A Wooden Heart

by Trials

Rating: everyone
Tags: Applejack, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Original Character, Apple Bloom, Tragedy
Length: 8275

Alone, a young timberwolf must try to survive in the wilderness. Survival above all else.

Alone, a young timberwolf must try to survive in the wilderness. Survival above all else. That was what his mother taught him. But when he encounters 'monsters' that could apparently 'gobble him up in mere seconds', he begins to doubt everything he knows about the world.

Published 2014-07-26 03:00:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-26 03:00:04 UTC

Survival

The branches and twigs rustled in the gentle breeze of the night. A number of leaves detached with the gentlest of snaps before falling to join the dozens that blanketed the ground in auburn. As the wind passed through them once more, the leaves crackled to life for a moment before finally settling without another sound. An eerie cry echoed across the landscape, but the foliage still did not stir. Rays of moonlight shone through the cracks in the treeline, illuminating the the foot of a nearby oak tree.

Owls hooted and cried into the darkness of the night. Perched on the tops of the trees above the clearing, their narrow eyes scanned the surrounding fields, searching for prey. Below, rodents and insects scurried in the shadows of the undergrowth. Two orbs of emerald light pierced the blackness below. Shifting right and left, they surveyed the area before slowly continuing forward. The sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching sent the rodents running for their lives. A tiny paw of wood stepped into the light. The pup sniffed at the old oak in the direct shine of the moon. He began scratching away at the bark before taking another quick sniff and returning his attention to the light of the clearing.

Moving forward, the timberwolf trudged through the piles of leaves and revelled in the satisfying crunching sounds that followed. He cocked his head, lowering his ears slightly. Jumping up high, the timberwolf flattened the leaves beneath his weight. Then again. Both times made the foliage crackle and rustle, bringing a gleeful smile to his face. He leapt and galloped about the clearing, jumping on as many leaves as possible. Unbeknownst to him, his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth. As entertainment went in a forest, crushing fallen leaves was a godsend and easily one of his favourite pastimes.

Something began shifting left and right uncontrollably directly behind the timberwolf. Smiling, he turned around, looking at the thing. As his mother had reminded him… polite, but firm. The pup asked it to stop moving. It didn’t. His smile rapidly turned to a frown as a growl escaped his lips. It still didn’t stop. He tried sitting on it, but the cursed thing kept wagging beneath his weight. Snarling, he finally gave in to violence. Baring his teeth, he set upon the perpetrator, but his cowardly foe would escape out of reach just in time after each pounce.

It took him far too long to realise he had been chasing his tail for the last few minutes. Truthfully, the timberwolf thought he had grown out of the immature habit. He was an older wolf now—not some pathetic newborn that trembled and fell about the place. If his mother had been there at that precise moment, she would’ve said the exact same thing.

The thought made him wonder where his mother was. Did she even notice he was gone? Was she trying to find him? Possibly. He hoped so, at least. He felt completely vulnerable and helpless without her around to guide him and teach him how to survive. Of course, he had tried to search for her, but the pup couldn’t even find a scent. Even the trees around him smelt odd and unfamiliar. The timberwolf was undoubtedly scared, and with good reason. His mother had warned countless times of venturing off into faraway forests without her. She told tales of big, bad wolves that could gobble a pup like him up in mere seconds...

He decided that a continued assault on the foliage might alleviate the bleak mood.

Once satisfied with his leaf-stomping quota for the day, the pup scanned the surroundings for anything following him or lurking in the shadows. Aside from the repeated hoots from the owls that slowly chipped away at his confidence, silence surrounded the wolf. The night air that once provided cover and safety instead brought a cold chill, making the pup shiver uncontrollably. As his mother had said, he needed to find a place of warmth. Above, the trees that dwarfed the cowering timberwolf began spinning around and around. The timberwolf began whining as a sense of uneasiness came over him like a disease.

Something loud and large broke through the treeline with a flap of its wings, making the pup's emerald eyes go wide. He turned tail and fled over the blanket of leaves that he had previously frolicked in. Pushing on into the night’s embrace, he passed both standing and fallen trees.

Before long, the timberwolf felt lost. He felt as if he would never find a way out of the labyrinth of trees that closed in on him and blinded him from the outside world. It became hard to breathe under the intoxicating atmosphere. He desperately wanted to leave, but every turn he took looked far worse than the last. Flying predators with talons as sharp as rocks circled overhead. A sound of hissing erupted from a black monster covering his path. Fallen trees came to life with the wriggling white of termite infestations. He couldn’t escape the terrors that surrounded him, but the young timberwolf didn’t stop running.

Every footstep made him wince in pain. Something inside his head told him to slow down, to catch his breath and relax his exhausted limbs, but another thing entirely screamed at him to run for his life. Where was he going? That eluded him. The screaming voice hadn’t been very specific about his destination—as long as he kept moving, it would quieten down. He knew by his faltering legs that he couldn’t keep his pace up forever.

As the pup turned another darkened corner, he tripped on a hidden root. His paws failed to find purchase in the air as he tumbled towards the ground. He landed with a deafening crunch before rolling to a painful stop by a stump. He placed his cracked paws on top of his head as he cried and whimpered. Every harrowing sob increased the intensity of the stream of tears falling down his cheeks. His desperate calls for mother went unanswered. Silence was the only response he would receive that cold, hateful night. Alone and vulnerable, he realised his enemies would only gorge on his sticks and twigs if he continued making a noise. Even then, he could feel them circling ahead, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Perhaps it would be a more merciful death. The timberwolf wasn’t old, but he was certainly old enough to know what death was. Growing up in a timberwolf colony had certainly given him his fair share of death. He knew there were quick deaths and… much slower, agonising deaths. Starvation, as he recalled from a rather disturbing memory, was a particularly slow one. With only tiny bits of rotten bark and the odd insect or two he could actually catch sitting in his stomach, he knew by the rising pain inside him which death he would prefer, given the choice.

His mother had told him that death eventually visits everything, both the old and the young. She said that he shouldn’t be scared once it visited him, because everyone was equal in the eyes of death. If so, then why was he still trembling? Even with the calming words of his mother revolving around his frenzied mind, the timberwolf couldn’t help but fear death. He understood what death was, but his mother had never explained what happened after. In her usual way, she had told him it was a story for another time. Would he still be able to fulfil his leaf-squashing quota? The uncertainty was what made him shiver like a newborn.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a shuddering light through the thick bodies of trees. It wasn’t like any light he had seen before. It was like the sun, but it shone through the night. He felt warm by just watching it pierce some of the darkness that surrounded him. It seemed quite far away, but it was his one chance of escape—a way out of the nightmares. Within a mere second, he was up on his four paws. Though injured, he began hobbling to his salvation at quite a pace. He squinted cautiously at the light, making sure it wasn’t just another trick of the night. Even without confirmation, he continued moving forward—hope for the future was driving him on.

As the pup limped ever closer to the light, he noticed the change in the encompassing trees. Coming to a halt, he took a closer look before cocking his head. These trees weren’t the tall, threatening trees that he had come to fear in the night. These trees bore large, red fruit. He had never seen anything of the like. Rows upon rows of the trees bearing the red fruit covered the rolling hills on every side of him. Shaking his head, he decided that finding shelter was perhaps more important than inspecting the trees. Food was a worry for tomorrow.

The light ahead of him acted as a beacon as he put the last amount of energy into his legs. Gazing up, he noticed a huge box of wood in front of him. It was like a wide tree from the forest, but he noticed it looked hollow inside. It wasn’t quite as tall as the trees from the forest, but the box was still far taller than him. The timberwolf knew it was a strange place, wherever he was, but that didn’t concern him at the time. He realised that the light and shelter could’ve been a trap set by any form of predator, but his fatigue-ridden mind didn’t care. He wanted an end to the obscurity and darkness around him, one way or the other.

He came to a stop where he presumed to be the entrance of the box. Planks of wood that lead upwards stood before him. With a shaking paw, he made the first step. The resulting creaking noise elicited a tiny whimper from within, but he knew he needed the shelter that this odd place provided. Hopping up the planks of wood, the timberwolf ventured forward. His eyes fell upon the light he had seen from so far away. He silently thanked it over and over in his mind as he passed below it. Stacks of hay lay about the wooden structure. Without even checking the rest of the box, the panting timberwolf pup merely fell upon one. He fell into a deep slumber as soon as his head touched the hay.

The timberwolf woke to the noise of creaking planks outside. His eyes were far too groggy to look beyond the haybales, but a large, orange blur came into his vision. Succumbing to his fatigue and lack of reason, he merely closed his eyes again and waited to fall back asleep. The hay was far softer and warmer than he remembered it last night. The sounds of wood being stepped on grew closer and closer, stopping him from returning to his dreams. A happy thought crossed his mind. What if it was mother? What if she had found his scent?

With newfound energy, the pup raised his head to come face to face with a being that wasn’t his mother. As his eyes adjusted to the harsh light that filled the box, he began trembling. Four unnaturally long stalks allowed the orange beast to walk. Thin hairs of golden fell down the rear and head of the thing, and piercing, green eyes glanced around the inside of the box. As its eyes panned around the room with the help of its abnormally large neck, the wolf dropped to the planks. Moving slowly, the wolf shuffled behind the stack of haybales.

The creature walked past and picked up a brown, circular object. It gave the thing a few shakes before placing it on top of its head. The timberwolf gasped. Perhaps the creature was using the strange object to locate him. He needed to escape. The box of wood that had given him shelter was nothing but a trap set for stupid timberwolves, and, just like one of those stupid timberwolves, he had walked straight into it. He was surprised the monster hadn’t gobbled him up already. Maybe it was merely toying with its prey, exactly like how he had stalked and batted at the helpless grasshoppers before eating them.

He looked back at the creature, who was moving a bales from one side of the box to the other. With its long legs, the wolf gambled the thing could catch up to him in no time. Looking at the trees outside, he thought he could most likely make it to cover before it even realised he was there. With each slump toward the exit, however, he realised he was in no state to sprint. The fall he had taken the day before had badly damaged his legs. Perhaps it was only temporary, but it made his bad situation even worse. Each step elicited a hiss of pain from his wooden lips. The wolf decided to make a run for it. He stepped over the bale of hay he was hiding behind, but his paw faltered under the pressure. He lost balance, and fell face-first onto the wooden planks with a slap so loud it shook the planks beneath him.

Clutching at his twigs and branches and crying out in pain, he realised he was being watched. The creature had turned around to all the ruckus, and its petrifying gaze was aimed directly at him. The pair of them just stared back at each other for a moment of silence. From the confused look on the creature’s face, the wolf couldn’t tell who was more afraid. He saw a blur of movement, and then the beast was coming at him with a long stick.

He was up and out of the box before he knew it. His cracked limbs ran independently of his mind, as if they were all trying to save their individual selves. His mind was left to suffer and scream at the pain as his body took over. It was trapped in the cage of his body without control of the situation, and all he could feel was the constant needles and spikes poking at his legs. An unwarranted look back confirmed what he had guessed; the monster was catching up. Swinging its stick and making loud, angry-sounding noises, it never dropped its gaze from him.

Failing to breathe, the wolf was prepared to give up. His mind knew he could never sustain the pace of his assailant. The pain he was suffering couldn’t have been more than the pain he would suffer from the stick. Actually outrunning it was an almost guaranteed impossibility. He had never won any of the races he did with his friends—all of whom considered him to be the runt of the pack. His body was having other ideas, however. As if sensing his lack of inspiration, his legs sped up, kicking even more dirt behind him in their wake. The wolf sprinted past the rows of trees around him, hoping beyond hope that his pursuer would get bored and leave him be.

Once he had cleared another row of trees and was back into the forest he got lost in the day before, he took another glance behind him. To his surprise, the orange monster had given up the chase. It stood still on the edge of the treeline, shaking its stick at him as it stared him down. As he got out of the line of sight, he gave a sigh of relief before collapsing at the foot of elm tree. His body had given dominance back to his mind, which simply couldn’t cope with the pressure.

On the ground, he felt safe. He still didn’t know where he was, but a feeling deep within his core felt at home being with the trees once more. The wolf could see the box of wood in the distance, but felt no need to return. He wouldn’t dare run the risk of meeting that foul beast again. His mother had warned of such creatures. Though never coming face to face with one before, he knew never to come into contact with them unless with the aid of the entire pack. The pup had heard stories of the beasts tearing up and mangling bits of timberwolves to feed their fires.

Gazing down at his broken legs, he realised he felt no pain. He tried to move them, but to no avail. They had gone numb. Which meant only thing. The wolf rolled his eyes as an emerald glow enveloped his limbs. With a tiny snap, they detached from his body of logs and twigs, and flew off into the woods. His eyes scanned the area around him for similar sized sticks. After locating a few, he bunched them together in the same emerald shine and attached the bundle to his body. He let out a pained grunt as the wood merged with his. Looking down at his new paw, he flexed it slowly, seeing the tiny sticks for claws extend and retract. Content with his work, the wolf began looking for more twigs.

It was arduous and painful work, but the wolf knew it had to be done. Once all four legs were attached, he picked himself up from the ground. His mind was still tired and almost traumatised, but his limbs felt as good as new. Literally. Awkward and cautious at first, he hobbled around the old elm tree with what felt like unequal legs. He limped as if he was injured, but it was quite the opposite. Perhaps he needed to wear them down. He stumbled at first, but shifted his legs into a gallop. Once the air was rushing around his face, and trees were blurring as he sprinted fast, he knew his paws were completely refreshed.

Returning to the elm tree, he angled his face towards the box, just in case he forgot where it was. Something told him he may need to return to it later, even though he desperately didn’t want to. He placed his heavy head in his new paws and curled up against the old elm. As he closed his eyes, he finally felt the peace around him. Various birds around sang in their beautiful or harrowing tunes. The wind whistled through his replacement twigs, bringing a grin to his face. For the first time in days, he was content to sit and nap.

It was then, however, that the rain decided to pour.

The timberwolf looked out at the grey skies above with his brow of leaves furrowed. Every twig, leaf, stick and log of his was dripping rain onto the damp ground below. He hated rain. He absolutely, completely hated it. His mother had always said that rain was good for timberwolves, and that he should appreciate even the smallest amount of the stuff. He was built from the same materials as plants, which apparently adored rain. Plants were so desperately in love with rain, that they would actually die without it.. He remembered the sight of his friends sitting on the hills and watching out for any grey clouds that appeared. When one inevitably would, much to his displeasure, they would jump about and praise the skies for the ‘gift’.

Oh, how he hated them. He wasn’t a plant, and he certainly wasn’t a sheep. When the entire pack agreed that rain was a beautiful element of life, he was the one that argued. He was different to the whole lot of them, even his mother. They couldn’t understand why he disliked what they all liked, but if they had seen him in the future, soaked through every cell in his body and a most unhappy frown on his face, the pup would’ve liked to believe they understood. Wet and miserable, the timberwolf still wasn’t cold from the cascading lashes of water in the afternoon warmth, but his icy glance made up for the fact.

Watching the ladybirds and ants crawl desperately for cover under a detached leaf did put a slight dent on his scowl. He moved the leaf out of the way of the rain, and giggled as the poor insects scurried about in a frenzy of movement. Drops of water two times the size of the bugs would paint the ground around them, and the bugs could only hope they didn’t land on them. Not being a cruel timberwolf, however, he moved the leaf back over them once he’d had his fun.

Eventually, the downpour came to an end. The woods were still filled with the sound of dripping water. Nothing was dry by the time silence resided. Just when the timberwolf thought he would get at least ten seconds of peace, a rumbling from deep inside him sounded loudly. He was hungry. Apparently his diet of two bugs and rotten bark hadn’t sufficed. The timberwolf cursed with words his mother normally wouldn’t allow. Then again, she wasn’t there to stop him.

As the pup stood up, he shook his body until the water sprayed out of his damp body. He still felt wet, but it would have to do—he needed food more than anything. No more insects or bark; the timberwolf needed a proper meal. He stood and scratched at his chin until the idea came to him. The day before, he had come across the red fruit up in the trees. It was still in the territory of the beast, but he thought it was worth the risk. It was a better idea than sitting by as he starved to death, at least. He could always run past the treeline once more if he got caught.

With a determined smile, he set forth in the direction of the box. He trotted around the edge of the woods at first, making sure the monster wasn’t there to greet him. Once content, the pup placed a shaking hoof into the thing’s territory. He half expected it to come charging with its stick whirling at him once more. Walking slowly forward, he found the trees he recognised. Droplets of water on the fruit shone in the radiance of the sunlight. On closer inspection, he noticed some were the colour of green. He mentally praised himself for finding the food.

Praise didn’t get him very far when it came to actually acquiring the fruit, however. They stood a good distance above him—much too high for him to reach up and pluck. Licking his lips, the timberwolf moved back a few steps before attempting to run up the tree. He managed to launch himself straight into it, but only clutched at the slick trunk as he slipped down once more. A feeling of panic was rapidly rising in his body. Every few seconds, his eyes would dart to the side of him at the slightest movement. His grumbling stomach didn’t help much as tension rose. He began desperately scratching at the bark of the tree, hoping beyond hope that a fruit would just fall down. Instead, all he received was a couple of leaves and blunt claws.

The wolf looked around the place for something to lean on, but his eyes focused on something else entirely. The monster. It stood a small distance away, merely observing him. He realised it wasn’t quite the same monster. It was far smaller than the other one, and its body was the colour of a pale olive with reddish hair sprouting from its head and rear. Its golden eyes watched him as intensely as he watched it. His eyes quickly scanned for a stick lying about, but none were found. As the moments passed by, his tense body relaxed slightly. He began breathing normally once more.

Suddenly, the thing moved towards one of the trees. The wolf’s claws extended immediately as a small growl escaped his lips. He didn’t want to fight, but he couldn’t exactly run—the pup needed food. If it came down to it, he reckoned he could win. It was just about his size, give or take a few inches. The creature stopped momentarily at this before shaking its head. Gazing up at the fruit, it kicked its legs backwards. The tree shook at the force, and, after a few seconds, several red fruit fell to the ground. He cocked its head. Was it taunting him? Perhaps its was only delaying time for its friend to appear and—

His thoughts were interrupted by a fruit landing on his head. The thing threw back its head, and projected a strange, repetitive sound. He snarled and clawed at the dirt. That made it stop. Turning its attention to the fruit, but keeping an eye on the creature at the same time, he sniffed at the red thing. It didn’t smell like much. Perhaps his sense of smell was dulled by the drops of rain. He was about to take a bite, but dropped it instinctively. His mother had always warned of eating the wrong type of food. It was dangerous. The being watching him could’ve poisoned it somehow, or it could’ve just been a poisonous fruit.

He glanced at the monster. It nodded its head before pointing at the fruit. He didn’t budge. The thing rolled it eyes before picking up a fruit of its own and taking a bite, giving the sound of crunching and chewing. After it swallowed, the being smiled and pointed at the fruit beside him. Begrudgingly, he picked it up and looked at it in his paws. If the creature had eaten it, it couldn’t have been poisonous. He closed his eyes and hoped for the best before opening his mouth.

The first bite sent a fruity flavour bursting through his mouth that tantalised his senses. He groaned at the taste as he munched away. Not only was it delicious, but the fruit filled a hole in his belly that had been open for some time. Across from him, the monster was doing the same thing. It began making a fuss once the wolf ate the entire fruit, stalk and core together, but quickly went silent. They simply revelled in the sunlight together without a word, eating fruit after fruit until both were satisfied. The pup gave a contented sigh as he lay back on the dewy grass. He noticed a slight movement in his peripheral vision, and saw the thing moving towards him very slowly. He hadn’t realised it at first, but it had gradually been getting closer.

Immediately standing his four paws, the wolf let out a low, guttural noise from deep within his throat. The creature stopped in its tracks—for good, this time. It raised its limbs into the air, and motioned them downwards. He didn’t know what it was doing, but he didn’t want to hang around. The wolf had forgotten where he was and what it was. He was trespassing on the territory of a creature who could’ve appeared at any second and gobbled him up faster than he had eaten the fruit. Even though the frowning monster was apparently not as much as a threat, it was still a monster. Perhaps it had been fattening him up with fruit before coming in for the final blow.

He had let his guard down, he realised as he slowly backed away. His mother would’ve been ashamed. The thing opposite him was now trembling as it shook its head, but he took no notice. Glancing downwards, he picked up as many fruit he could carry before lolloping back to the woods. He glanced back, making sure he wasn’t being followed. The creature that gave him the fruit walked in the opposite direction, its head bent downwards and eyes closed. He felt a pang of sadness at the sight of it, but quickly remembered what the enemy was. The wolf needed to live at all costs. That was what his mother had always said: survival over everything else.

It wasn’t long before the sun began descending. The grey skies started shining bright yellow. An orange aura of light travelled through the holes and gaps in the treeline. The waterdrops still left behind in the wake of the terrible weather eventually dried up. Sitting in the cascading beams of light while eating another luscious fruit, the pup watched the sky as it turned dark. The birds that flew from one corner of sky to the other eventually disappeared to their nests, taking with them the songs that brightened the day.

That was when he heard a sinister howl deep within the woods. His head turned in the direction of the noise that sent a chill down his spine. It couldn’t have been very far away. The sound didn’t echo into the valley; it projected from somewhere within it. Another roar. He began trembling. It didn’t sound like a wolf of his kind—there was a lower pitch in the howl of timberwolves. Perhaps a wolf made of flesh. His mother had said that those types of wolves could smell fear and stalk its prey with the scent for days. His eyes darted nervously around the forest, looking for a pair of eyes watching him. After he heard a third howl, took a bite from the last remaining apple and threw the leftovers into the dark trees.

The pup wanted to put as much distance between from him and the forest as possible, and the only way forward was through the land of the monsters. He didn’t want a direct confrontation with the big creature or the small creature—what he didn’t know about the little one scared him more than what he did know. Deciding not to sleep in the box again, he skirted around the edge of the land, looking for shelters. He saw a massive circle of wooden boxes that shone in the light on the horizon, but his gut told him to steer clear. It still intrigued him how the beasts could create such large settlements.

Just when he thought he’d run out of luck, he saw a small box that seemed to have merged with a tree. With a gulp, he set forth into the territory once more. Keeping an eye out for wolves and monsters alive, he crossed silently over to it. Panting slightly, the wolf looked up at the box to feel his jaw hit the floor. The boxes weren’t built—they were grown. It must’ve been a sapling, as it still had its tree counterpart. It was a beautiful thing, with two crimson slabs of wood sloping downwards at the top, and a tiny fence of thin wood bordering the box itself. Perhaps he could ask the smaller one how to grow such a tree…

He spat at the thought. It was a monster, and he wasn’t.

Putting his thoughts aside, he stepped up the planks of wood that led to the box. He pushed the slab of wood in front of him aside, but something caught his attention as he walked in. There was a shape cut out in the wood. He cocked his head. It looked just like one of the pictures he had etched in the dust as a sapling. His mother had called it a… heart. Yes, a heart. Something, she had said, that every timberwolf had within them. No other creature had such a thing, she had said. If that was so, why did the monsters have a picture that resembled a wooden heart? Putting a paw to his chest, the wolf felt the steady beat of his own heart. The comforting, constant rhythm told him he was still alive.

He shook his head as a growl erupted from within. What if his mother had been lying all this time? It wasn’t the first thing she’d gotten wrong. He kicked his legs backwards, slamming the wooden slab closed so hard that the resulting crack sent several birds flying from their nests above. He gazed around the box of wood, finding only empty space. The feeling of uneasiness coming over him told him not to settle, but he knew he’d find no other shelter that night. Even if the monster came at him with a stick, the woods weren’t far away.

As he lay his head down on the hard planks, he felt anger rise inside of him. Earlier today, the smaller ‘monster’ had given him fruit. It allowed him to stay in its territory. The other one didn’t, admittedly, but it could’ve just been surprised and overreacted. Countless reasons flooded the timberwolf’s head. Perhaps the box he stayed in was precious, and he had damaged it. His mind tried to justify the creature’s actions thousands of times over. If his mother had been wrong about timberwolves being the only beings to have hearts, perhaps she had been wrong about the ‘monsters’. The picture was evidence of that. She’d been wrong about death, too; when it came to him that night, he didn’t welcome or celebrate it—he feared it.

He tossed and turned into the night, his conflicting thoughts plaguing his exhausted mind.

When the pup woke in the morning, he didn’t came face to face with a stick-wielding monster. The early morning sunlight shone straight into his eyes, making him shield his face with a claw. With a groan, he stood up and stretched his body. He could feel his joints snap into place as he yawned. He walked over to the hole in the wood and raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the tree hadn’t finished growing yet? The perfect square was far too neat and intricate to be natural. He tried to poke his paw through it, but yelped when it came into contact with something invisible. It was like water; he could see through whatever it was, but felt something when he touched it.

The sound of barking erupted outside. A sound he knew far too well. He greeted the noise, feeling relief wash over him as it continued. His pack had finally found him. Strolling over to the slab of wood with the heart, he pulled it open.

What stood before him wasn’t exactly a timberwolf. It was a little smaller than him, but made of brown and white fur, not wood. With eyes of pure, black hatred, it bared its sharp teeth as it pounced at him. He retreated deeper into the box. His back touching the wooden wall, he realised he couldn’t run any further, and extended his claws. With his heart pounding away, he watched the beast advance on him, growling and barking the entire time. The timberwolf knew he was bigger. He had sharper claws and teeth. As he readied himself for a pounce of his own, a familiar voice shouted outside. Immediately, the thing relaxed its body. It gave him a look of disgust before marching out the box, its tail wagging from side to side.

His back still trapped against the wall, he waited for the inevitable footsteps to come closer. The timberwolf could see the yellow being through the holes in the box. His mind was desperately racing at it approached The holes in the walls were far too small for him to jump through, so the only exit was through the monster and its… thing. Perhaps he could communicate with them. The angry thing had definitely responded to the being’s cries. The possibilities of escape revolved around his mind, but when the yellow one stood in the gap, he knew it was the end. No way out. He scratched at the wooden wall behind him, but no hole appeared. As much as he cried and bellowed, his pack didn’t respond. Instead, he feebly placed his paws over his eyes and whimpered as he waited for the end.

He heard something sliding across the planks toward him. He gazed up from his paws, and was almost blinded by the reflection. He recoiled and grunted before looking closer. It was like a metallic container that had clear water sloshing off the sides and into the wood below. Gazing upwards, the timberwolf noticed he was all alone in the box. He ran over to the gap, but the being was already walking away in the opposite direction with its friend. The pup called out to it, like he would with one of the pack, but it didn’t even turn around. He simply sat and watched it until he could no longer see it.

Turning his attention back to the metallic disc thing, he began lapping at the icy water. With all the excitement over the last couple of days, he had completely forgot about drinking. His mother would always have to remind him, but she wasn’t there to do so. She wasn’t there to do a lot of things or explain anything. Still breathless, his distracted thoughts wandered around his clueless mind as he tried to think of reasons why the being would be so kind. It definitely wasn’t a monster, as far as he was concerned. The larger one, perhaps, but not every timberwolf he knew was good. Just like not every monster was bad. It had almost sensed he was panicking as he was trapped, and, instead of taking advantage of the pup, the being allowed it to run free.

It had also stopped the beast attacking him, and given him food when he desperately needed it, but all he could think of was the sight of it walking away with its head hung low after he had get spooked and abandoned it. He wanted to know why it was being so kind, more than anything. He wanted to know why it deserved the title of ‘monster’ after all the good deeds it had done for him. His mother’s warning words repeated in his head once more, but he didn’t care. For all he knew, everything she said could’ve been a lie, and he was certainly going to confront her if they met again. When they met again. Once the water had all been downed, he licked his lips and ran in the direction the yellow being was going in.

It didn’t take long for him to find it in the maze of trees around him. The being carried a wooden basket, which it placed beside one of the fruit trees. As the same as before, it held its weight with its front legs and kicked out with its back legs. The fruit dropped to the ground with multiple thuds. With a gentle hoof, the thing brushed over each fruit before placing them in the basket. The timberwolf watched it repeat the same process over and over again from over the ridge of the hill, hidden from sight. He wanted to approach it, but was still wary of the bigger one. Deciding to keep his distance, the wolf watched the day go by, waiting for answers that would seemingly never come.

Hours went by, but the yellow one was still collecting the fallen fruit. The timberwolf felt himself falling asleep at the lack of action. His eyes kept closing of their own accord, and, eventually, they stayed shut. A high-pitched scream roused him from his slumber. His legs were numb from sitting on them for too long, but he quickly got to his feet. The being had disappeared from view. Another scream allowed him to pinpoint the location. He began sprinting in the direction of the noise. The being had assisted him when he most needed it, and it sounded like it needed help. Perhaps then he could find the answers he desired.

He found the petrified creature backed up against a tree, trembling in the gentle breeze as its eyes focused on something out of sight. As he skirted around the area, he saw what was frightening it. A small pack of four grown timberwolves were prowling about the being, their claws as sharp as daggers. He sniffed at the air. They didn’t have the same scent as his own pack. They looked like one of the many rival packs his pack had gone to war with over territory. On closer inspection, he noticed the bone necklaces around their tough necks. He gasped. They were the feared hunters of the Willow Warrior clan. He saw the various scars and scratches etched on their bodies as they glimmered in the sunlight.

The timberwolf took one last glance at the shaking being before turning tail and fleeing in the opposite direction. There was nothing he could do against fully-grown warriors. Tears welled in his eyes as he ran. He was helpless. Either way, whatever he did, he was helpless. Instinct told him to run as far away as possible, before the timberwolves could pick up on his scent, but he mentally berated himself for abandoning the yellow one for a second time. He stopped on the edge of the territory, panting as he tried to catch his breath. The woods ahead opened its extended arms towards him, offering to take away his burdens and muddled thoughts. Mother had always said: survival above all else.

His mother had been wrong before, however.

For some reason, his conscience screamed at him to turn back that very second. The timberwolf doubted he could live with himself if he left the little one to die, after everything it had done for him. He would never get closure on the ‘monsters’—something which the curious wolf thought was worse than anything. It was impossible to help. He gazed back over the trees of fruit and heard the cries penetrate his eardrums and find their way into his core. He heard the complete fear and torment in them, just like his cries in the night. Sighing, the timberwolf turned on his heels and sprinted towards the source of the panic.

Once the four timberwolves came into sight, he began trembling. Instantly, he regretted coming back. It gave them the opportunity to hunt him down, too. Trying to swallow the lump forcing its way up his throat, he began marching forward. As he grew closer, one of the wolves in the back sniffed at the air. Picking up his scent, it pointed him out to the others, and they all began glaring at him. The pup gulped. It was too late, anyway. When he came to the bottom of the slope, he made sure to keep his head level, and stared right back at the grown timberwolves. He briefly looked in the little, yellow one’s direction, noticing the terror present on its face. It gave him a blank stare in return, but never stopped trembling.

Putting himself between it and the pack of warriors, he stood his ground.

All four of the timberwolves cocked their heads to the right. They looked at themselves with confused expressions. The largest of the four moved to the front of the group. With eyes that had seen far too battle, it stared into the pup’s young, unscarred face, as if looking into his very core. Seconds of silence passed. Abruptly, the wolf jerked his claw to the side, sending the pup flying to the ground on his knees. After groaning, the pup picked himself up and returned to the spot in seconds. He tried to stop him body shaking. The pack leader exchanged a glance with the rest of the group before growling at the timberwolf.

“Out of our way, sapling,” it said in a husky voice.

The small timberwolf shook his head.

“I will give you one more warning: get out of our way,”it hissed.

“No,” he replied, “I won’t.” He gritted his teeth and made a snarl of his own.

“Very well.”

He was on the ground before he knew it. The pup looked down in time to see the wolf give a final growl before it started slashing away with claws and teeth sharper than anything he’d seen before. He felt his body being raked and scratched and mangled and scraped over and over again. He could only scream until his throat went raw as a poor attempt to bear the constant agony on his body. It began feeling hard to breathe, and he started making a horrible, wheezing noise from somewhere in his neck. Silently, he begged for it to stop, but every thought in his panicked mind was blocked out by a new wave of pain overcoming his body. A different scream joined his own in a bloodcurdling harmony, which he assumed came from the being behind him.

His eyelids felt heavy, and his body eventually went numb. He could still feel the impact of the timberwolf, but he no longer felt any pain. His mind had taken enough of a beating, and it had simply given up transmitting the signal of pain. The pup wanted to close his eyes, but something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Gingerly, he tilted his neck to see tears rolling down the cheeks of the little one’s face. It looked deep into his tired eyes. The pup could see its mouth moving, but he simply couldn’t understand it. He wished he could. He wished things had turned out differently—he could’ve walked up to it earlier and tried to communicate.

Then he realised, in his weary head, that some things happened for a reason. He had ended up in the strange place of monsters to discover it simply wasn’t a place of monsters. What monsters had tears well up in their eyes over dying timberwolves? What monsters gave food, drink and protection? None that the young timberwolf knew.

Eventually, he stopped feeling pressure on his body. The old timberwolf had given up, and walked past his crippled body. Putting all his energy into his claw, he batted feebly at his assailant’s leg, but it kicked him away. He stared up at the burning sun and waited.

He heard another voice yell from behind him, but his neck was too weak to move again. The sound of wood hitting wood reached his ears. It sounded far away, as if it were on the opposite side of the valley. The ground beneath him seemed to melt away under his weight. The old timberwolf appeared over him for a split-second, clutching at its head. He saw a familiar sight. A whirling stick. The other timberwolves fled with their leader into the trees beyond his line of sight.

Before long, the stick-wielding figure came into view. It cradled the smaller one in its legs, bringing a tiny smile to the pup’s face. A sudden cough came over him that spurted golden sap from his mouth. It clung to the ridge of his chin, making him look like a dribbling newborn. He would’ve wiped it away, but his legs were too weak to even move. What a fool he must’ve looked like. A broken shadow of his former self unable to even clean himself up. He would’ve laughed at the image, but his chest hurt whenever he shifted it.

The bigger one turned its attention to him. With the stick leaning on its shoulder, he knew his end was near. It lifted it high into the air before bringing it down on him.

Just as it was mere inches away from his head, the younger one made a noise. It exchanged a glance with the other before speaking in a language he didn’t recognise or care to understand. The air was becoming thinner, and his cough was getting more powerful by the second. He knew his body could take a few hits, but this damage was beyond repair.

His mind faded to nothingness.

The next thing he knew, he was being carried uphill on the back of the large being. Every step felt like needles piercing his body, but he felt glad. The orange one was helping him. It wasn’t a monster at all. He glanced downwards and saw the yellow being following him with a worried smile. The tears had already dampened its cheeks. It delicately rested a hoof on his shattered paw. He tried saying something—anything—but his words came in the form of sap spraying from his mouth. The thing didn’t laugh at his pathetic form, and cleaned his chin up without a word. He felt the world crumble away for a second time.

When he awoke, he noticed he was in the same box as the first night. His numb back could still feel the soft hay that he lay on. Familiar and unfamiliar faces surrounded him. One red, one green, one orange and a final yellow. Each one wore a different emotion ranging from impassive to mournful, but each one watched him with the same intensity.

One of his legs fell limply to the planks. Scratching at the wood, his claws brushed against something that crackled. He noticed a small heap of brown leaves. Perfect for crunching, but perhaps for another time. A small smile found its way onto his face.

The yellow one came forward with fresh tears rolling down its cheeks. It nuzzled him gently below his neck, in the spot his mother used to tickle. He missed her more than anything. He wished she could’ve been there with him, but some things were meant to happen, and others were not. The pup was glad for what he had: a sea of friendly faces with him in the end.

He reached out and placed a frail paw on the little one’s chest.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

The familiar noise. A heartbeat. He smiled once more before his body went limp.