Lament of a lone wolf - Chapter 1

1. Severing ties

The sun's unforgiving glare remained upon the dry heaps of sands, folded into a landscape that made an arena for bitter survival. The winds were absent now, but when they came, they did so in force. Then the sand would become like daggers; enough to flay soft flesh from bone. This desert made for a cruel birthmother, and an even worse caretaker, as had the creatures of its realm had to experience for decades. One of these creatures, a youngling in their midst, crawled out of her place of hiding. Its own palace of rock; a cave. In there, it had slept, but now - as always - hunger and thirst called upon its attention. The creature was dying, but this had been its way of living for years now. Stumbling from one day to another, living not for love or family, but an opportunity to feed or drink. Its mind constantly revolved around these things, making little room for anything else. Regardless of this, however, the creature did not belong. Its skin was not coated in armour, like the scorpid, but soft and inviting. Its eyelids would not fully close, nor would its nostrils, to protect from the dust and sand. It was incomplete, imperfect, and it was only a matter of time before this environment would claim its life.

About this, the creature did not care. It did not waste time on thinking about such things as failure. There was only eating and drinking, or not eating and drinking. The latter was spent in hiding or in vain attempts at rest. Now it is easy to think the creature insane, having spent so many years here, but this was not the case. Those vain attempts at rest brought with them something, and it was this something that would eventually save the creature, not only from the desert, but from herself. Because sometimes, she would dream. It seemed the past would whisper to her in those dreams, reminding the creature of a world beyond this cruel nature, and that the creature had a family, and belonged somewhere. Somewhere creatures like itself lived together, and cared for each other. Needless to say, awakening from such dreams to a scorching nursery did not do well for the creature's spirit. It became stripped of what most would consider common decency. Remorseless, uncaring, selfish, cowardly, paranoid, untrusting; these are not traits you would want to make out the personality of your friends. Thankfully, there are no friends to be had in the desert.

So the creature would stalk the scorching sands, seeking naught but to remain alive. In time, it had almost come to resent its own dreams, and what they dared show. Glimpses of a life it would never have, of unity, family and love. The creature was young in body, but in mind it was something else; simply different. As previously mentioned, however, the fact remained: it did not belong here. So it came to it, that one day, when the sun began its descent beyond the soft mounds of sand and hard rock, that things would change. The creature found itself bested and beaten, it had spent it day running from a particularly vicious scorpid, and even though nightfall had now finally come, the creature did not hesitate to think that the scorpid was still out there. And for once, she did not simply steel herself against the onslaught of reality, but instead.. the creature wept. Her broken body was spent, and despite her youth, she would be hunted down and killed. The desert would consume her flesh, drink her blood, and spit out her bones to serve as a warning for those stupid enough to venture here. In her pitiful state, the creature lowered her head, and as her empty, dark eyes turned to the crushing view of the lifeless lands before her, a feeling washed over her.

Images flickered within the creature's mind; two-legged creatures with brown skin. Proud warriors shoulder to shoulder, promising each other that they would never give up. The dreams started to pour in, as if making a conscious decision to try and push the lost one - this young orc - towards survival. This time, however, they were met with resistance. The creature shook its head, and swayed from side to side, as its own mind continued its meagre attempts at soothing it. Eventually, the creature rose to her feet. Her crooked posture, bearing marks of violence and starvation, made for a pitiful sight against the remorseless facade of her surroundings. Regardless of this, the creature let out a deafening screech of defiance, and lifted her hands in an attempt to carve the images right out of her head. Her nails ripped against the rough, green skin of her face, and soon slid effortlessly over the surface of it, having grown slick with blood. Insanity, it seemed, had reached her at last.

Then and there, the creature refused its dreams, and the voices that came with them. It did no longer wish to be soothed, cradled like a child, when reality itself was something different. The harshness of it, the thought of impending death, was easier to deal with, than the thoughts of how it had used to be, or what it had lost. So it screamed in its own torment, denouncing the orcs it had never gotten to know, and whatever entity that dared lend her hopes beyond survival. From that day on, her dreams would never be the same, and never, ever would she hear those voices again; their ties severed by the fury of an abandoned child.

My goodness! That was by far the finest and most excellently written piece you have ever written, in my opinion. It was perfect in every single way. It allowed me to truly (and easily) empathise with this poor, poor wolf. Uh, I just loved it!

My gosh, where have you been all this time, starving us of such literary fineness! Again, well done, well done, well done!

Ooh, one chapter of hopefully many, I see! I like! Especially the way the poor thing's desperation is described. I always thought you had a way with words, you green wench! Makes me curious for more! More, indeed!

After our conversation yesterday I am very appreciative of reading this. I like it - I like hearing where Morgeth came from and how you crafted her story, explained the things that formed her. And we may both have our share of 'orphans with scars' but that doesn't mean you aren't doing a good job telling a believable story! Personally, I am impressed, and would want to read more.

And in terms of writing style, the first paragraph is especially fine; you introduce and interest the reader in what might be going on, and I love the sentences about the desert ('The desert made for a cruel birthmother...'). Thank you, kindly, for pointing me in the direction of this.