Chapter 11 Intro

Chapter 11

Miracles, dear reader, are a wonderful thing. They streak ugly paintings with hope, when all the facts prove wrong. They are small openings of light in a tunnel of darkness, a broken bird soaring into the sky.

They always leave questions, dear reader, yet they leave a sky with so much sun that nobody asks any.

A miracle, dear reader, is exactly what happened to a lonely wolf named Shadestorm the day he met a beautiful wolf named Whistlewind. Yet what he didn’t know, was that one day in the future, another miracle would come his way. 

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Shadestorm drifted into the hazy murmurs of night. “I hope the Jungle Tribe is kind.” He wondered. He had been worrying about it through the many days they had been walking, and he had finally revealed his thoughts.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Whistlewind reassured, though she had been worrying too. What if the Jungle Tribe wouldn’t allow them to join? What would they do then? Most of her good thoughts scurried out of her grasp, leaving on varying thoughts crowding her mind.

Soon they neared the entrance. It was a dark, gaping cave that Whistlewind imagined was laughing at them.

Finally, they took the plunge and reluctantly drifted in.

Suddenly, salty swipes of water clawed the rocky ground. It clogged their throats, knocking out sunlight in a wet rage. It never stopped hissing and lapping and dumping and falling. It shoved it’s watery depths all over the room, similar to the watery eyes of it’s innocent victims.

“Swim!” Shadestorm called over the rising spray, yet it was too late. Gushes of water rose and fell, drifting the two wolves apart.

Whistlewind, far into the water, was going down. Her paws stung with the pain of swimming too long, and soon all she knew was darkness and water, darkness and water…

Suddenly she burst out of the flood, gasping for breath and greedily drinking the air in. Shadestorm was strongly paddling through it, his fur sleek and wet. He pulled Whistlewind into a sandy bank, looking surprisingly comftarable in the water.

Whistlewind collapsed, hardly breathing. “Whistlewind!” He cried. “Oh, why did I drag you into this mess! I was so selfish, I should’ve known the tribe might pull a trick like this…” He blabbered on, salty tears coming to his eyes. He only comforted in Whistlewind’s raspy, gasping breath, and with each one she took Shadestorm wondered whether it would be her last. 

Finally, it stopped completely. Shadestorm buried himself in her sweet, gray fur. She couldn’t have died… no… Suddenly, all Shadestorm knew was sadness. It tugged at his weak heart, convincing him to give in to the darkness. He howled in grief, his voice rising high and dipping low, carrying the sweet cry of lost hope and Whistlewind, the love of his life. But now…

She was gone. The waves had covered her. Tears splattered down and clouded his dreams with Whistlewind, who made him laugh and smile, who reassured him, who loved and helped and teased him… was gone.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Whiteclaw drank in the sweet scent of the morning air. She sighed and lay on her side, groaning as someone’s teeth shook her scruff back and forth. “G-ge offa me!” She lazily mumbled, her eyes blinking against the bright morning sun.

         “Your about to fall off!” The voice shouted. Whiteclaw gasped as she stared into the foggy jungle depths below.

         “Where are we?” Whiteclaw had just noticed that her fur was dirty and matted, and was smoothing it out with careful licks. She realized that the last time she had done this was faraway in The Dawn Forest. “How far away I’m from that place now.” She thought, accidently out loud.

         Sunstreak’s ear twitched. “What did you say?”

         “Nothing.” Whiteclaw replied. “Where are we?” She repeated.

         “No idea.” Sunstreak answered, and with the turn of her head she was asking the owl.

“You fell asleep mid-conversation.” The owl paused, murmuring “One second, I think we’ve reached our destination.” He quickly swooped down, putting images of falling passengers in Sunstreak’s and Whiteclaw’s heads.

         They drifted deeper and deeper into the wet, misty, jungle vines. Wet fog blanketed the air, reflecting Sunstreak’s foggy, cluttered thoughts misting over more important ones.

“Where are we?” Sunstreak questioned. The owl just ignored her.

         “We’re here!” The owl singsonged. As he spoke, an icy breeze passed swept through the fog.

         “Where is here?”

         “The jungle tribe of course! And my name is Snap. Snapdragon Hoot-hoot Emeraldhorn of the Furry Scruffs. Of course, even though my family goes back to the first owls, and is very distinguished, you can just call me Snap. Each name dates back…” He would have been happy to continue proudly lecturing about his extraordinary family history, but could see a hint of boredom on Sunstreak’s face. So he stopped, standing tall and proud.

         Snap didn’t wait for a reply to his speech. He slowly wobbled towards the jungle, shivering in spite of the warmth. Suddenly he blasted to the ground, surging through the cool air.

         Whiteclaw felt as if her fur was on fire, while full of icy clumps of stinging drifts of snow at the same time. She howled in pain, yet no sound came out.

         Sunstreak was enduring something similar, and her paws were so numb she nearly screamed in terror and hurt. Finally they shuddered to a stop.