S
Silverwolf
Guest
The promising lights of a small town called Tomahawk glinted in the distance, taunting him, daring him to drive just that little bit further, that little bit faster. Owen sighed, blinking slowly then widening his eyes to keep his focus on the dark road. It was late evening in the middle of Nowhere, Canada and he had been driving all day, as well as the day before and the day before that and God didn't know how many bloody days before that. He knew he needed a break, but he was also certain that he was far too jittery to sleep.
He looked at the clock and sighed, fidgeting in the dark cab of the pickup. His skin itched. No, under his skin itched. He knew what that meant. He needed to do it. That thing. Change. The thought forced on several full-body shivers of horror. He hated... changing. It reminded him that he wasn't... well, wasn't... He took a deep breath. Say it Owen! Just say it, you pussy. Human, he thought, hating it, hating himself.
"Not even human." he growled softly to himself. Eventually he realised that he hadn't even registered the time when he had looked at the clock previously. He looked again, the little numbers glowing bright blood red in the darkness. 23:49. He sighed heavily, looking wistfully at Tomahawk in the distance. Still miles yet, about an hours drive, he reckoned silently. A sudden wave of anger rolled through him. He had wanted to be there by tonight, Goddammit! He smashed the heel of his palm into the steering wheel, then immediately regretted it when a small dent appeared. Scowling, he watched a bright green Mini overtake him, it's tail lights illuminating the cabin with a sickly scarlet glow.
Absently, he glanced to his left, and his vision seemed to shift somehow, though he couldn't say how. Now, the dark landscape outside seemed a little more defined, and certain features jumped out at him like when he watched a 3D movie. The most prominent feature was a forest, a relatively small one, but a forest none the less. Sweeping his dark fringe out his eyes, Owen peered closer at the trees, then spotted a layby just along the road. His wolf itched insistenly inside him and his knuckles whitened on the wheel. Surely he could risk a little run here?
Then, the decision made instantly somewhere in his gut, he pulled over.
A burning impatience seized him as soon as the growling engine cut out. The keys rattled as he ripped them from the ignition. The door slammed and it was only supreme levels of self-restraint that stopped him changing right there, right next to the car. He locked the car frantically, sprinting off into the green-tinted darkness of the forest. He stopped behind an old oak - not that he had any idea how he identified it in the blackness - and stripped frantically, fumbling briefly with his boxers before a sleek black and white wolf erupted into the night.
Owen hit the grass running - literally - his paws making quiet thuds as he pelted through the trees. The wind - fresh and smelling of small hot-blooded creatures, pine needles and other soft scents of the forest - hit his face, streamed up his muzzle, roared past his ears and through his thick fur.
~
He didn't know how long he ran. Or how far. But he was panting, and the light was filtering in patches through the leaves above him as he streaked along. He returned to the trees near the roadside only reluctantly, his skin itching briefly as his fur receded and he stood after a moment, his pale skin almost glowing in the half-sunlight-half-moonlight. He dressed quickly, the chill making him shiver now he had no fur to shield him. Picking up the keys from the underbrush, he jogged back to the car, a slow easy smile spreading on his face. His wolf was sated for now. He estimated that he wouldn't have to... change again for at least another four or five days. Unlocking the car, he climbed in, locked the doors and checked the clock. 3:37. Still time for at least a 5 hour kip. He wound the drivers seat down, turning it into some form of a makeshift bed, grabbed a scrappy blanket from the back seat, threw it over himself and then slept dreamlessly from sheer exhaustion.
~
Approximately 6 and a half hours later, he awoke dazedly, blinking blearily. He was cold. And something was digging into his hip. He sat up and realised it was the gearstick. Sighing heavily and brushing the sleep dust from his eyes, he started the engine, rubbing his arms to get the circulation going. His breath frosted a little in the cab. He turned the heater up a couple of notches. You're in fucking Canada now, Owen, he thought to himself wearily. It's like this all the time. Get used to it.
Shaking his head and running a weary hand through sleep-mussed shaggy hair, yawned briefly, and glanced at the road. It was almost empty of traffic, only a yellow Ford and a silver Range Rover trundling past. Winding the seat back to its original position, he pressed the accelerator and pulled out. An hour's drive to Tomahawk. He would stop there, maybe find a bar...
The pickup ate the distance with an ease Owen liked. He would be there soon, he would see people... humans. How could he deal with that? He wasn't one of them anymore. Still, he looked forward to the company, even if it wasn't his - what? - species? He stopped thinking of that and pondered instead on the vague rumour he was following.
He had heard it a couple of months ago, suspicious but hopeful whisperings of a pack, a wolf pack, gathering in Glendon - a tiny town in Alberta state, Canada. Owen had jumped on the chance to be with his own... kind? He shook his head, a humourless laugh hissing through his teeth. Man, I need to find some answers! Human company, a drink, maybe a bed if he could afford it, he would stomach that in Tomahawk and be greatful, then he would go on to Glendon and whatever awaited him there.
He looked at the clock and sighed, fidgeting in the dark cab of the pickup. His skin itched. No, under his skin itched. He knew what that meant. He needed to do it. That thing. Change. The thought forced on several full-body shivers of horror. He hated... changing. It reminded him that he wasn't... well, wasn't... He took a deep breath. Say it Owen! Just say it, you pussy. Human, he thought, hating it, hating himself.
"Not even human." he growled softly to himself. Eventually he realised that he hadn't even registered the time when he had looked at the clock previously. He looked again, the little numbers glowing bright blood red in the darkness. 23:49. He sighed heavily, looking wistfully at Tomahawk in the distance. Still miles yet, about an hours drive, he reckoned silently. A sudden wave of anger rolled through him. He had wanted to be there by tonight, Goddammit! He smashed the heel of his palm into the steering wheel, then immediately regretted it when a small dent appeared. Scowling, he watched a bright green Mini overtake him, it's tail lights illuminating the cabin with a sickly scarlet glow.
Absently, he glanced to his left, and his vision seemed to shift somehow, though he couldn't say how. Now, the dark landscape outside seemed a little more defined, and certain features jumped out at him like when he watched a 3D movie. The most prominent feature was a forest, a relatively small one, but a forest none the less. Sweeping his dark fringe out his eyes, Owen peered closer at the trees, then spotted a layby just along the road. His wolf itched insistenly inside him and his knuckles whitened on the wheel. Surely he could risk a little run here?
Then, the decision made instantly somewhere in his gut, he pulled over.
A burning impatience seized him as soon as the growling engine cut out. The keys rattled as he ripped them from the ignition. The door slammed and it was only supreme levels of self-restraint that stopped him changing right there, right next to the car. He locked the car frantically, sprinting off into the green-tinted darkness of the forest. He stopped behind an old oak - not that he had any idea how he identified it in the blackness - and stripped frantically, fumbling briefly with his boxers before a sleek black and white wolf erupted into the night.
Owen hit the grass running - literally - his paws making quiet thuds as he pelted through the trees. The wind - fresh and smelling of small hot-blooded creatures, pine needles and other soft scents of the forest - hit his face, streamed up his muzzle, roared past his ears and through his thick fur.
~
He didn't know how long he ran. Or how far. But he was panting, and the light was filtering in patches through the leaves above him as he streaked along. He returned to the trees near the roadside only reluctantly, his skin itching briefly as his fur receded and he stood after a moment, his pale skin almost glowing in the half-sunlight-half-moonlight. He dressed quickly, the chill making him shiver now he had no fur to shield him. Picking up the keys from the underbrush, he jogged back to the car, a slow easy smile spreading on his face. His wolf was sated for now. He estimated that he wouldn't have to... change again for at least another four or five days. Unlocking the car, he climbed in, locked the doors and checked the clock. 3:37. Still time for at least a 5 hour kip. He wound the drivers seat down, turning it into some form of a makeshift bed, grabbed a scrappy blanket from the back seat, threw it over himself and then slept dreamlessly from sheer exhaustion.
~
Approximately 6 and a half hours later, he awoke dazedly, blinking blearily. He was cold. And something was digging into his hip. He sat up and realised it was the gearstick. Sighing heavily and brushing the sleep dust from his eyes, he started the engine, rubbing his arms to get the circulation going. His breath frosted a little in the cab. He turned the heater up a couple of notches. You're in fucking Canada now, Owen, he thought to himself wearily. It's like this all the time. Get used to it.
Shaking his head and running a weary hand through sleep-mussed shaggy hair, yawned briefly, and glanced at the road. It was almost empty of traffic, only a yellow Ford and a silver Range Rover trundling past. Winding the seat back to its original position, he pressed the accelerator and pulled out. An hour's drive to Tomahawk. He would stop there, maybe find a bar...
The pickup ate the distance with an ease Owen liked. He would be there soon, he would see people... humans. How could he deal with that? He wasn't one of them anymore. Still, he looked forward to the company, even if it wasn't his - what? - species? He stopped thinking of that and pondered instead on the vague rumour he was following.
He had heard it a couple of months ago, suspicious but hopeful whisperings of a pack, a wolf pack, gathering in Glendon - a tiny town in Alberta state, Canada. Owen had jumped on the chance to be with his own... kind? He shook his head, a humourless laugh hissing through his teeth. Man, I need to find some answers! Human company, a drink, maybe a bed if he could afford it, he would stomach that in Tomahawk and be greatful, then he would go on to Glendon and whatever awaited him there.