[WIP] Kvothe [Eastern Timber Wolf]

To know who I am, you first must know where I've been. To know where I've been you must first know where ai came from. 

The Congo River Basin winds for just over a quarter span if you travel day and night with unwavering determination. For the simple-minded folk, that's a little over a week without stopping for sleep; and before you ask, naps are not sleeping and they don't count. 

That's what I heard anyway. However, I can tell you with almost certainty that it takes at least a span and a possible mis-count of days if you contract Swine Flu and get hit hard with pneumonia. 

The jungle is a breeding ground fir mosquitos all year round. Mosquitos love moisture, and to say the Congo is wet or even soaked, would be like saying a rabbit is a good meal for a pack the size of twenty. To say it is hot also isn't right, and to simply tell you its hard to breathe, well, that's just not fair either.

I'm not explaining this right. Let me try again. 

Pretend someone has thrown you into a giant oven at 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Not bad so far, pretty rude, but not bad. Now, in this oven is an enormous jungle. A jungle so thick it's like walls. No, not the walls around you, the jungle is the wall. Packed so densely its as if you're inside the wall. You can barely move in this labyrinth of chaos. Unless you know the nature of the jungle. When you understand the nature of a thing, you can begin to understand the thing itself.

The air is moist. Always wet. Thick, like soup. So when you breathe it hangs heavy on your tongue, sticks to your throat like the blood of a fresh kill and settles in your lungs like hanging bats that won't leave. Your lungs are forced to work, almost having needed reminding that in order to live, they need to strain. Day in and day out. This is why most pups don't make it past their first quarter span. You're either made with the nature of the jungle, or your not.

Through the centre of this jungle runs a river. It is an unstable thing, this river. Bending and twisting in uneven and unnatural ways. Down and up and left and left and right. You learn at an early age that should you slip, you're dead. You cannot possibly swim against the current, just as sure as you cannot outrun a storm.

The current tajes you like a tornado, sweeping you away. Faster and faster and faster and faster and then you're falling. Down and down and down. Right off the edge of the earth. In a single drawn breath, you're lost to Fenris Teeth. Jagged rocks like hunters knives jutting through the water. Cutting it as if it were air. Slicing everything.

Out of the wolves that survive the jungle, those dumb enough to test the water don't live. Period. Except me, but I'll get to that. 

But, Everything in nature has a caring side. One to nurture and protect and provide for. Unfortunately, the only ones that benefit from the rivers caring side are those that live in it. Fish that would sooner eat you alive than wait for your death. Lizards disguised as fallen trees in the water. Slow and deliberate their patience is unmatched. One moment you're drinking, then next thing you know, the water explodes and sucks your neighbour in. They're gone faster than you can tuck your tail. 

Then there's the hippopotamus, a league all their own. Nothing like the elephants. Elephants are slow and dilatory. They'll protect their young well enough, but hippos will tear you to pieces simply for the wrong sort of look. 

Eventually, the river opens and the land disappears. They say that all the rivers of the world join here, but I can't see anything. If you pull your eyelids so close together that the world almost disappears, you can see more land over the big water. The Elders called it Anikira. But I'm not even certain of its existence. It could be a trick that your mind plays on you. Like when you lick a toad enough times and the world spins.

Kapok was a white runt. A subservient underling to the terrifying Tundra. Now, you must know that Tundra was the name of a pack. While the name implies the vast nothingness of a dishevelled and somewhat barren landscape, they are anything but. It was named so because it is their nature. The wolves of the Tundra are hardy, unforgiving and adaptational wolves. They have to be. You learn quickly in the jungle, or you die even quicker. 

Some say their hearts are made of ice, so cold it can freeze a fire in mid-flame. These people are crazy lunatics. In the Tundra you earn your place or you die trying, but not from want of love. The jungle is unforgiving and ruthless, and those that live in it must adapt to that nature. 

Kopak is a small wolf. The smallest in the pack. She is late in her years at 6 without so much as a pup to call her own. The nature of the jungle wants to produce beings that can survive its ferocity, and usually the meek do not survive. However, Kapok is cunning. With keen eyes, as green as the leaves of a Kapok Tree she is so named for, she watches and learns where others do not. Her lack of strength has forced her to train in other areas and she quickly found an exuberance in the scouts of the pack.

Her fur is brown on white, like sand on the shore of the big water. Her identity keeps her from being a skilled hunter, lacking camouflage. But don't confuse that with stealth. She is small and lithe. Her paws know the jungle floor. They know every rock, every leaf, every twig. As if there were eyes in each of her toes. However deft Kopaks skills, no male wolf wants to put his seed in bad soil. To ensure the Tundra Wolves flourish, the gene pool is picked carefully. Dark chestnut brown is the desired colour. But black will do, too. Though the lighter colour wolves are not killed at birth as they use to be, they usually cannot offer the pack any sustenance. They are too light to hunt and are seen too early; only the most skilled can become a scout. It is rare for a white wolf to leave the den all their life, made to rear the pups. 

It is because of this that the white wolves simply do not breed. Or, are not permitted to breed. But what happens when she has no choice in the matter? 

Ardel was a Hunter. He was sleek and black as black. His fur was so dark it swallowed the light, like a shadow in a deep, dark cave. His body was lean, with thick ropes of throbbing muscle. Ardel was an alpha son. He was heavy as a bear but by no means the biggest brother. Even his sister was bigger besides.

That's more to say that was average in height, silent as an owl with eyes of amber but when he ran, it was like chasing the wind. 

Ardel knew the laws better than any. After all, he was an Alpha son. The pressure was far greater for a dominant line to be better and more perfect than those of a resistant line. But Ardel had a theory. He knew Kopak, she had reared him when he was a pup only two years back, he knew of her cunning, her supreme tracking skills. What better than to have a gene of wolf that was powerful, swift as the wind in a summer storm and as quiet as a hummingbird on their paws? 

So, he visited Kopak. A shadow shadows in the night, quiet and looming. Out of season.

On the seventh day of the rainy season nestled in the shallows of a den in the deepest depths of the Congo jungle, three pups lay squirming and wet from their mother's womb. A thick pink tongue ran from head to backside dividing the slimy film of the amniotic sack from a pup, the perfect clone of his mother but for a black shadow like a saddle upon his back. 

He was the only born son amongst five females, all black as black. One with a beard of white. 

Kopak coaxed the little male to her feet, arching her back so as he may find it more easily. He was the last, she knew. She could feel it in her womb. He was the last but by no means the smallest. She had been lucky to have all surviving pups an even size. Her body wasn't built for pup rearing and two had suffered because of her weaknesses. But they would nourish her and replenish her strength that the hard hours of labour had stolen from her. Such was the nature of the jungle.

With a long drawn out sigh, a warmth spread over her underside as she lay her back against the leaf covered floor. Little paws needing sharply into her breasts to drive the milk into the sucking maws. She closed her eyes as exhaustion took her from consciousness.

"Imagine wolves with prowess in both hunting and scouting." Ardels voice boomed over the cavern like honey on a heated stone. 

There was a moment of silence as Kerchek shook his head. A mane of dark brown swaying like a lolling stream around his head. When he finally turned to Ardel, glowing amber eyes pierced the darkness of his face and bored down with ferocity in his son. "You have created a felony." His voice was soft like a flower in spring blooming which only added to the danger that lay thickly in the cave.

"Bu-"

"Not only did you mate with a white wolf, but you did so without my blessing and out. Of. Season!" The last words fell from teeth drawn to attention by tightly pulled lips. Each spoken in deliberate venom and tainted with a forward stride. He licked them up from the air with a flickering tongue.

Kerchek was inches from Ardels maw, breath hotter than the air. In the closeness, Ardel could see a thin sheen of moisture on the Alohas nose. 

The young male turned his head unable to meet the gaze of an alpha. A courtesy, not a submission. Amber eyes, a mirror of his fathers, cast to the side in defiance under a furrowed brow.

There was a drawn silence. Too long to remain comfortable as Kerchek waited. Those shining daggers in his mouth slowly resided behind thick black lips. He didn't move. "And what do we do? We have not killed pups since the floods." 

Ardel was forced to remain still with his Alpha so close. "Let them live." He said with icy determination.

As if slapped across the face Kerchek swung his head away and scoffed. His paws fell heavy on the stone, long nails tapping like a crow with a rock as he strode away. 

Slowly, Ardel craned his neck to watch his father. He was a fine wolf. Large shoulders rolled under thick chestnut fur. Heckles raised like pins in the air to signify his discomfort. Kerchek was not used to being disobeyed. He was a hard leader, but fair, and the wolves respected him more than they feared him. The lumbering beast stopped then, a moment of stillness before his head dropped, like a heavy stone. 

Ardels stomach twisted as a giant bat was doing flips in his belly. He knew his father and he knew when he had won. 

"They live." Kerchek drew in a deep breath. His lungs filled with air. It was heavier in his chest knowing the deceit of his own blood. He let it out in a measured sigh. "But you will rear them, as punishment." Kerchek angled his head so that he did not have to turn to face his son. Sunlight that narrowly escaped the canopy seeped into the cave and illuminated Kercheks face. There was a distance in those bisque eyes, like dull rust creeping in. His fur gleamed. "You will not hunt until they are ready to learn."

It would have been kinder to tear Ardels eye from its socket. Not only was it a punishment for Ardel, but the back would resent him for it. Without his skill, gaining a meal would be more taxing on the pack. But Ardel held himself firm. Chest round and full like a boulder. He faced Kerchek tall and magnificent and dark in the darkness.

However, the air seemed thicker than ever. Like hot mud when he breathed. It caught in his throat and clung heavy to his chest rendering his voice useless. Within the moment it took for him to clear his pipes, his father was gone. 

The next year passed as you would expect. All three pups grew strong under the guidance of the pack. Though they were faced with a harsher life than others might have had. Having been with so many odds piled against them - born in the wet season to a white wolf - it made their skin tougher. Not the outside skin, the inside skin. The skin that covers your pride. The skin that shelters your heart. And it was just as Ardel had theorised. 

They had adopted their mother's guileless footfalls and their father's strength and speed. However, Kvothe had been unlucky to receive an almost blind eye. The right one, only, it wasn't right. It was wrong. He didn't let it slow him down. If anything was to be said, he said it made his other senses keener. 

Kvothes two sisters were readily accepted into the hunters rank under the tutelage of their father, but Kvothe was white. Although he was faster with more brawn than his sisters, his fur betrayed him. He could not be a hunter. White wolves cant hunt. It is not prudent.

He was not the largest wolf of the pack. However, he was far too big for the rank of Scout. 

He was forbidden to breed. 

He held no rank and so he ate last. 

And so he remained.

Despite all these things, Kvothe remained determined not to fall into the frays of existence. When the age of self-reliance came, Kvothe followed the Hunting Party. Stealthily he slipped in tow, with the pack but not within it. He was like a streak of light in the forest. He would dart in and out and in and out. Like the night light in the sky does during a bitter storm. 

From afar Kvothe learnt the ways of the hunt. And although his colours did anything but disguise him in a forest of dark greens and browns and blacks, he conditioned his paws to be soundless. Softer than an ant on a tree trunk. Swifter than a mouse in the underbrush. And just so, even his father, The Mighty Ardel, crowed for his attuned awareness was ignorant to Kvothes pursuits. 

He grew bold in his efforts and began hunting for himself. And was successful. 

The next year brought bountiful food for the young wolf. By night he slept in the den with the pack, surrounded by warm bodies, damp and heavy with moisture. The air was stifling. But that was the way of things. And by the light of day, the jungle was his. His mother had long since given up trying to hold him back to rear pups and stay at the den.

No. Kvothe wasn't made for that. His skin was thicker than that. In many ways, his skin was thicker than that of his sisters. Sure, they earned their place in the Hunting Party, but they didn't earn it in their own hearts. But his skin was like leather left for more than two spans in the sun. So thick it was like a Rhinoceros hide. Filling him with such a determination that would make a honey badger jealous. And so Kvothe trained. He trained to be better in the hopes to one day join the Hunting Party despite his apparent lack of mandatory genes.  

The day began like any other. When the sun awakened casting a sullen pink glow across the great sky, the wolves stirred int heir den. There came the usual mutual morning grooming that bonded the wolves. They would clean each other stretch their muscles, waking them from a short sleep. For wolves do not sleep through the night. All wolves know to wake at intervals during the night lest a jaguar sneaks into the den. Their whole being is made for thieving and mendacious acts of unwillfullness. You would wake up one short because of it. There was no pride in stealing. 

A long pink tongue slipped over Kvothes right eye. "You're coming with us today." Ardels voice was like the first flower of spring. 

Kvothes eyes flew open. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird. He looked up at his father.

Ardel didn't stop his grooming, tongue lashing out to cover the top of his sons head. The silence stretched like a snake. Slicing the air. 

Had Kvothe heard right? 

The silence stretched so far that Kvothe thought it might snap. Before it did, "Did you hear me?" Ardel took a step back, amber eyes falling on the young wolf like a warm ray of sunshine. 

Kvothe frowned, eyes narrowing. "Coming where?" He had drawn the sentence out in a long way. Holding it in his mouth. 

Ardel smiled. Then sighed. "I know you follow the pack, Kvothe." He turned and dropped his backside to the floor. "You cannot learn everything from afar, and you will not stay at the den. I have spoken with Kerchek and you are to join the hunting party."

Kvothe could hardly believe his luck. It was all he could do to leap and race around the room, his tail thumped on the floor mixing dust into the sombre air.

"But-" Ardel continued before his son could get too excited. His voice grew stern, like a summer storm. "A trial. If you cannot catch your own monkey by the next moon, you are to submit to Kerchek and admit defeat." His eyes were like golden sap, hot from the tree. Kvothe knew it was meant to deter him, but he raised. His hind paws twisting with the movement from his tail. He tried to control it. He couldn't. "I will. I mean, I will catch a monkey." 

There was a short moment of silence as Ardel watched at his son. Politely, Kvothe looked away turning his head to look up from the shadow of his brow. Ardel moved his head softly into the air. A curt upward notion. 

Kvothe practically disappeared in his own cloud of dust. 

The next span flew by. It had been the quickest in his life, and the fullest. 

Oh, the things he had learned! Sure, the other wolves had pushed him to the side. Shoved him in the dirt and snapped at his heels when Ardel wasn't looking, but Kvothe fed his skin with it. He turned every disadvantage into an advantage. He honed his prowess and used their taunts as fuel. 

Kvothe sat on a boulder at the entrance of the den. It was smooth under his backside and cold on the beans of his toes. He didn't notice. The sun had had enough of this day and we slipping behind the horizon to rest. So was the pack. He didn't notice. 

When the Waxing moon was almost at it's fullest Kvothe knew it was time. That was today. Tomorrow he would spend all his saved energy and roll out his skin. Monkeys were sly. They were cunning and quick. And they were alert. They only came to the ground to drink water and that was the only time you could hope to catch one. But it was nigh on impossible. Kvothe knew that. Ardel knew that. Kerchek knew that. Kvothe suspected that they had chosen this task because they knew he would fail. But he didn't know that. It was certain that he would succeed. How could he not? He had more skin that anyone in the pack. It was hard and light, protecting him. He would use that and he would not fail. 

"The sun is asleep, my sweet." Kvothes ear twisted before his head did. A voice like a flower in a cell storm. Strong and beautiful. Kopak sat beside her son. A sigh left her lips. It held a subtle heavy sorrow that only a mother could know. So she thought he would fail too. Kvothe tipped his head and his ears fell flat to his head as he pressed his cheek into his mothers. "I will do it." His voice was soft, like a butterflies wing beats. Full of determination.

Kopak returned the gesture. Her eyes, like emeralds in her head, closed tightly to wrinkles. "I know you will. That's why I'm frightened." 

Kvothe withdrew only enough to look at her. His brow twisted. "But. I -I don-"

"And you never will." Kopak smiled. But not with the mouth. Wolves can't smile with their mouths. Her eyes smiled. Glistening in the fading sunlight. Kvothe searched them as if there was a hidden treasure. Squinting to that point where secrets are revealed. But no. He knew. They were the hidden treasure. His lungs let go of the air he hadn't known he was holding and laughed once. A soft thing. Kopak licked the top of his head. It was full of love. Kvothe followed her into the darkness of the den.