Smothered

Breathless gasps
above raging waves.
Hapless grasps
slipping on the reigns.

A race that I cannot win,
A weight that I cannot lift.
Too little forgiveness of sin,
Too much space in this rift.

Pushed down,

down,

down.

Expected to rise.

I will drown
in the quicksand.
Small grains build muffled screams and burning eyes.

Throw me a rope.
Throw me a hand.

To get here you must have been a dope.
At least pretend like you understand.

Tar on my heels,
tar in my head.

I’m sorry if that’s the way you feel.
Maybe try growing up instead?

Smothered

Like a mother who won’t let go.

Undiscovered

Like under a dusty vinyl cover, the contents hidden and stowed.

The City Man

The morning had become afternoon an hour ago as the sun’s intense rays pierced through the holes in Jacob’s walls and persisted to assault his face and eyes. Despite his best efforts to ignore the day and sleep it off, it had become too much. He pushed his blanket off his beaten body. Those birds weren’t helping with all of their damned yapping, either. Couldn’t they shut up for just another few moments?

Jacob Mann reeked of whiskey and “the odour of hard workin’ man”, as he liked to put it. Other ranchers in the Chela district had lesser words of Jacob’s scent, and of his work ethic. He planted his bare feet on the wooden planks below his bed and stretched his small frame as far as it would go. Whether he liked it or not, today was another day and there was work to be done.

The work would have to wait a few hours before he could get to it. His head was killing him and it was way too hot to be out in the fields this afternoon. Only a fool would be out breaking their backs in this kind of heat. Not him, though. He wasn’t stupid.

First thing was first, he needed a drink of water. He stumbled to the canteen on the table and squeezed every drop out of the small leather sack. Drops of water clung to his beard and he contorted his tongue to find each and every bead. He patted his pockets to ensure that he hadn’t lost anything to the night before. He thought that he should maybe change his clothes but decided that there was no one here to impress. Besides, the pocket in the shirt he had on had exactly what he had been looking for – his pipe. He plopped himself down on a wooden chair and lit the half-burnt tobacco inside. All he had to do now is have a pipe while he waited out this heat, check on his sheep in the evening, and head over to The Pig’s Head after a day of honest work.

The embers of Jacob’s pipe smoldered out as he did on his wooden chair. His buzz-saw snoring droned on for what seemed like hours. The peace of the first break of his workday was suddenly broken by loud thuds on his door. Jacob’s foot nearly met his chin as he flew off the chair and onto his back.

The knocks on the door were relentless as Jacob pulled himself off of the floor. An aggressive voice pierced through Jacob’s walls.

“Jacob Mann, Mr. Jacob Mann! Open the door this instant! In the name of the Chela District Diplomacy, you will answer the calls of the court or face persecution!”

Jacob stumbled to the door and flung his door open to the unforgiving wrath of the sunlight. After rubbing his eyes, Jacob looked upon the man. The man stood tall, his black hair slicked back diligently and his clothes too pristine for the Chela Plains. He even wore a watch on his belt. The gleam of his shoes shone just as brightly as the sun itself. Jacob knew what kind of man he was dealing with – this was a city man.

“What’re you flappin’ your gums about, son?” Jacob asked as his hand slid up the frame of his now open door.

“You know damn well what I’m ‘flapping my gums about’, Mr. Mann. My name is Sam Braser and I represent the Chela District Diplomacy and we have been waiting for far too long for your Grazing and Ranching Taxes.”

“Go on then, Sam,” Jacob replied.

“Do you think that you are above paying taxes as your fellow ranchers do? Do you feel good about yourself for not paying the mandatory fees?”

Jacob did not have his arm pressed against the door just for balance, he was aware of the Chela District’s laws regarding open doors. So long as the doorway was not open for the city man, he could not enter without a warrant. This was not met with a lack of trying. The ornery man attempted to enter the home and Jacob pushed him back with a palm to the chest.

“Let’s just hold on for a second, son. Are you employed with the Chela District Diplomacy or are you a contractor?”

“I represent the Chela District Diplomacy.”

“You didn’t answer the question. Are ya or ain’t ya?”

“I’ve been contracted by the C.D.D. as a private collector on all outstanding taxes and to find evasive debtors, like yourself, Mr. Mann.”

“Evasive? I’m standing right here, ain’t I, Mr. City Man? Y’all know where to find me. As for these alleged taxes, I sent mine in at least two months ago. I suggest that you go back to the government that’s got your manhood and you tell ’em to bugger off.”

Jacob went to close the door, “Besides, you ain’t got any real authority here.”

Sam clasped the door and struggled to keep it from closing, underestimated the frail-looking rancher’s strength.

“Regardless, Mr. Mann, I have been sent here to do a job. I will not be leaving your side until you pay what you owe. My provisions are with me and I have been instructed to gather the funds by any means necessary within the law. I can be here for a long, long time.”

Jacob relented and rubbed his temporal. He was too tired for this nonsense and just wanted to get back to the work that he was doing.

“Fine. What do you need to get out of here and back into whatever hole you crawled out of?”

“Eleven hundred.”

“Eleven hundred? I can barely clear that in a season. Where in Ariel’s name am I supposed to get that kind of scratch together?”

“That sounds like a “you” problem, Mr. Mann. All I know is that I will not be leaving until the debt is paid.”

Jacob Mann had a plan.

“I can see that you traveled a long way to just to harass me, Mr. Braser. You’re also a very persistent fellow, which is a rare virtue to see on the job these days…”

“Just get to the point,” the man seethed.

“How would you like to get all of the money that you’re owed and then some?”

“And how do you propose that?”

“A Raven’s nest. It is not but a few miles East of here. It will have all kinds of treasures. Enough to settle the debt and more. Might even be enough to buy yourself a new personality.”

Sam snarled but bit his tongue. Based on the rancher’s abode and demeanor, this nest was the best chance to bring at least something back to his employers.

“Show me the way, rancher. But if you try to weasel out this in any way, so help me I will murder you where you stand.”

“I doubt that. What I don’t doubt is that I want you off of my property and I’m guessing that you aren’t too crazy about spending time with me. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Sam mounted his horse while Jacob packed the few provisions that they would need for the journey and they rode out. Sam spent most of the journey gritting his teeth and stewing over all of the better things that he could be doing at the moment. Occasionally, this would be interrupted by Jacob’s off-key singing while he strutted on his donkey. Sam could not help but crack a smile at it, he had dealt with many debtors in his day but never any this carefree. He must have been confident in the riches this Raven’s nest and of his abilities as a thief. How else would he be this nonchalant about this ordeal? Sam shuddered to think what the Ravens would do to somebody if they caught them stealing in their nest. Even though Sam was a city man, he knew that a man who stole from Ravens was as good as dead.

The open fields of Jacob’s ranch seemed more-and-more of a distant memory as the embrace of the forest became thicker. Jacob pressed on as if the branches were not a constant nuisance but Sam had difficulty in doing so. At seemingly every moment Sam was spitting out bugs, keeping the wooden whips from slapping his face and feeling the sticky sap invade his clothing. He had wished that his agency had insisted that he wear these fancy clothes at all times, they never did understand how diverse this job could be. He bet that Jacob never had a demeaning boss who never listened or would kick him while he was down at every opportunity. Jacob may be in debt, but Sam figured that the rancher was far more a free man than Sam was.

Sam’s horse had not been as deep in thought as his rider and jerked to a halt. They had made it to a clearing in the center of the forest. The thickets had subsided but the moss was like plush carpeting and the mushrooms of the forest floor were bigger than a large man’s fist. It was the most peaceful place that Sam had seen The absolute silence was a far cry from the bustle of the city and the offices that he was used to. He felt at peace and oddly grateful to Jacob for bringing him here. If only he had met this odd rancher over different circumstances.

“Well, what you lookin’ like a pig pissin’ for?” Jacob said as he pointed to the massive pine nearby, “this is the place, all we gotta do is climb to the top and you’ve earned your payment.”

“I certainly can’t climb a tree in my duds,” Sam said. “It’s your debt, Mr. Mann, if this is the jackpot that you claim it to be, you go retrieve it.”

Jacob gave a shrug that said ‘that’s what I thought’ and began to climb the gargantuan tree. His hands and feet guided him ever upward without so much as a change in his expression. It was obvious to Sam that this man had raided this nest many times before. There had to have been valuables in this nest before to come all of this way for it. Maybe this rancher wasn’t completely full of it?

The rancher reached the foot of the nest and peered down on the dot that was now the taxman. Poor boy in his Sunday best. Now, it was time to find a treasure to get this peon out of his life. Jacob stumbled into the nest and fumbled around in the bed of feathers and branches. Ravens are as jealous as they are greedy. If they have shiny things, they will bury it away from the prying eyes of other murders. Jacob began to frisk the nest: stick, stick, piece of fur, feather, stick. Finally, Jacob felt something man-made, he felt glass. His arm withdrew a half bottle of scotch. The label had been torn off years ago, but the bottle was nice and after a quick taste test Jacob confirmed that it was very fine scotch. That was good enough for him, but not for his friend on the ground. He slipped the bottle into his coat pocket and continued to dig. The search had begun to feel fruitless until Jacob spotted a gleaming piece of steel sticking from a corner of the nest. He snatched the bit of hope up like a hungry dog to scraps only to find a bracelet of bone and brass. These bracelets were usually made by farmwives to be sold at local markets in the region and were as common as a bowl of stew. They were cheaper too, everybody in Chela knew that. However, the ornery sucker on the ground probably didn’t. He slipped the bracelet into his pocket and made his descent.

“Are you ever in luck! I cannot lie, I did not suspect that this nest would much of anything up, but am I ever glad to be wrong.”

Jacob withdrew the bracelet from his pocket and hoisted it above his head like as if it were a prized fish.

“That,” Sam scoffed. “That is the big-time payday that you drug me through this for? This what I ruined my clothing and nearly killed my horse for?”

“Quit yer bellyaching. If you were nearly two-thousand years old you wouldn’t look nearly as good as this fine jewelry.”

“Fine jewelry? That is about as a fine as an old mule. You’re going to have to do better than that, Mr. Mann.”

“I suppose that you are right, Sam. I’m sure that the Ravens don’t steal anything of value, certainly not a warrior bracelet from the First Age. I’ll just hang on to this and work off the debt over the next several months. You are welcome to bunk with me until then.”

“Hold on, debtor,” Sam interjected. “I can accept the bracelet as a beginning payment. I will need it appraised to see if it is worth what you claim.”

Jacob relinquished the bracelet to Sam.

“There’s a jewelry appraiser and pawnbroker just West of Noird. He’s a lowballer but if you tell him that you represent the C. D. D. he’ll be a bit more inclined to give you a fair estimate to get you out of his hair. Doesn’t like the eyes of the law and the government on him too much, that one.”

“Very well, Mr. Mann,” Sam said as he took in one last look on the pristine forest floor. “Let’s get out of this Godless bush.”

The duo returned to Jacob’s ranch home. The afternoon heat had begun to subside as clear blue skies transformed to fantastic shades of violet and crimson. Sam had truly hoped that the bracelet was the First Age relic that Jacob had claimed it to be but another part of him hoped that he had a reason to escape the city and return to the ranch. His training had instructed him to treat every debtor as less than dirt but he had a hard time doing that to Jacob now. He could not help but have a soft spot for the old lush.

Sam bid the rancher a goodbye and rode over the hills. Jacob let out a sigh of relief. For the time being, he could live another day without some snotty city kid breathing down his neck. Now, it was time to get back to work. He plopped back down in the chair that he had flipped off of hours ago and began to rest his eyes.

Jacob found himself flying head over heels again as his house rattled with the force of one thousand earthquakes. The assaults on his home ranged from deafening wing beats, planks flying off his walls and sharp beaks easily piercing the roof. He ran outside to find three Ravens hovering above the now destroyed shack.

“Hey! What’s your trouble, you home-wrecking cretins?”

The leader of the bunch dropped to Jacob’s feet with such a tremendous impact that the dust of the dry land blew into his face. The Raven’s claws burrowed into the dirt with rage. The great bird towered over the rancher, he leaned in to bring his beak nearly to his eyes.

“Our ‘trouble’, little man, is that you have stolen from us. Did you expect us not to notice that our precious treasures were gone? Return them to us, at once!”

Jacob withdrew and lit his pipe, looking upon the Raven with an apathetic expression.

“I don’t know about that one, it’s a bit of a stretch if you ask me. Here’s what happened – you see that fancy boy on your way over here? The clean lookin’ fella with the watch hangin’ off his belt? He came ’round here this morning hootin’ and hollerin’ that everything and everyone on this here land owes taxes. Y’all being the intelligent birds that you are, that includes you, according to him.”

“Taxes?”

“You betchya. I tried to stop him but I’m afraid that the fella was insistent. Didn’t think too highly of y’all, either. I think I heard him call you something along the lines of ‘black disease-bags’.”

“Is that so? I am to believe that you had nothing to do with this? This city man just knew where our nest was?”

The Raven stepped closer and closer to the rancher’s eyes, pushing him back.

“I realize that we’ve had our differences in the past but this isn’t like that. I watched the city man take a worthless bracelet and a quarter bottle of booze. He took it for taxes but what on Earth would I do with that?”

“It isn’t worthless to us. Are your words true, rancher?”

“Of course they are. I’ve been nothing but respectful to the Ravens and have even helped you find treasures before if you care to remember. You find the city man, you find your treasures.”

The Raven signaled the two members of his murder off to scout for the tax collector.

“Listen to me and listen well, rancher. We will find this ‘city man’ and bring him to justice. If we find out that you are lying to us we will be back to you bring justice, as well.”

“You find the right guy and I guarantee that your return here will not be necessary.”

“We will see about that,” the Raven said as his mighty wings slammed one last gust of dirt into Jacob’s face.

Jacob watched the Raven transform from a vengeful giant to a black sliver in the sky. He withdrew the bottle of scotch from his breast pocket and took a swig. Perhaps the Raven and the taxman will be problems that will take care of themselves. Then again, perhaps they won’t be. In the meantime, Jacob watched the sunset and had realized that his workday was done. It was time to go to the Pig’s Head Tavern. With any luck that hunter that he hired every now and then would still be there. The guy is a bit of self-righteous blowhard but he’s in a tough spot, he needs Jacob’s advice now more than anybody. Jacob mounted his donkey and began his journey over to the bar. The rancher’s work was never done.

 

 

Eggshells

Why must I tiptoe around dysfunction,

why not trade a lifetime bliss by raising a little Hell?

Why must I obscure my own vision,

and scuttle through the eggshells?

 

Why must I sit, when I know I should stand?

Why must I whisper, wilt and whimper?

Why be a worm, when I must be man?

I lick my wounds, guilt and bitter.

 

I cannot make waves to save Earth,

I must silence justice

and prepare her hearse.

Where is God, and his iron fist?

 

Seated, I stay.

My lips sewn shut.

The wolves lie in wait

Will no one stop their strut?

 

Droning

Meaningless meetings hold me back
from realizing dreams
from getting on track

I’m tearing at the seams.

 

Red tape, white lies, beige fate.
Blue carpet, still time, limits set.
Black coffee, no escape.

Radio DJ drivel, backyard ambition.

 

What do you want out of life?

 

Reality TV and team building exercises.
False CVs and strategic exclusion.

Take me from my soul
Take me from my wife.

Boring meetings boring into my head
moving forward to nowhere

Wanting to be somewhere else instead.

 

Wanting to be free, healthy and fair.

Soapbox Stories Presents: Life Lessons From A Red Serge – A Book Review

“Life Lessons from a Red Serge”
by Barb Porter and Linda Garvey
Published by McKenzie Carver & Associates
Reviewed by Ben Charles
C$15.95 ISBN: 9781775353607

“Life Lessons from a Red Serge”, written by sisters Barb Porter and Linda Garvey is an uplifting slice of Canadiana that warms the heart and strengthens the spirit. This collection of life lessons, take-aways, and advice compiled by the sororal duo is dedicated to the authors’ brother, Staff Sergeant Peter Garvey, who unfortunately passed away in 2017 at the age of 54 years old. This book acts a touching tribute both to the Saskatchewan born-and-raised officer and to the service of others in need that he strived for. In addition to serving his communities as an RCMP officer, Peter was also actively involved in the Search and Rescue Saskatchewan Association of Volunteers (SARSAV) as a Search and Rescue member. In fact, profits from the sale of this book will be donated to SARSAV in his honour.

The contents of this book contain a series of life-lessons inspired by Peter. The authors had written them into a checklist format with the intention of providing daily reminders to the Sergeant’s grandchildren of how to live as the best people that they can be. The list is categorized into such themes as honesty, listening to others, living with a sense of humour, humility, gratitude, the importance of family, and many others. Each theme is divided as chapters containing a few pages of meaningful insights that a reader of any age and any walk of life can appreciate. The chapters also end with a simple yet powerful summary of the lesson. Personally, I enjoyed the segment of “Honesty, Sincerity, & Integrity” as it provided me with the reminder that it is important to listen to every person that you meet and to take their words seriously. You may never know what a person may teach you from listening to them.

If I could describe this book in one word, it would be “wholesome”. The daily reminders found within this delightful read do not push an agenda but simply act as a guide that anyone can follow and implement into their daily lives at any time. The writers also did a fantastic job at showcasing the Sergeant’s love of dogs and their importance to life and family, and really, who doesn’t agree with that?

I highly recommend this book as a gift for the people in your lives who are passionate about the service of others. This checklist of counting blessings and remembering what’s important in life does not take long at all to read. It could easily become a daily routine for policemen, firemen, nurses, teachers, paramedics, and to anyone in your life that you turn to when you need help. Not only did the authors draw their inspiration for helping others through their brother but also through their own passion for helping others that they have demonstrated through their accomplished nursing careers. By picking up a copy of this book, you too can help people by providing a plethora of insight and contributing to the Search and Rescue efforts of Saskatchewan.

THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE AT YOUR LOCAL BOOKSTORE OR FROM WWW.SKBOOKS.COM

 

 

 

The Hunted

This night was not unlike any other at The Pig Head Tavern- loud, obnoxious, and no place for womenfolk. Tonight’s hunt had been a success and the men were celebrating and cooking their lot. The tavern was between the villages of Noird and Broek, and the villagers who had gathered there were warm with each other’s company in the wee hours of the night. With each passing minute and pouring beer, they seemed to have forgotten all about the petty rivalries that the villagers had carried with them for generations. The sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and singing replaced the begrudged mumbling that a man would typically hear during an exchange of these villagers.

Amongst the camaraderie were also the Chela folk, farm men from the Southern Fields. By nature, they are more reserved than their more impulsive counterparts in Noird and in Broek. They were hard-working folk and did not like to speak. However, they did have a love of drinking beer and casting lots when the work was done. Tonight’s celebration was a chance for them to break from their harvest, and the usually recluse Chela men could be seen sharing stories and playing dice with the village men.

The iron stove was glowing hot and travelers from miles away could see the lights and sounds of the party through the light snowfall. The world within the tavern was a warm place. The world within one man at the tavern, however, was not. For the skulking figure seated at the bar, the world was a cold place. The Hunter had wished for nothing more than to brood, to be left alone with his thoughts as he withered away. The only thing he wished for more than that was revenge, but he was not even sure of that anymore.

The Hunter’s silent wishes to be left alone were rudely interrupted by an exaggerated pat on the back and laughter that reeked of booze. It had to be none other than Jacob Mann, a local rancher, a drinker, and a notorious welcher. Amongst his faults was loyalty, however. The townsfolk would say that even though he would drink all of your wine, he’d always be there to help you find more. The Hunter had kept predators from Jacob’s flocks in the past, and even though Jacob was late paying him most of the time he had always come through.

Jacob slid up to The Hunter at the bar and withdrew a small wooden pipe from his ragged coat.

“You got any of that Golden Import on you, brother?”

The Hunter replied with a disdained grunt.

“Fair enough,” said the rancher as he conjured a small leather pouch of tobacco and filled his pipe to the brim. After quickly packing it with a match he ignited the bowl and savored his first draw as his pipe bellowed strings of earthy haze.

“You still on about that Wolf, brother?”

The Hunter glared at the rancher, “Yes. I am still ‘on about’ that Wolf.”

Jacob was a small man, but never let the world intimidate him. The full wrath of The Hunter would make most men of the Noird rethink their next words, but not Jacob. He scratched his beard and drew another puff of his pipe, his bowl ablaze with char and smoke.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, lad. You’re as mad as a werewolf about this whole business, and for what? So you can stew here, doin’ nothin’ all day and all night? When was the last time that you even went hunting, Mr. Huntsman?”

The Hunter was annoyed but knew that the rancher had a point.

“I am to depart tomorrow morning. It is time to hunt again.”

Jacob shook his head slowly and tapped his pipe, “I wish the best of luck to you then, brother. If you’re heading up the Mispons, be wary. I lost close to a dozen sheep there a few weeks ago to those sharp peaks.”

He stood up and gave The Hunter a reaffirming smile, he looked upon The Hunter as if he were saying goodbye to an old friend.

“Just remember, lad, I will be here to drink with you when you return. And it’s here you should be drinking with me and celebrating life with the boys, not out moping in the mountain tops over death.” He paused for a moment and put his hand on The Hunter’s shoulder both for reassurance and to regain his balance. His words would have been sagacious had it not been for the drunken hiccuping between every second of them.

“Going after that Wolf isn’t going to bring her back.”

After he had said his piece, the rancher jaunted to a nearby table to play cards and tell embellished stories of his fishing and romantic conquests. The Hunter withdrew his pipe and his Golden Import. He sat at the bar and thought as he smoked. Perhaps the rancher was right. Either way, The Wolf must die.

It was well before dawn when The Hunter arose from his straw bed in The Pig’s Head. After bathing and eating a small breakfast, The Hunter packed his horse with his provisions and his weapons. It was to be an enduring journey but his broadsword given to him by his father and his bow was all that he would need in the Mispons. His plan was to catch The Wolf in his slumber and slay the wretched creature in his sleep. He was a humble man but was given his name for a reason. If anybody could track down the animal and kill it, it was The Hunter.

He rode from the tavern towards the Northwestern Mispon Mountains. According to Wanderers and other huntsmen in the region, it was there that the Wolf had taken up residence in one of the high peaks. He had only come down from his slumber during the winter sporadically to raid cattle caravans or ragdoll hapless travelers. That was to soon come to an end, for The Hunter rode hard and rode fast. He rode through the howling winds of the prairies. He rode with conviction.

After a few days of relentless travel, The Hunter had made it to the HorseEye River just a few miles south of the Mispons. Plains had changed to ridges as him and his horse had changed from tireless warriors to weary campers. He pitched a tent on the Western coast of the HorseEye River where the Great Trade Route crosses the river. As night fell, the roaring of the river and the crackling of the fire put him at ease while he rested with his pipe.

He could not help but think of Mila, and how he had never taken her camping riverside at the mountains. How he was always too busy out on his hunts to make time for her. Being out here in the forest at the steps of the mountains with him would have made her so happy.

Although he was at rest, he was not completely on his laurels. The Hunter was always listening to the Earth and to the winds. Both were bringing a traveler and an ass, the sounds of clanking pans and crunching snow became progressively louder as the traveler approached the campsite. The Hunter had his broadsword cloaked, but was now grasping its hilt.

“State your business,” said The Hunter.

“I’m just passing through. On my way to Shyayn,” replied the traveler, “I saw your flame and thought that I would stop by to let you know that there is a fire ban in effect in the HorseEye District.”

“I do not see what concern that is to me, nor to you.”

The traveler had come to a complete stop at the foot of The Hunter’s camp.

“Well, for starters my boy, you are in HorseEye, you know? If The Riders caught wind of this then you will be subject to prosecution.”

The Hunter clutched his sword harder, “And how will they know?”

“I will put it to you this way. Put out that fire now or I will inform The Riders. They will find you and you will be penalized as they see fit.”

The traveler was now close enough to The Hunter that he could run him through in an instant. No one would ever know. He unclutched his sword and kept it hidden under his cloak.

“It’s getting late, be on your way, traveler. I will put this fire out posthaste. There is no need to get The Riders involved.”

“Thank you for understanding,” replied the traveler. “The Barrier Forest is drier than it has ever been. Not even the snow of the Mispons can protect it from even a single getting way out of hand.”

The Hunter gave the traveler a compliant nod and he was on his way. He disappeared into the darkness as the clanking of his wares became a distant whisper. The Hunter was disappointed that he could not have the warmth of his fire near his tent but knew that reports to The Riders would slow his mission. A man has to pick his battles, and this one was not worth fighting. He snuffed out the flames with a few handfuls of snow and settled in his tent for the night.

It had been a treacherous path up the mountains the next morning. Several hours and a little sleep had passed since The Hunter’s run-in with the traveler. The morning sun could only manage to get momentary peeks in between the thick fog rolling over the mountainside. The Hunter remained undeterred as he trudged through the snow. He had sent his horse home and was now relying on his mocassins to carry him the rest of the way. His sword on his back, his bow around his shoulder and a hunting knife and a lantern on his belt now being the only supplies that he was carrying.

While The Hunter walked he reviewed his plan to slay The Wolf. He knew that for the next few miles he must tread lightly, move slowly and stay low. The Wolf could hear and smell far better than any man could imagine. Legend has it that The Wolf could even ambush approaching prey in his sleep. The Hunter knew that he only has one shot to bring the beast down, and even in its slumber it would not be easy.

The fog was growing thicker but The Hunter pressed on. He could barely see past his feet, but that’s all he needed. Just below him was the first paw print. The Hunter crouched down to inspect the gaping holes in the snow. One print alone was enough to fit a child inside of, and The Hunter knew that many children and other innocent people had met their end under those paws. He followed the tracks diligently for about a mile on the treacherous peaks. With frost on his face and rage in his heart, he continued up the mountainside.

On the rocky cliffs of the Mispons, he had found what he had been looking for. It felt like he had been searching forever, and now that he found it he was not sure that he wanted to go inside. The Wolf’s cave was finally in his sight. It was a dark and curved entrance that almost looked like a twisted perversion of a smile. The Hunter could not help but think that The Wolf took some kind of twisted pleasure in that. The Hunter struck a match, lit up his lantern, and stepped inside.

The interior of the cave somehow seemed colder than the unforgiving peaks of the Mispons. The light of his lantern flickered as he stepped over the bloodstained stones and old bones that cluttered the cave’s floor. For many of his steps, The Hunter could only feel discarded ribcages and limbs under his moccasins. The stench was unbearable. The scents of wet fur, carcasses, and urine forcibly entered his nostrils. It only got worse as he pressed on through the catacombs.

The Hunter had noticed that the bones he was stepping on were parts of complete skeletons, many of them still wearing the clothes or armor that they died in. There was no sign of The Wolf caching gold or weapons, there was not a glimmer of silver to be seen in the caves. Judging by some of the positions that the deceased were in, it seemed that these poor souls died in the cavern. The Ravens had a love of human treasures and are known for stealing all that shines. The Wolf did not. The Wolf detests men above all else, he despises their treasures and their greed. His treasure was suffering. The Wolf would thrash men within an inch of their lives, and drag them to the caves to watch them die. He rarely showed mercy to women and children either, tearing their skin off alive and eating it in front of the men as a cruel way to inflict pain on them. To inflict the cruelty that The Wolf had seen men so easily give out. The wrath of The Wolf was insatiable. He carried it with him since he was just a cub and now knows no other way.

Even though his crimes against nature and The Hunter were unforgivable, The Hunter felt a small sense of pity for The Wolf. The Wolf had lost his way, but so had the men of late. Men were now more concerned with building treasuries and fueling industry than living with dignity and freedom, living as subservient hoarders instead of proud men in living off of nature. There was a time when men protected all on the Earth, and would proudly ride with Wolves for grand hunts and to deliver justice. The Hunter’s Fathers rode with Wolves. Perhaps, if they were in another time, The Hunter and The Wolf would have ridden together.

There was no time to reminisce about the Old Ages now. A flicker of his lantern revealed a large, hirsute mass sprawled across the cavern’s floor. Had it not been for The Hunter’s sharp eye he would not have seen it, for it was as black as night. The Hunter held his breath and quickly sought refuge behind one of the cave’s walls. He crept his head around the stone and focused his light on the creature carefully as not to wake it. He inspected the seemingly lifeless body and knew that this was his chance. This was what he was waiting for. He – well – he and Mila would finally get their revenge. He smothered his lantern and drew in the dank, frosty air through his nose. He stepped around the stone and began to stalk the beast. The hunter had become the hunted. Each step was taken with more caution than the last as he got closer to the sleeping giant. He stepped breathlessly to not crunch bone or kick pebbles. After the longest few yards that he had ever walked were done, he was at the neck of the wolf. It was dark as Hell, but he could see the fur and the curves of his body. The wolf had been in such a slumber that it appeared dead, not making a sound. This was it. The Hunter slowly withdrew his sword from its sheath. His cold hands wrapped around hard leather, the gleam of the blade shone even in the deepest pits of the cave. He lifted the hilt above his head and drove the blade through the fur and into the bone. The wolf did not respond. The Hunter took the opportunity and ran the wolf through several more times. His sword driving deeper and deeper with each strike. The Hunter left his sword in the wolf after piercing it deep as the hilt and dashed back, drawing his knife and readying himself for a fight.

A fight did not come.

“What in Ariel’s name?”

He grasped his sword and withdrew the blade from the fur. After a few seconds of silence, he relit his lantern. The carcass below him was certainly large enough to be The Wolf, and it looked strikingly like The Wolf. However, there was something incomplete about it, as if it were a sum of many parts rather than one body. The Hunter brushed his hand against the coarse fur and lowered it to the ground. The fur had a bottom as if it were a massive rug. The Hunter pulled from the bottom with a long stroke and flipped the rug over to the side, revealing the contents underneath. Laying under the fur were ten or eleven large sheep carcasses, arranged to appear as the bulk of The Wolf. The remainder of the rug was stitched together with another wolf skull, paws, and bear claws. These caves were ancient and powerful, a strong enough wielder could create illusions to convince even the savviest of hunters. The Hunter knew that he was in danger.

“Oh, fu-“.

Before he could finish his words, The Hunter felt the weight of one thousand knives enter his ribcage and his back. He released a bloodcurdling cry as he felt his body lift off the ground and move with impossible speed. It had taken him about ten minutes to get as deep into the Mispons as he was, and now he could see the light of the grinning entryway within a matter of seconds.

The frigid wind slapped him with impossible force as he felt his attacker fling his body weightlessly. He braced himself for a crash landing and hit the snow. The seeping crimson of The Hunter’s wounds was a stark contrast to the pure white blanket of the Mispons. His ears were ringing, but The Hunter could make out the sound of deep, guttural laughter. It had sounded like the Earth itself shaking, and it possibly was. The Hunter lifted his face out of the snow and then his whole body. There he stood in front of The Wolf.

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty hunter? Did you come to show the ‘Big, Bad Wolf’ the meaning of justice? You should have stayed in that rat’s nest near Noird, boy.”

The Hunter stood firm despite the searing pain in his ribs.

“Yeah, after this I will end up doing exactly that. But they needed a few ashtrays and a chamber pot. Thought I’d run up here for your paws and your skull to help them out.”

The Wolf bellowed his unholy laughter, “Is that right? For such a small fellow you do have courage, you do have that. Your words aren’t enough to cut me, Huntsman, and neither will those infantile blades. Men greater than you have tried to fell the Beast of the Mispons, and all have failed.”

To be fair, The Wolf towered over The Hunter. The Wolf stood twofold the size as one of the Grand Bisons of the Chela Plains. The Hunter could not see the entrance to the cave behind The Wolf as he swallowed the area with his massive stature. The Wolf began to circle The Hunter, preparing for an attack.

The Hunter grimaced and put his hand on the garments over his wound. His hand now covered in frozen blood.

“Enjoy this bloodshed, monster. It will be the last that you ever see.”

The Wolf lunged at The Hunter faster than lightning, the Hunter drew his bow and drove two arrows into The Wolf’s neck. The Wolf did not feel them and was instantly within striking range of The Hunter. He was close enough to The Hunter that he could smell The Wolf’s rancid breath, The Hunter evaded the beast’s jaws with a lateral dive. The Wolf snapped his neck back and caught The Hunter’s leg with his mighty jaws. Once again, The Hunter was flung into the snow.

The Wolf laughed so hard that he began to cough.

“You are no different than all of your men-kind. You mistake arrogance for conviction, greed for justice.”

The Hunter rolled to his back and slashed The Wolf across the face with his broadsword. The strike opened a gaping wound in the Beast of the Mispons’ face as he fell back and bellowed, but it also served to anger him. He bared his teeth and snapped them at The Hunter’s shoulder, lifting him off of the ground. The Hunter withdrew his knife and repeatedly stabbed The Wolf behind the ears and in the neck, as the teeth of The Wolf drove deeper into The Hunter’s shoulder. The knife was enough to subdue The Wolf after a dozen strikes and he relinquished. The Hunter had the upper hand for the first time and seized the opportunity, he drove his broadsword into The Wolf’s ribs. The Wolf cried as The Hunter continued to hack at the beast. Each strike gnashed fur, snow, and blood. For the first time since the Wolf was a cub, he was vulnerable. He retreated to the cliffside and laid across the rocky peaks. He was beaten.

The Hunter was breathing heavy and bleeding heavier. He looked down at the mighty creature, now a dying wretch. The Wolf seemed to enjoy watching his prey die, but The Hunter would not give him the satisfaction of partaking in the cruelty that he was expecting. The Hunter began his journey home to let The Wolf’s tyranny become a thing of the past.

But The Wolf had different plans, he smiled through his bloodstained teeth.

“That’s just like you to leave me here to die, Huntsman. You seemed to have no problem doing the same to that wife of yours. What was her name, again? Mila?”

The Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. The sound of her name coming from that degenerate’s mouth made his blood boil. He clenched his fists.

“Yes, that was it,” The Wolf continued, “Mila. Her last words were your name, you know? She begged you to save her. She cried in vain for something that was never strong enough to save her as I snapped her pathetic bones in half.”

The Wolf laughed as he sputtered blood onto the stones. The Hunter was shaking with rage, but The Wolf was as deceitful as he was cruel, The Hunter stood strong to ignore his taunts. He wanted to walk away, but his feet felt as if they were one thousand pounds.

“As a matter of fact, go into my cave before you leave. I left you her spine. She could never be protected with a spineless man, borrow hers so that you can try again with another harlot daughter of a drunkard.”

The Hunter screamed a warcry loud enough to be heard from the Nabi Desert. He pounced at The Wolf with his hunting knife in hand. The Wolf bore his final grin and in an anticipated swoop, he snapped his powerful jaws around The Hunter’s wrist and slid them both into the darkness below.

 

Gonna

I’m gonna,
you’ll see.
That’s all that I’m gonna,
because gonna is easy.

I don’t need to be bogged down by goals,
I just need a dream,
I don’t need the sum of a whole,
I just need parts of a ream. 

Why can’t the haters appreciate what I’m gonna do?
Why are they so selfish to only care about what I’ve done?
Why can’t they look to the future,
to see my time in the sun?

You’re gonna be sorry that you doubted me,
when I do what I’m gonna do.
I’m gonna be rich, successful, and happy
while you’re gonna be blue

Day-to-day with head in the clouds
as high as I’m gonna be.
While you’re down there on the ground,
planting those tiny little seeds.

Someday, it’s gonna happen.
Someday, my dreams will come true.
Someday, I will.
Someday.