Storm Winds

By

Kaze

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Prologue

            Silence.  Snow seems to have a special type of magic, laying down a soundproof blanket over everything it touches.  Nothing stirs; even the trees seem to be unusually still.  It is even possible, in spots sheltered from the wind, to actually hear the sound of the softly falling white.

            The snow cover tonight is relatively light, though.  It’s the first snow of the season, and lies wet and cold upon the ground.  But it has stopped falling, for the moment.  Only a gentle breeze and occasional creak from high up in the pines break the quiet of the night.

            Not even the soft footstep of a clawed, wet paw is heard above the deafening silence.  Its owner pauses, just inside the shadows at the edge of the tree line, at the top of a hill.  A cold, damp nose is raised into the wind.  It twitches slightly as it unlocks the night’s secrets.  Pointed ears flick back and forth, intent on capturing the smallest sound.  Finally, after a moment’s pause, the creature gracefully moves forward into the moonlight.

            The soft radiance shines off pure silver-white fur, creating a faint aura of light around the creature.  A wolf-like head is tilted slightly upwards, still questing for information, as deep, glittering emerald eyes scour the pale landscape below.  The wolf slowly raises up on two well-muscled back legs, long, thick neck fur blowing gently back in the wind.  It shifts into a weight-forward stance, balanced by a flowing tail, its two furred, human-like arms held in a relaxed position.  Muscles ripple, visible even under the thick fur.  The glint of silver reveals large, sharply curved talons at the end of each finger.

            This werewolf, or so a human would call it, is remarkable among its kind.  Standing head and shoulders above the rest of its brethren, its strength and power eclipses even the toughest and most long-lived of its kin.  Cunning intelligence sparking from deep within its eyes marks a beast that has traveled far and experienced much…perhaps more than a mere mortal could ever comprehend.  Even the name “werewolf” would seem to be reserved for a lesser being.  This wolf requires a different title…daiwolf[1], perhaps, as it is far greater in every aspect than any werewolf could hope to aspire to.

            The animal breathes in deeply the night air, before letting loose a great puff of white, swirling upon itself before dispersing into the darkness, tiny ice crystals sparkling in the night.  The moon is full, illuminating a few puffy clouds, low in the sky.  It had already snowed earlier that evening, but the wolf knew, from the crisp smell on the breeze, that another snowfall would come later that night.

            And now…it is time to move.  The wolf barely takes a step forward before it seems to flow down the hillside like quicksilver on a sharpened blade, the steady measured beats of its strong legs effortlessly propelling it forward.  The long, shimmering fur on its neck and tail billows in the wind of its passing.

            The daiwolf can travel like this for days on end, never tiring, its smooth, easy run carrying it far distances over the course of a single night.  Indeed, this is what the wolf lives for these days.  The endless run, the endless search, for the one place where he might finally find peace…a promised land, perhaps.  The run itself brings only a small shadow of tranquility to his otherwise boundless rage.

            For not only has he no peer in this world, but also none other that he would call kin.  Not any more.  So he continues to search, destined to do so until the end of time, his fury at the world growing over the long, solitary years of his existence. 

            It was not surprising then, that he happened to pick up…followers, occasionally, along his way.  Monsters, in appearance similar to himself.  Rejected, as he was, and left to wander in the wilderness until they perished, or were killed.  He supposed he might have felt some kinship with them, but they were lesser beings, and he honestly didn’t really care.  They never lasted long, at any rate, either unable to keep up with his relentless pace, or getting themselves slaughtered by humans.

            But they would gather near to him, drawn to him, by some power he did not fully understand, whenever he lingered in one area too long.  Perhaps they sought safety, perhaps friendship, of a sort.  He tolerated their presence, as long as they kept their distance and did not get in his way.  And then he would begin the hunt, and they would follow.  Stopping for no one and nothing, he would sweep through the landscape, destroying anything that impeded his progress. 

            He would cut entire swaths through towns, which would incite his wrath simply by existing.  And the werewolves that followed him preyed on the remains, until one side or the other were destroyed.  It was fortunate that the daiwolf, by his very nature, favored the uninhabited wilderness.  And thus, was rarely seen, and even more rarely mentioned…except as a ghost who traveled the mountains.

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