5/14/2025, 12:09 AM
The lone peak was the first he saw as he surfaced, blowing a spray of water from his nostrils- much like the Arctic whales he hunted in winter. Snow lingered yet near its peak, pale in what little moonlight managed to filter down through the clouds. The island was freckled with evergreens, pitch black in the dark. Beyond the island and the glittering waters was a shoreline- too barren for his taste, though the mountains in the distance brought him some hope.
Even in the cold, ocean waters, his body remembered the warming of the planet, and the pang of hunger that had been a constant shadow. He had been swimming for so long, now. Too long, he thought- and it was time to get to shore and rest his limbs.
He felt the earth beneath his paws and exhaled, knowing that the weight of the water in his pelt would become a leaden blanket- only to find that he was able to stride through the waters to the shallows with little struggle, leaving the water sloshing in his wake. He turned his head to gaze over his shoulder, and in shock, he dropped the three long, white bones he'd been carrying with him.
It had been years since he had seen his own hips so full and powerful, his belly so round and full. He gazed down past a muscled breast, to his two thick forelegs. He sat back in the water, raising ten dripping claws up out of the shallows, and found that even with the rise and fall of the waves, he kept his balance. Strength and might had been returned to him, and he thought for a moment it must be an illusion- perhaps he had been in the water so long he had soaked part of the ocean into his own flesh. A test with pondering claws proved that he was solid, real.
His paws fell back into the water with a splash, causing one of the long white bones to jostle and emerge from the water. He remembered them, now- his three prized possessions. Two walrus tusks from a battle hard-fought and won, and a long, twisted narwhal tusk, from his first successful marine hunt.
He picked them up and waded to the shore where he sat, dripping wet, placing the tusks on the ground at his paws. He gazed into the dark woodlands, inhaling with short but deep draws of breath that were exhaled in quiet chuffs. It wasn't often that he smelled wolves, and he knew that their scent meant perhaps that he had ranged too far South...Yet again. But where there were wolves, there was often food. The shoreline beyond the island beckoned to him- but so too did the scent of kills made on the island.
He uttered three gruff calls, announcing his presence, and requesting their courtesy. Wolves did not like to be surprised, if he recalled correctly.
Even in the cold, ocean waters, his body remembered the warming of the planet, and the pang of hunger that had been a constant shadow. He had been swimming for so long, now. Too long, he thought- and it was time to get to shore and rest his limbs.
He felt the earth beneath his paws and exhaled, knowing that the weight of the water in his pelt would become a leaden blanket- only to find that he was able to stride through the waters to the shallows with little struggle, leaving the water sloshing in his wake. He turned his head to gaze over his shoulder, and in shock, he dropped the three long, white bones he'd been carrying with him.
It had been years since he had seen his own hips so full and powerful, his belly so round and full. He gazed down past a muscled breast, to his two thick forelegs. He sat back in the water, raising ten dripping claws up out of the shallows, and found that even with the rise and fall of the waves, he kept his balance. Strength and might had been returned to him, and he thought for a moment it must be an illusion- perhaps he had been in the water so long he had soaked part of the ocean into his own flesh. A test with pondering claws proved that he was solid, real.
His paws fell back into the water with a splash, causing one of the long white bones to jostle and emerge from the water. He remembered them, now- his three prized possessions. Two walrus tusks from a battle hard-fought and won, and a long, twisted narwhal tusk, from his first successful marine hunt.
He picked them up and waded to the shore where he sat, dripping wet, placing the tusks on the ground at his paws. He gazed into the dark woodlands, inhaling with short but deep draws of breath that were exhaled in quiet chuffs. It wasn't often that he smelled wolves, and he knew that their scent meant perhaps that he had ranged too far South...Yet again. But where there were wolves, there was often food. The shoreline beyond the island beckoned to him- but so too did the scent of kills made on the island.
He uttered three gruff calls, announcing his presence, and requesting their courtesy. Wolves did not like to be surprised, if he recalled correctly.