lack of fur), and, being fully immersed in it day after day, he was rapidly becoming fluent in their language as well, at least in so far as his human mouth would let him. The daily routine of life in the camp was busy, but also more satisfying than ranch work ever was, even if there was some overlap in what they did. Plus, there was the fact that he and Senyr could, and often did, sleep snuggled up at night, neither friend making a conscious decision to do so; it just kind of happened, as if that was how they were supposed to be sleeping. Whatever the reason, he woke up each day feeling rested and happy, eager to get to work, eager to learn what he could.

Sudden movement brought his mind back to what he was doing, the deer raising its head and looking around, not apparently alarmed, but watchful, and Toran continued his slow breathing, careful not to let it mist around him by breathing out too fast. Then, he heard it, the sound he had been waiting for, the gust of winter wind from across the valley. Carefully, with almost exaggerated slowness as the wind stirred the branches of the frost-bound forest, the human pushed one of the arrows he held against the bow shaft over with his fingers, lining it up with the string, the fingers of his other hand taking hold of it in a good grip. The buck twitched an ear, still chewing its mouthful of leaves, apparently unconcerned. Hoping that the wind would continue for a few precious seconds, Toran began to draw the string back, his aim as steady as months of daily practice could make it. Finally, just as the string was all the way back, the wind died and Toran held perfectly still for a heartbeat, willing his prey not to move. Then, as if sensing the danger, the buck lifted one hoof to take a step and the string of Toran’s bow sang as he slipped it free of his fingers clad in soft rabbit hide.

Quickly, the human and his lupine best friend leapt up to their feet, both nocking arrows to their bows, hurrying from their hiding place towards the buck, knowing that they had to catch it before it could sprint off into the forest if his shot missed. But, just as quickly, they slowed to a walk, returning the arrows they held to the quivers at their side, unbending their bows. There was no need for a chase. Toran’s aim had been true, the buck was down, its legs kicking slightly. Still, Toran had one last thing to do, before he could celebrate the successful hunt. Kneeling down by the deer’s head, the human took the borrowed knife from his belt, resting his free hand gently on the taut, quivering muscle of the creature’s neck, his other poised to end the stag’s suffering. As he tensed his arm to drive the knife home, two things happened in the same instant. First, he felt Senyr lay his hand on his shoulder, words of congratulations on his lips. Second, there was a sudden movement under Toran’s free hand, a convulsion of pain and perhaps vengeance as the tough creature jerked despite the feathered shaft in its chest.

At once, the elation welling up inside him at his first successful hunt and the exhilaration of the cold winter’s day were gone, replaced by sudden, blinding pain as Toran’s body jerked with the impact, his eyes going wide. The congratulatory words of his friend transformed into a cry of alarm and Toran looked down at himself in horror, the knife falling unnoticed from his hand. In one last dying spasm, the powerful animal had flailed with his head, the points of its antlers driving into the human’s exposed chest, piercing hide, clothing and skin all in one motion. Impaled, Toran tried to suck in a breath but he couldn’t move, paralyzed with fear. Half his mind, maybe the rational part, was telling him to hold still, because moving would only make the wounds worse, while the other half was frantically screaming at him to get away. Horrifically, the buck made the decision for him, one last motion, jerking its head once more and at last, Toran managed to force a breath into his lungs even as the deer let out its last, the antler points tearing free from his skin.

Toran’s scream echoed horribly in the silent valley, moving no longer a choice, his body instinctively thrashing with the pain, his entire world seeming to be descending into fire, the chill air somehow only making the sensation worse. Unable to stop himself from flailing, his body trying to get away from the pain as he fell back, Toran felt his hands hit his companions, the ground, anything they could reach another scream building in his throat as the pain got worse. And then, he saw his friend’s face in his vision, the wolf nearly pinning him to the ground, holding him still, words that he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around being shouted around him. But, even though he saw the fear and panic in the tawny wolf’s eyes, he saw something else beneath it, something that he didn’t even come close to comprehending in his panicked state. A fresh wave of agony hit him, driving away any hope of understanding and he arched his back, crying out again, but the wolf held on tight, keeping him from moving. And then the other members of the hunting party were there, more hands holding him down, others pressing down on his wounds, making the pain all the worse. But, even as his latest cry faded, he saw another face above him, like Senyr’s but older, wiser. The two shared some quick words, then Toran felt the lip of a ceramic flask almost forced between his lips and liquid flowing into his mouth.

The concoction, whatever it was, tasted foul and he choked, trying to turn his head and spit it out, but strong hands held him still, gently massaging his throat until he swallowed it. Coughing, he glared up at the lupine faces above him, resenting the treatment, but whatever he had just drunk made the world seem to spin. His chest was on fire, but his arms and legs were already starting to tingle oddly, becoming still despite his body’s desire to move, to make the wolves stop hurting him. The burning was fading too, becoming icy cold instead. The faces above him were getting blurry, the world spinning and dancing crazily to his sight. Feeling suddenly sick, Toran squeezed his eyes shut hard, swallowing against the rising gorge in this throat. Oddly, when his eyes opened again, all he could focus on, the only thing that seemed substantial and still to his vision, was Senyr’s face, the wolf saying something again. But, try as he might, Toran couldn’t seem to hear the words, everything coming out garbled instead and he let his eyes close again, plunging into blessed darkness...

***

In the inky dark, Toran heard it, the distant rumble of thunder. Far away, almost on the horizon of his sight, he saw the flash of thunder, lighting the sky. Another flash, then a second and a third, illuminating red mountain peaks, the rumbling getting louder. The storm was getting closer, the flashes more numerous, until it seemed as if an entire year’s worth of storms were breaking over the mountains, all at the same time. And suddenly, the human was standing on the rolling plain, the leading edge of the lightning striking all around, the thunder shaking the earth with its fury. Every instinct in his head told Toran to run from the storm, to find shelter somewhere deep down low, where he would be safe, but… Something else was rising in his heart, something exhilarating and powerful, something that wasn’t afraid. Far from being afraid, it called out to the storm, urging him to run, not away, but further in, embracing its fury. Frozen with the indecision, Toran could only stand and stare.

And then, suddenly, as if a dome had been erected around him, the sound of the storm was cut off, the lightning flashing and snapping outside. But Toran didn’t notice, because he wasn’t alone. Standing within the space cleared of the weather, no more than a few paces away, was a hybrid. Its back was to him, but he could tell from the shape of its ears, and the tail that curled out from its lower back that it was a wolf. But he had never seen one like this. Its fur was a rich red like clay, with patches of dusty yellow peaking out along his sides from his belly fur, its ears jet black. The figure was looking up at the storm, its hands raised as if he would take hold of the clouds, calm and steady. Just as he felt about the storm, Toran felt drawn to the figure, and also repulsed, as if he knew exactly who it was, and did not like him. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t dislike that he felt, not quite.

The figure lowered his hands, one ear twitching back towards Toran, and the human took a step back, nearly giving in to the instinct to run for it. Not yet. He heard himself say, though his voice didn’t break the silence of that small space free from the storm. Not yet. The figure seemed to pause in thought, then started to turn towards him and he cried out again. NOT YET!!!

Toran’s eyes snapped open, staring up into the clear, pale blue of a winter’s sky. Trying to breathe in deeply made him wince, groaning as pain lanced through him, nearly putting him back unconscious it was so sharp. Moaning, he clung to wakefulness, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, swallowing against the pain. Refusing to go back into the darkness, he forced his eyes back open. Pine branches were passing by in his vision, and for the first time, he realized he was moving. Perplexed, he tried to understand where he was.

“He is awake.” He heard a voice say, and it actually took him a moment to realize that it was a voice speaking the language of the hybrid wolves, though it should have taken him a little while to match the words to English.

“Set him down.” Another voice ordered, one much more familiar to his ears and he felt the movement stop. Then, finally, a face came into view, and in spite of his hurt, he smiled.

“Toran, don’t try to move.” Senyr said in English, gently laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his touch sending a shiver down Toran’s spine. The human blinked in surprise, struggling for a moment to understand his own language, then closed his eyes, shaking his head. Opening his eyes once more, he mustered the will to speak.

“What…” He started to say, his voice soft and quiet, cracking like ice. Swallowing, he tried again. “What happened?” And, it was only when the wolf above him looked surprised that he realized he had spoken in the hybrid tongue.

“Don’t you remember?” Senyr asked, switching to his own language out of instinct. “You brought down the buck.”

“And it brought me down in return.” Toran joked lamely and Senyr looked taken aback.

“I guess if you can joke about it, you aren’t too badly hurt.” The young wolf stated, then looked down, a strange expression crossing his lupine features. From how downcast and troubled he looked, one might have thought that Senyr had been the one to be antlered, not his friend. The look cleared in a moment or two, though Senyr still looked almost haunted. “A few of us are taking you back to camp while the rest of the hunting party goes on.”

“What is it, Senyr?” He asked, a cold feeling going down his spine. When the wolf shook his head, he continued, knowing the answer. “I’m hurt bad, aren’t I?”

“You were stabbed in a dozen places.” The wolf replied, his hand adjusting the pelt that covered him, keeping away the cold of the mountain winter. “But the real damage is inside. You broke some ribs, and we are afraid of what else is injured.”

“Why can’t…” Toran began, almost not wanting to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Why don’t I hurt, except when I take a deep breath?” At his worried expression, the young wolf seemed confused, then he smiled reassuringly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He said, his hand giving Toran’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We have a salve that takes away pain. But if you move around, you are going to make the injuries worse.”

“Ok.” He said, marveling suddenly at the warm feeling that seemed to radiate from where his friend touched. It was almost like the young wolf had kindled a fire in his chest. “I won’t go anywhere.”

“Here, drink this.” Senyr said, removing the stopper from a flask that Toran recognized and he shook his head slightly. “I know it tastes awful. But you need to rest so you can heal, and this will make you do that.”

“How far away are we from camp?” Toran asked and the wolf gave another half-smile, raising the flask to his friend’s lips.

“Don’t worry. You are going to be fine.” He replied, not answering the question as Toran allowed him to tip a mouthful of the foul liquid into his mouth. Even as the human’s eyes got suddenly heavy again, he wondered if he really wanted to know...

***

Toran woke up twice more during the journey, though he didn’t have any idea how long he had been out between them, the darkness thankfully empty of dreams. The first time was just for a minute, while the group rested in a clearing at the base of a valley, and that time, he had gone back to sleep by himself, not needing whatever the medicine flask contained to knock him out. The second time, he had woken up beside a sheltered campfire, the night sky bright with stars above him. When he had opened his eyes, he had found the other hunters asleep around the fire, all except for Senyr. The young wolf was sitting near to where Toran’s litter had been laid down, looking into the fire with an expression on his face that surprised him. To say he looked sad was an understatement. He looked more like someone had ripped his heart right of his chest, and as he watched, the wolf brushed a tear away from his eyes with one thumb, swallowing against some deep emotion.

Toran had felt torn. He felt almost like he was intruding on something private, and he wanted to close his eyes, rather than violate the privacy of his friend. But, at the same moment, he felt the urge to force himself up, injuries or no, and go to his friend, wrap him in a hug until he stopped crying. But, before he could make up his mind, the young wolf had shaken his head, laying another log on the fire, then laid down, wrapping himself in his bedroll’s blanket. Toran had gone back to sleep soon after, feeling confused and troubled.

But now, at last, he had woken up to the scent of camp fires on the wind, and he knew they were nearing camp. The sky above the litter was white with the particularly colored clouds that presaged the fall of snow, and behind the scent of the campfires, the wind held the cold aroma of the coming blizzard. He was glad they were so close, since he didn’t relish the idea of being carried through heavy snow to the camp. Arching his back slightly, he looked up to find Senyr carrying the end of the poles up by his head, and the young wolf noticed his glance, smiling down at him.

“I’m glad you are awake.” Senyr said, his voice carrying the strain of the weight in his arms, but the fact that he managed the smile anyway cheered Toran up immensely. “We are almost there.” Toran started to reply, but he heard the shout of alarm from down towards his feet and he knew they had been spotted. About a minute later, and he heard the crunching of many feet from that direction, and soon, more wolves surrounded the litter. After a confusion of voices, the litter was taken up by a pair of the hulking Oro’Shan, the two hunters hurrying alongside while the two powerful wolves carried the litter along faster than it had moved before. It wasn’t long before Toran found himself laid inside a smaller lodge than the one Senyr’s family lived in, left alone with Foryn and Senyr. He was suddenly very aware of the mingling smell of hundreds of herbs and plants, not all of them pleasant and he coughed. Immediately, he regretted it, pain lancing through his upper chest and he groaned. A moment later, another familiar face, colored white and black, entered his vision.

“How long since he was hurt?” The Ter’drin asked, sliding back the coverings of the litter and bringing cooler air into contact with his bare skin, making Toran shiver.

“A couple of days.” Foryn said and the shaman looked concerned, gently pulling back the pads of soft hide that had been stuck on his skin by the salve that the hunters had put on his wounds. Immediately, a sickly sweet stink reached his nostrils and his body convulsed, instinctively recoiling. The white and black furred face looked grave as she expertly explored the injuries and Toran felt suddenly cold, deep down in his heart. He knew what that look had to mean. Suddenly, he was scared, scared as he never had been before without truly knowing why.

“These wounds are too deep for salves and herbs to heal, and they are starting to fester.” The Ter’drin stated and Toran could see the fearful look on his friend’s face. “Only the deep earth and sky will help him now. Foryn, Senyr, please leave us.” Toran saw the reluctance on the face of his friend, but the young wolf started to get up to go. No. Toran said to himself, not wanting to be left alone with the shaman and, despite the pain it cost him to reach out, he grabbed Senyr’s wrist, clutching it hard. Senyr seemed surprised, looking at his friend in shock, and Foryn started to reach out to separate them. But, after only a moment, the Ter’drin held up a hand. “Senyr, you may stay, if you will.” After a second, Senyr nodded, putting his other hand over Toran’s and clasping it gently. “Keep him calm while we prepare.”

Senyr did as he was told, sitting beside his friend and holding his hand. He could hear the sounds of clay vessels clinking together out of his line of sight, and he could dimly see the shapes of three wolves moving about an open space, beneath an opening in the roof. He might have said it was a smoke vent, meant to keep the air inside the lodge sweet when a campfire was burning inside, but that couldn’t be it, because there was another within his view, a fire crackling merrily beneath it. But, though what the shaman were doing was curious, his gaze was drawn to that of Senyr. The young wolf was looking down at him with a strange expression on his face, an expression he couldn’t quite decide what to call. On the one hand, it was reassuring, the wolf trying to show him that he was going to be ok. But it was constantly at war with a look of abject fear. But there, under both dominant emotions was something else, the same thing he had seen before. It was a look that made his heart twist strangely, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Rather, it was thrilling, in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Still trying to work out what it was, he was surprised when the voice of the Ter’drin came back into his ears.

“Help us lift him, carefully.” It said and Senyr nodded, releasing Toran’s hand and instead putting both of his furry hands under his shoulders, lifting him at the same time that another pair lifted his legs. It hurt every time his chest moved even slightly, but the two carrying him did what they could to minimize it. They didn’t need to move him far, and he found himself laid out under the opening in the roof, staring up into the drifting snow of the sky. At first, he thought he was going to be laid out on the bare rocky ground, but as he was settled down, he realized that wasn’t right. The surface was hard, but it was also covered in a thick layer of something soft, grainy and faintly fragrant. Sand? Dust? “Toran, listen carefully. We are going to heal you, but to do it, you are going to have to drink this tincture. It will not be easy, but you must drink it all. Do you understand?” Toran nodded as best he could, bracing for whatever it was. Senyr helped him to lift his head, the Ter’drin putting a ceramic bowl to his lips and tipping something into his mouth.

The liquid wasn’t as foul as the stuff he had been given out in the wild, but it wasn’t what he would call tasty either. Bitter and a little sour, it was a physical effort to swallow it. It was also thicker than water, almost like a syrup and the sensation made him shudder as he drank. Finally, after a dozen swallows or so, the bowl was empty, and the Shaman laid it aside. The tincture, whatever it was, was already having an effect, his head suddenly feeling light, almost dizzy. Then he heard the Ter’drin begin to chant, softly at first, three voices rising and falling as the song grew. The song was pleasant enough at first, quite like the song he had heard at the celebration of the blue moon last year. But then, something changed. There were echoes in the song now, almost like more voices had joined in. Then, he felt it, an odd tingling like the first sparks of static on a dry day. The tingling started at his toes and fingertips, spreading rapidly up his arms and legs, making his skin pucker as if with cold, though the lodge was warm. When the tingling reached his neck, he shuddered again, a chill making him shake. And then, the sensation reached his head and his eyes opened wide, because the swirling snow he had seen up there a moment before was gone.

In its place, was pale blue sky, the same sky that had graced his view on summer mornings when he and Senyr had been running on the plain together. But the sky was darkening, becoming deeper and deeper blue, and at first, Toran was afraid, afraid that the storm was coming for him again. But no, it was not the storm, it was something else, something far different, far deeper. Suddenly, it was night above him, the endless stars taking the place of the sky. And then, as the chant grew until it encompassed the whole of his being, he was no longer on the ground in the lodge. The lodge was gone. The winter mountains were gone, with all their snow and frigid cold. He was lying on a smooth surface of stone, but not the dry, dead earth he had known all his life. Instead, the rocks beneath his skin felt warm, seeming to throb with living energy. The stars were no longer merely above him, but were all around him, as if the ground reached into the heavens with nothing between them. He no longer felt the numb weakness of the salve, nor did he feel the twinges of pain in his wounds. He didn’t seem to feel at all.

Sitting up slowly, he found that he was lying in the middle of a design, glowing softly in muted earth colors. He felt like he halfway recognized the symbols marked around the circular edge of the design, the pictures dancing just out of reach in his mind. Looking down at himself, he jumped, trying to call out in surprise, but nothing came out of his mouth. His body, if that is what it was, seemed to be made out of shimmering silver, solid, but insubstantial, as if he wasn’t quite there. But what startled him and made him want to cry out, was that his body wasn’t human.

He was a wolf, fur covering him from head to foot. Reaching up, he felt the outline of his muzzle with one furry hand, the other touching his ears, tracing the not quite alien shapes. Reaching back, he felt his tail twitch with the touch, the unfamiliar appendage sweeping the living earth. And then, he nearly jumped out of his silvery pelt, because he realized he wasn’t alone. Arranged around him in a triangle were three other wolves, their silvery forms seeming to pulse and dance with light, almost becoming white, their mouths moving in the words of a chant he no longer heard. And it was only then, as he looked around, that he became aware he was utterly, completely naked. Strangely, that thought didn’t really bother him.

And then, looking around, he saw something else, a fourth silvery wolf outside the triangle where he sat. This one was extremely familiar in shape, so familiar that he knew without the slightest hesitation that it was Senyr, though his outline was dim, as if he was only partly formed. But then, suddenly, he noticed a line of silver-white light, so dim it was almost invisible, stretching between the two of them, linking their chests with an unerring path. For a moment, he wondered what that meant, then, the glowing design on the ground around him suddenly got brighter, pulsing and dancing with light.

The three shapes that surrounded him were glowing brighter too, their heads rising towards the sky in ecstasy, and all at once, the chanting voices returned, echoing in his ears. Suddenly, his silvery form was getting brighter, glowing white, every hair of his form shining like polished mirrors. And then, for an instant, just an instant, the line that connected him and Senyr suddenly burned brilliant white like a lightning bolt. In that single moment, the dim silvery form of Senyr grew as bright and distinct as his own, and their eyes met, the other wolf’s expression becoming one of surprise and recognition. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Toran’s sight was eclipsed by blinding white and he knew nothing more...