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actionreactionThere was a kind of submission running throughout the grey wolf's body, and I could tell it didn't sit well with him. He wasn't used to being submissive, wasn't used to being beaten, and so quickly. It wouldn't have happened if he'd been healthy. I looked down at him, at the bared expanse of light-grey throat...
And I didn't feel the slightest inclination to sink my fangs into it.
Instead I stepped forward and nosed around his fur, looking for the wound that helped ensure my victory. I didn't touch it for fear of hurting him worse, but I wanted to see how bad I was, whether I needed to shift to help him.
I feel resentment and confusion in his body language when he lifted his head to look at me. What are you waiting for?
He expected me to kill him and to take the prey. All I wanted to do was help him. I stepped back, turned around, and looked over my shoulder at him. For you to follow me. You're hurt and hungry. I have food. But not the flock.
Suspicion battled with pain and hunger in his eyes. It was hardly normal behavior for wolves, and I didn't blame him for being suspicious. Instead I just waited, walked him slowly away from the bleating, terrified sheep, closer to the shed. I dragged out a haunch of beef I'd been saving for lunch, tearing off a small piece to eat, to show it was safe. Mistrust rolled off him in waves, the sharp scent of it in my nose. I watched as he slowly, then with relish, tore into the offered meat. I just watched, nose and tail twitching as he ate, waiting for him to finish. Only then did I broach another subject. Do you need help? With your hurt?
He gave a disgruntled sound in reply that I took to mean a wary yes. He made a nose very close to a human sigh, and then with no warning, he changed.
I won't lie. From that very first moment he shifted, I thought him beautiful. He was a strong, large and handsome wolf, but as a man, he was stunning. He was tanned, but not sun-brown, with well-defined muscles, and an incredibly unusual fall of silver hair. Silver. The color was rather ironic on a werewolf.
I was glad he'd changed though. I needed hands to work with, and wolf communication is sometimes limited, at least when trying to convey more human concepts. This way we could use words. I followed his cue and changed my own shape, shrugging back into two-legged form like I was putting on an old comfortable suit.
His reaction was completely unexpected. Despite his wounds he moved quickly, backing away with a wolfish yelp and crouching several feet away. A low growl rumbled in his throat and I stared in surprise at him. He was surprised. Even a bit scared, and it put him on guard. All I'd done was shift. I couldn't see why that would shock him.
"Shh," I said, using the same tones I did when calming frightened sheep. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help. Look here, may name's Jesse. I don't like seein' another wolf hurt, so I'm gonna try fixin' it, all right?"
He didn't speak. He just watched, his behavior still so wolf-like even in human skin, and slowly uncurled. My kind? He seemed slightly reassured, even though he still used body language and wolf-speak instead of human tongue. He came a bit closer. Make the hurt stop?
I had a dozen questions to ask him. Who was he? What was his name? Where had he come from? did he have a pack? Why was he so stunned to see me shift when he obviously could do the same? How did he get hurt? The last question was answered by a quick examination of his wounds.
He'd been shot.
And I didn't feel the slightest inclination to sink my fangs into it.
Instead I stepped forward and nosed around his fur, looking for the wound that helped ensure my victory. I didn't touch it for fear of hurting him worse, but I wanted to see how bad I was, whether I needed to shift to help him.
I feel resentment and confusion in his body language when he lifted his head to look at me. What are you waiting for?
He expected me to kill him and to take the prey. All I wanted to do was help him. I stepped back, turned around, and looked over my shoulder at him. For you to follow me. You're hurt and hungry. I have food. But not the flock.
Suspicion battled with pain and hunger in his eyes. It was hardly normal behavior for wolves, and I didn't blame him for being suspicious. Instead I just waited, walked him slowly away from the bleating, terrified sheep, closer to the shed. I dragged out a haunch of beef I'd been saving for lunch, tearing off a small piece to eat, to show it was safe. Mistrust rolled off him in waves, the sharp scent of it in my nose. I watched as he slowly, then with relish, tore into the offered meat. I just watched, nose and tail twitching as he ate, waiting for him to finish. Only then did I broach another subject. Do you need help? With your hurt?
He gave a disgruntled sound in reply that I took to mean a wary yes. He made a nose very close to a human sigh, and then with no warning, he changed.
I won't lie. From that very first moment he shifted, I thought him beautiful. He was a strong, large and handsome wolf, but as a man, he was stunning. He was tanned, but not sun-brown, with well-defined muscles, and an incredibly unusual fall of silver hair. Silver. The color was rather ironic on a werewolf.
I was glad he'd changed though. I needed hands to work with, and wolf communication is sometimes limited, at least when trying to convey more human concepts. This way we could use words. I followed his cue and changed my own shape, shrugging back into two-legged form like I was putting on an old comfortable suit.
His reaction was completely unexpected. Despite his wounds he moved quickly, backing away with a wolfish yelp and crouching several feet away. A low growl rumbled in his throat and I stared in surprise at him. He was surprised. Even a bit scared, and it put him on guard. All I'd done was shift. I couldn't see why that would shock him.
"Shh," I said, using the same tones I did when calming frightened sheep. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help. Look here, may name's Jesse. I don't like seein' another wolf hurt, so I'm gonna try fixin' it, all right?"
He didn't speak. He just watched, his behavior still so wolf-like even in human skin, and slowly uncurled. My kind? He seemed slightly reassured, even though he still used body language and wolf-speak instead of human tongue. He came a bit closer. Make the hurt stop?
I had a dozen questions to ask him. Who was he? What was his name? Where had he come from? did he have a pack? Why was he so stunned to see me shift when he obviously could do the same? How did he get hurt? The last question was answered by a quick examination of his wounds.
He'd been shot.