The Dying Fire

She had come far enough to hide from the foe tribe. She was alone, striving for her life. All her fellow clan members were killed in the fierce skirmish. Yet she had somehow managed to flee out of the battle with her wolf, the only one she could trust now. She had lost her people, her identity, and even her motive to live. All she was spared was her life and her gray wolf. The wolf had silver, burning eyes; expressing the furiousness towards the enemy tribe. But all he could do was, accompany her on the lonely journey. She was his only beloved remaining. The only one that could understand him, the one that wouldn’t kill him.

They both were sitting in front of the tiny bonfire. Trying to comprehend what had happened in the last few days. Absorbing the little heat the fire was giving. Efforting to belittle the grief, the pain, the despondency; while figuring out what to do next. 

She tied her red hair in messy braids, gently petting the wolf in their great distress. All she knew now was to live. She was completely aimless, but she had this cavernous objective to survive, with her wolf. It had become the only ambition of her soul now. 

As the tiny bonfire began to die, she cuddled with the wolf calmly, tightly holding him to her bosom. He could understand her love, her compassion towards him; but at the same time, he could feel her agitation and the intense fear of death. 

They both were getting lost in themselves. Calmly absorbing their solitude, and all of a sudden all they could hear was the furious tribe chants and the marching sound augmenting towards them…