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This is the prologue to a story I'm working on. Possibly set in T-America, but not necessarily.
The old wolf was slowly making his way to what he knew would be his final resting place. He was careful to not leave any traces, though doing so in his condition was straining his already diminished powers.
His wounds were painful, but not as painful as the memories. The last of the People were gone. The men slain, the women taken as captives.
He'd done his best, but there were too many enemies. First it had been other tribes moving into the People's territory. Then the rumors of the white skinned strangers and their new weapons. And the horse creatures they rode.
His predecessors had done their best as had he. But despite their best efforts the People were fewer and fewer with each generation. And now they were no more.
At last he reached to hidden cave. He cast around to be sure no one was around. Satisfied he carefully made his way through the rocks and underbrush that hid the opening.
At last he was in the back of the cave,his eyes didn't need the light to see the sacred paintings on the walls. He nestled himself next to the sacred objects that had been hidden here when it became obvious that the People might not survive.
At last he relaxed the iron control he'd held on his body. His wounds started seeping blood again. The end would come soon. He had failed, but at least the enemies of the People would not be able to take the power he bore.
The last guardian of the People died alone without being able to pass on his duty.
The old wolf was slowly making his way to what he knew would be his final resting place. He was careful to not leave any traces, though doing so in his condition was straining his already diminished powers.
His wounds were painful, but not as painful as the memories. The last of the People were gone. The men slain, the women taken as captives.
He'd done his best, but there were too many enemies. First it had been other tribes moving into the People's territory. Then the rumors of the white skinned strangers and their new weapons. And the horse creatures they rode.
His predecessors had done their best as had he. But despite their best efforts the People were fewer and fewer with each generation. And now they were no more.
At last he reached to hidden cave. He cast around to be sure no one was around. Satisfied he carefully made his way through the rocks and underbrush that hid the opening.
At last he was in the back of the cave,his eyes didn't need the light to see the sacred paintings on the walls. He nestled himself next to the sacred objects that had been hidden here when it became obvious that the People might not survive.
At last he relaxed the iron control he'd held on his body. His wounds started seeping blood again. The end would come soon. He had failed, but at least the enemies of the People would not be able to take the power he bore.
The last guardian of the People died alone without being able to pass on his duty.
