The Werewolf(2nd half)

[Guest]

A Battle to Remember
A battle is something to remember, to hate, to wish you were never involved in. Yet some how you always remember those tormented cries of the dying and wounded. You know you were powerless to help but you think you could have anyway. Battle is death even when you don’t die.

The warriors didn’t have to wait much longer. Soon after her departure from the young male’s side discordant howls shattered the night. Most of the wolves stiffened and looked towards the sound, their noses raised to scent the wind. Then the werewolf pack was upon them. Storm Bringer was caught up in the wolf song of war that the warriors howled. Then she leaped into the air and landed by the young male’s side.
“You never told me what your name was,” She panted.
“Zalatore and yours?” He asked.
“Bringer of the Storms, but you may call me Storm Bringer,” she answered him politely.
“Ok,” he said.
Not a moment after that the werewolf appeared, howling his bloodcurdling cry to the full moon. Storm’s fur stood on end, the werewolf had come. Last time he had attacked her she had been alone standing on a hill, spellbound by the slaughter below. She had wished that she could help when he leapt at her; he began to tell her about the same things as last time. Like last time she had tried to block out his harsh voice. Then he had left with the same question. “Will you be me mate?” Then he had disappeared into the night. He always came back to find out the answer. Always on a full moon, always at a moon party, he always slaughtered the other wolves, always. Tonight it would be the same but this time she would have someone to lose, someone she had met and laughed with. His name was Zalatore. She would not lose another friend to Malice; she wouldn’t let any more wolves die at a wave of his paw. She was a Storm Bringer, a bringer of storms, of something new, of the green grass after a long dry summer, of Hope. Hope was the legendary wolf goddess. She had told the wolves that a wolf called Bringer of the Storms would be born in every generation of wolves and that wolf her daughter, her mortal form that roamed the earth. A Strom Bringer could summon the storms.
She would draw on all the power of Hope to save the wolves here, even if she died in the attempt. She threw her head up and howled as if she were trying to summon Hope herself. None of the wolves were surprised when a huge starlight coloured wolf appeared next to Storm Bringer.
“You’re Storm Bringer?” Zalatore asked.
“Yes, my name is Storm Bringer after all,” she told him.
Then Hope spoke, “Wolves, why are you fighting like children squabbling over a toy?”
All the wolves looked at her.
“They are squabbling over her,” Malice told her.
“Ah, you the abnormality,” she sighed, “Why are you fighting over my daughter the Storm Bringer?” She asked all the wolves.
This time Storm answered, “The werewolf started it.”
“What?!” She asked. “You started it,” Her eyes narrowed. She looked evil and angry. “One of my children started a fight,”

“Well, not really, more like an abomination. He is possessed be evil spirits, he is not the wolf he used to be,” Storm answered the wolf goddess.
“Really, how interesting. He must be returned to his original form to start to set this world right,” Hope told them. She howled and then she turned into a misty fog and disappeared. When the fog cleared none of them saw a werewolf, like there suspected, in front of them was a dark grey, almost back wolf. All of the wolves stared at him until he spoke.

“Um, I d-don’t know what h-happened,” the cause of this fight stammered, “R-really,”
“Should we punish him?” Storm Bringer asked the wolves.
From the surrounding pack was cries of, ‘Yes!’ ‘Um, maybe’ “No!’
Storm Bringer howled into the night, “Decide your own fate, werewolf, be gone forever!”
All the wolves were startled at her punishment. Some thought it was just cruel others wanted him to be killed. None agreed with her, but who could ague with the earthbound form of Hope, the goddess of all wolves, good or bad. No wolves approached her though and then she growled and hurtled past all the wolves and straight at Mallother. She snapped her jaws inched from his fur; she battered him with her paws. Then he did a sensible thing and ran, he ran straight out of that place and into the night, howling that he would have his revenge on Strom Bringer.

Is the End the Beginning?

Is the end the beginning, or is it just the end. When you read the last word of a book is it really the last word, or is it the beginning of the next story, a sequel or a life free of the writer’s pen. What is the end really the finish?

The blood had been spilt; the ground was wet with it. Occasionally a wolf might stumble on a corpse of a former comrade, or an enemy. After the Banishing of Mallother, or so it came to be called, all the wolves rejoiced the werewolf’s end and began to howl the hunt song on still nights again. The world of the wolves was repairing itself, but one wolf never completely healed from the injuries that night, that wolf was Strom Bringer. Even many months later she still hurt, for banishing the werewolf would never bring her pack back. On the full moon nights she howled not the pack song but the song of death and sadness to the moon.

One night a lone male wolf stalked to the out jutting rock where Strom Bringer howled. He knew her and loved her. After the battle they had found the body of the alpha, all the wolves had thought that this wolf, who was trying to find Storm, should be the new alpha. That came to be and now he was looking for his mate, although he had never forgotten Strom Bringer he had to choose someone. So he waited, when she walked up the path, her beautiful tail drooping, he stepped out of the trees.
“Z-Zalatore, why are you here?” she asked him,
“To ask you something,” he said confidently.
“Ask me what?” she questioned him.
“If you will be my mate?” he told her without pause.
“Why didn’t you ask earlier? Of course I will!” she told him excitedly.
“Oh, thank you,” he said.
“Now I have a pack, I don not have to do this every full moon, only once every twelve moons,” she told him. “We should return to the pack now,”
“Aye, we should,” he agreed.

They hurried back to the pack grounds, excited and in love. When they returned Zalatore howled to the pack “Tonight I have the pleasure of announcing my mate. I present to you, Storm Bringer!” All the wolves gasped, they didn’t expect him to win the heart of a Storm Bringer and she was the first Strom Bringer to be the mate of the alpha.

The next year, in spring, Storm trotted out of her den with four pups in tow. They were tiny and looked a lot like their mother and father. Zalatore looked at them with joy; these tiny pups were his first children “Four, wow. That quite a lot,” he complimented Storm.
“Yes,” she answered him, telling the pups to go back to the den with Zalatore’s sister.
“Come, lets walk.” He told her as they walked out of the clearing that served as their camp. They walked over the surrounding country side, quickly and lightly, leaving no paw prints. The sun was setting; the night was cooling to pleasant warmth. They raised there heads to the rising moon, two majestic wolves with their heads raised to the rising full moon. They were just about to howl when an eerie howl sounded through the forest. They looked at each other and ran. They did not return to camp but rather the wilder, thicker forest that only an experienced wolf could manoeuvre through without stumbling and tripping. Luckily, they knew the paths through this tangle of trees and shrubs. They knew who those howls belonged to and were worried. Suddenly Storm stopped, “We can’t leave the pups, I must return to get them,” she snarled at him.
“No, save yourself, I will go,” he said and disappeared into the greenness of the forest. Storm watched helpless, she wanted to go with him but she knew she could not. Instead, she raised her head and answered that eerie howl with her own; she was telling the werewolf that she was waiting for him, alone.


“Is that the end?” One of the pups asked.
“It may be, or it may not,” Storm answered, her silver fur shinning in the moonlight. From the forest a howl sounded, all the pups froze, as did Storm. The howl was like no other. The werewolf had returned……

[Guest]

I love your stories!!!! They are so good!! Are you going to make more?

[Guest]

Of course. I'm writing one at the moment: Ice and Fire
It's about This Ice Lioness who is helped by a boy. The boy's town is pillaged and then they start a journey to rid the land of Elemantia of the Fire Forces. But that's as far as I've got. Glad you like Werewolf. I worte that one when I was bored.

[Guest]

Is there more to Werewolf? The other story sounds quite interesting to!

[Guest]

Not really, I kinda ended it there because it sounded right.

[Guest]

ohh, are you gonna make a second book?

[Guest]

Maybe, first I need insperation, and don't ask me when that'll come. As soon as possible I'll post Ice and Fire.

[Guest]

ok lol sounds good

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