None who lived knew the Fighting Wolf.
Men did not know him. They saw only his savagery, the strains of lupus in his veins, the gleaming hatred in his eyes. They heard the viciousness of his snarl, felt the scoring of his fangs upon their weak flesh. Within him Man saw only the Wild and thus, he could not know the Fighting Wolf.
They thrust dogs upon him, wolfish dogs hardened by life in the frozen-hearted Northland. These felt the tearing of his fangs before the Life-vein gave way, and they knew.
They knew
the malignant nature of him that cruel life had molded,
the tenacity of his feet, clinging to the earth as he clung to life,
the ripple of muscle strengthened by years of toil on the traces,
the thick ruff that defied their teeth, gift of sires blood and Northland both,
the wretched hatred with which he struck out at all life.
They came to know him, each one, in the brief moments of the life-struggle that men forced upon them.
Only the dead know the Fighting Wolf.















Comments
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(referring to writing fantasy)
"When it's going well, it's like reaching up into heaven and pulling down fire. It's better than any dope you can buy. When it's not going well, it's much like giving birth to a baby elephant."
-David Eddings
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Great work~
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"Seizures are...just... interactive dreams!!"
Proud Alpha of the Venti Nordici Pack
Thank'ya.
--
(referring to writing fantasy)
"When it's going well, it's like reaching up into heaven and pulling down fire. It's better than any dope you can buy. When it's not going well, it's much like giving birth to a baby elephant."
-David Eddings
--
"Seizures are...just... interactive dreams!!"
Proud Alpha of the Venti Nordici Pack
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