The Howls of Owls
With the last light fading, Malcolm lumbered up the incline. Theobald, clinging to his back, had hoped to have gone to the pond. He was in need of floating. He was tired of bouncing; it wasn’t natural. He was also fed up with having to put up with other animals. he found irritating, especially in mobs. He wanted to be alone, to float down to the bottom of a body of clear, fresh water, leaving all this noise and chaos behind; but here he was, back on Malcolm, bouncing along to a place where (no doubt) they would find other packs of deluded animals behaving, well, embarassingly. He tried to remember if he had ever met a normal animal, or lived any other life, but it seemed so long ago. He could not… what was that? “Did you hear that?” Continue reading
Peace In Our Time
As pink morning light began to silhouette the pines and aspen, Theobald pulled himself closer to Malcolm’s hoof. The sudden flushing of rain had brought him physical comfort but hadn’t eased his anxiety. He needed to express his misgivings to Malcolm privately. Surely he had more sense than that pompous deer. He waited until Manley and Miranda had moved off to forage.
“It won’t work.” Continue reading
Theobald, rocking back and forth on Malcolm’s back, staring out over the vast pond was troubled. Leaving here was madness. Where else would they find a plentiful fresh water and forage? The wolf had assured them that they would “have a plentitude of earthy delights” and “a most luxurious pond”, in Lupis park, but Theobald didn’t trust Wolfie—he was too assured, too full of himself. Why was he being so gracious, and welcoming? What did he want? He must want something. No animal is generous without wanting something in return. And although Theobald had never met a wolf before, he had heard the disquieting stories about them. So he was resolutely against going with “Wolfie” when they discussed it.
“Why would we go there?”