Tithe

The first hints of a storm started to seep into the air. The big wolf began to feel a strange twinge of excitement grip his body as his ironclad eyes watched the weather form over the oceans. Wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, he knew the claws of ice were going to reach over the waters and grip their lives. Many would lose them in the frigid grasp. Born in a bay known for the cruelty of its seasons. As a child Tithe had learned to walk hand in hand with weather’s rage. Almost serenely he watched the clouds mount and darken until the first flakes of snow started to fall onto his nose. Dark ears flicked forward and his tail wagged once before he bound to his feet and trotted off back to the fox den.

The first few days struck the fields hard, sinking what was once a pleasant snow covered terrain into a blanket of thick ice. Every so often the precipitation switched from ice, to sleet, to snow and back again, creating challenging layers that varied in thickness and grip. Most of the time, he wrapped himself around the smaller golden form of Pandora. Not only to enjoy the soul deep pleasure of feeling her against him but to lend her his warmth and body to shield her from the cold. He really only moved to stick his nose and head out of the mouth of the den to ensure the opening did not close over with the snow and the ice.

At last, when the roar of the wind calmed to a quieter howl, the big male stole a deep nuzzle in his soul keeper’s rough before jumping out of the fox den and into the dark day that had enveloped the fields. In the darkened world the black and silver knight seemed fit in and blend. For the brief moments the snow had stopped falling he walked on the ice with surprising ease. Big paws splayed, he read the movements of the ripples of snow and avoided the cracks and crevices he knew lurked beneath the trenches. Grinning to himself, he poked his nose into what he thought was the perfect spot. At once he began to dig.

His task did not take too long as his big paws tore into the layers of ice. Pouncing, snapping, and digging, he created a hole in the ground just big enough for him to fit in. Cozy in the small hole, he all but smirked to himself and began to thrash. Bit by bit he clawed and pounded against the tight snow, gouging and pressing them into smoother walls until at last it was big enough for him to stand and move around in. His panting breath visible in the cold he looked around, pleased with his work in the creation of an ice cave. Experience told him that, though made from ice, once hot living bodies resided in the cave it would warm comfortably and better than the damp dirt of the fox den.

Whisking away into the still dark outside, he set upon his second hunt. It was not long before he found a leg sticking out from the clutches of the snow. Once more his paws went to work digging out the frozen corpse of a deer the storm had claimed. Freed from the icy fingers, Tithe took a leg in his jaws and dragged it to the ice shelter he had created.

Pleased with himself, he glanced up at the sky to gauge the return of the sleet. A breath was snorted from his nose and he dashed off, his lope long and stretched to take him as far as he could go as fast as he could get there. At last he slid to a halt and poked his head into the den he shared with Pandora.

I found food, and built a cave. It should be warmer than this one. Behind him, obscured, his tail wagged in the snow that was starting to fall again. He seemed to thrive in this storm, the life of his childhood hailing back to him. The moments he had lived for himself and not the pressures of those around him. Though it would kill many, this disaster breathed life into the fallen king and the lost man who was trying to find himself.