This is a work of fantasy. Any resemblance to people -- real or fictional -- is a complete coincidence.
Themes include: fantasy, stranger, forced impreg, non-human, sexual assault and violence.
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With his bow slung across his back, Grayclaw, proud warrior of the Wolf Clan, slunk down from the mountains in search of his prey.
The sun had not yet risen, so the morning air was crisp and cool, flooding his lungs as he ran. It was a day's journey to the valley below. There he would find running streams and green fields where animals would gather to graze; there he would lie in wait in the tall grass, ever patient. When his prey wandered into view and the moment to strike presented itself, he would take his bow and make short work of whatever hapless creature found itself at the end of his flint-tipped arrow. To him -- and, indeed, all warriors of his clan -- there was nothing purer than the graceful arc of an arrow or spear as it flew into a beast's heart, nothing more holy than the stench of hot blood as it soaked the ground. Their deaths were a sacrament, their cries of pain an invocation.
He grunted as he sprung himself off a boulder in his path. This was his purpose in the world. And Gaia willing, in a week's time he could honor his village with a great feast.
One only had to look at him to know which clan he belonged to: tall, lithe and strong, covered from head to foot in old scars and dark-gray fur, his every muscle rippling as his feet carried him forward, he was all Wolf. And while his tribe was known far and wide for their prowess in battle, this warrior also knew he had to conserve his powers for the hunt before him. One misstep, wrong turn, or miscalculation could spell his end. His heart hammered in chest as he dashed between the moss-covered trunks of ancient pines, his senses rapidly taking everything in around him. Too often, he knew, the line between life and death was razor-thin.
However, there was no time to pause or reflect on this -- not for the successful hunter.
Even though Grayclaw was alone, he knew the way better than most. These were the paths his father and mother had taken on their hunts, as their parents had done, and their parents before them. The knowledge was passed down from one generation to the next, imprinting itself on the cubs like a map one could see by closing one's eyes. He hoped to reach the bottom of the mountain by nightfall, and he was making swift progress. He darted over the bramble and twig-strewn ground, his motions as graceful and fluid as a hawk's.
Focused as he was on the task at hand, he almost missed it when his instincts alerted him to the presence of a threat -- no more than a whisper in the back of his mind that reminded him of danger. Though he needed little reminding, for it seemed as if danger forever clung to the forest like a shadow, waiting to seize the unwary.
But this was different. He skidded to a halt and froze.
All his preparation was tossed to the wind as he at last sensed that something was amiss. He sniffed the air, his ears twitching, his eyes glancing from tree to tree. The woods were calm -- too calm for his liking. It took him a few moments before he caught it.
On the breeze ... a foreign scent, one his inhuman sense of smell didn't recognize.
His hackles rose. That could only mean one thing ...
Interloper.
Instantly, he broke off and headed in that direction. Clan Wolf was old. Some believed that it was as old as the mountain itself. As a result, outsiders knew better than to wander idly onto its slopes without good reason. Any creature foolish enough to make that mistake soon found cause to regret it. His tribe made sure of that.
For now, his hunt would have to be put on pause.
With his nose in the air, he followed the scent, and it grew in strength the closer he got to its source. Grayclaw struggled to place it, try as he might. A warrior's greatest weapon was his ability to plan. He wanted to know what he was dealing with before he came face to face with his adversary. Nevertheless, if Clan Coyote or Bear had infiltrated their outer defenses, he was in for a tough fight.
However, a part of him feared that he might be too late. What if the stranger had already made it up to the mountaintop, where his pack resided? It didn't take a large force to do serious harm to a tribe's chances of survival. One ambusher could spoil foodstuffs, kill guards, harm one of their females -- or, worst of all, launch an assault on the nursery. It was a cruel but effective method of eliminating the competition. When the winter months came and food was scarce, the fewer predators stalking the countryside the better: easier to make another's younglings suffer the price than risk one's own.
His stomach tightened and, unconsciously, he bared his fangs. Although he was alone, he knew he was a match for any warrior. He would strike quickly and without mercy to protect his tribe. It was the only way to guarantee their continued safety. More than that, it was his duty.
He inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill his highly-sensitive nostrils. Not much further, now.
He came to the crest of a steep hill flanked by bushes. As he approached, he slowed down and dropped into a crouch. Creeping forward, he unslung his bow from his shoulder and, using the curved end like a hook to create an opening in the shrub in front of him, peered into the ravine below. From his perch on the decline, he was able to get a good look at his 'opponent'.
There was a small brook that cut through the gully. Some forty paces away, kneeling amongst the boulders and reeds and stooping low to cup some water into her hand, was a girl. She was Deer Clan by the looks of it. She had long, powerful limbs, bronze skin, and a white, fluffy tail on her backside. More impressive, perhaps, were her large ears, which sprouted from the side of her head like broad leaves. The females of their kind rarely resembled the males. Whereas he stood tall and proud as a Wolf-kin should, the appearance of their women -- Gaia knew why -- more closely mirrored that of the southern hairless apes known as humans. Still, this one's features were elegant and equine like those of all Deer-kin, and she had brown eyes that were the color of stamped earth. She was naked save for a small leather satchel looped around her bare breast. Chestnut hair fell across her face, shielding her from view, as she leaned down again to scoop more water from the stream to drink.
What was she doing out here? It had been ages since he'd seen one of her kind this far from their grazing lands. He looked at the bag again. Perhaps she was foraging for berries.
