Winter Night Unfinished story. By Sharpfang'2000 You can copy this story freely as long as no contents are changed (including page header in html version) If you like it, write me! Sharpfang Don't ask me to finish this story. I won't. You will. When you read the last written word, close your eyes and read on, let the story flow, it is there, only you can't see it when your eyes are open... You know what will happen, any written text would only obscure the image of what you will see... Winter Night ============ Winter night. The fire crackles in the hearth. I walk to the small window, rub the ice-covered glass, revealing a bit of the outside world... Of the world that is calling me. Blue snow sparkles in the moonlight, the branches of firs hang low down, heavy under the thick, shining pillows of snow. I drop a few billets into the fire and walk to the door. I hesitate a bit before taking a heavy coat on. It's not comfortable but the night is very cold. I decide not to take the gloves and hat, only thick, warm, soft shoes, the kind Eskimos wear. I open the door and walk outside, closing the door as if cutting the string connecting me with that world. The frost bites my face. I breathe deeply, inhaling the fresh scent of the forest in winter night, the unique, unforgeable scent of the firs, frost touching the inside of my nostrils, gentle wind. The small window behind me, the bright circle of light, where I removed the ice seems so unreal... I walk towards the middle of the glade. My shoes sink in the deep snow but later the surface is harder and gives better support for my feet and my steps are easier and faster. I rise my face to the stars, spread my arms wide and feel the gentle touch of wind and the sparks of frost nibbling my hands. I kneel down, rest my hands on the snow, place a gentle kiss on it. Then I lie down on my back and look up into the sky... The full Moon shines brightly, the night is like a day under a strange blue Sun. This is the right place for me to be in this world. I belong to it, I belong to this place. I close my eyes and share my energy with the Nature. It's cold. I stand up quickly and run for a while, feeling the warmth returning to my veins. I slow down to walk, I start stalking toward the old, high firs, navy-blue on the black sky, with shining sparks covering the branches. I walk very quietly, maybe tonight, maybe I will finally see the Blue Horse of Hope. This horse is a horse from a fairy tale... From the most beautiful and the saddest fairy tale from my childhood. The Blue Horse is immortal, she has wings and magical powers... But all her powers will vanish if she breaks any of the laws. She's not permitted to have a friend, she's not permitted to be close to anyone, she can't eat normal food, she must live far away. She eats blue flowers, and blueberries, drinks blue water from the deepest lakes and wallows in the sky when it is most blue. At nights like this she comes to the forest and licks the livid shadows of the firs on the snow... As a child I dreamed about seeing her, about cheering her up in her sadness and solitude... And I never abandoned the hope... I still seek The Blue Horse of Hope... But not today, again not this evening. The snow creaked under my feet and I was almost feeling as the horse hearing it ran away, vanishing in the shadows of the forest. Just a dream an adult shouldn't believe in? Maybe... But one night, years ago I found, I swear I found a single hoofprint. In the middle of a small glade, between the firs, in the deep, soft snow there was a single, shallow hoofprint. I examined it and studied it for long hours, and decided that in the morning I will come there with a notebook, a camera and I will try to picture the horse basing on this hoofprint... But in the morning it was snowing and the snow covered all the tracks. - Oh, hey, who paid me a visit?! That's White Tip, the most curious wolf in this woods! Hi, White Tip! Come here! - I crouch inviting the wolf to come closer. - You seem very hungry, can't find a prey in such night? Come with me, I'll give you something to eat. - I turn back toward the cabin encouraging the wolf to follow me. As I run some, he tries to catch me playfully, and we gently play a fight in the snow. Later, when I enter the circle of light he stays away, in the darkness. He will never let me stay close in the light, he would never come during the day. I walk inside, drop a few more billets into the fire, pick a metal bowl and fill it from a big "economy size" sack of dry dog food, one I keep just for this reason. I walk to the exit. Blinded by the light of the house I see only darkness in front of me, but I know the wolf is there. I walk forward, and as I leave the circle of light I put the bowl down on the snow. I walk a bit further toward the nearest trees and stop, turning back to see as White Tip walks to the bowl and starts eating. And then I see other dark shapes on the snow. Other wolves, unable to find the prey, forced by the hunger came here asking me for help. They sit in safe distance, waiting. I walk back to the cabin, take the whole sack and pull it to the patch of hard snow. I scatter the small dark pieces on the flat, white surface and walk back to the cabin to leave the empty bag. As I walk back into the darkness I already hear the feast. The wolves easily find the food on the scent-less snow. They don't need to fight, it's scattered and there's enough of it for all of them. They aren't familiar with the new taste and some of them are cautious about it but the hunger forces even the most shy of them to try it. The meal doesn't last too long, the wolves trot toward the forest, some of them stopping, looking at me. White Tip yips quietly encouraging me to follow. I walk, then break into light trot, following the pack, enter the old wood and feel lost in the complete darkness. But then shining eyes appear in front of me, many pairs scattered between the trees, one quite close and a quiet yip of White Tip tells me I shouldn't worry. My eyes get used to the darkness and I can recognise the shapes of the big trees. The eyes vanish in the darkness and the dark shapes trot away. I walk after them, feeling so lame, tripping on the roots of the trees, dropping avalanches of cold stars onto my head from the trees, while my guides are invisible and so graceful in the darkness. But then I catch the rhythm, follow White Tip just a few steps behind him and stop tripping on the roots and old branches. After a while he slows down. The snow here is hard and flat, we are getting close to a clearing. White Tip starts stalking quietly, I drop to all fours too and follow him. Other wolves vanish in the forest. I crawl to the edge of the clearing and see the other wolves peeking from between the trees, watching amazed, as in the middle of the glade . . . . . . . The end. . . . . . . by Sharpfang Sat 1 Apr 22:55:00 2000 CET