A little piece of fiction...
Here is a small intro which may possibly develop into a story. Any thoughts on quality and interest?
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Taut was the crisp, cold air as it blanketed the lush hills of Lornaa’s shores, making it difficult to draw a full breath, lest it chill the very innards of the soul. The blanket of cold fog muffled the world’s stirrings, as if the world was trapped beneath a drinking glass. It may have appeared almost completely isolated and preserved in the vacuum of the morning air, had it not been for a faint drumming against the earth, which became more and more pronounced as the buggie broke over the crest of the nearest snow-covered hill.
The wolf stirred, slowly uncurling its tail as it aligned itself in a languid stretch, lazy in the crisp morning. The sound was not unfamiliar, for the wolf had been trailing the buggie for several days and had in fact, pulled ahead so as to allow for a quick nap beneath the snowy pines. But now, judging from the approaching drumming of the horse’s hooves, nap time was over and the wolf sprang to his feet with sudden agility and consciousness.
As the buggie pressed on between the lightly dusted hills, there was a sense of urgency that seemed to ripple in its wake. The driver was stooped over his reins, a heavy coat which was sprinkled with snow, for he had traveled through the night without pause. His expression was fraught with an intensity not often seen in casual travel and it was clear the buggie traveled with immense purpose. The wolf fell into a loping gait, many paces behind the buggie, his breath coming in delicate puffs. The sun was rising upon the fourth day of travel and the wolf felt himself slightly weary of the continuous journey. Although wolves generally possess excellent endurance, it had been a difficult winter for the lone wolf and in the four days he had faithfully trailed the buggie, there had been little pause for food and drink. Indeed, the wolf had a lean appearance and it was clear that it had been a long time since he had journeyed with a pack. Although the surrounding forests were thick with potential prey, it was a fool wolf who attempted to hunt alone, thus dooming him to scavenging for rats and smaller quarry.
The hills began to fall away, the geography growing smoother and as it did so, the wolf became wary, for the trees were thinning out alarmingly fast. As they drew closer to the last cluster of trees, marking the end of Lornaa’s woods, the wolf was suddenly aware of the pungent smell of men. It wasn’t the warm earthy smell of the buggy’s occupants, but rather a dirty and sickly smell of men who didn’t bathe regularly and who possibly harbored a variety of human illness. The wolf snorted as the smell filled his nostrils and he quickened his step, knowing the coach he trailed was rolling itself into immense danger.
True to the wolf’s nose, a cluster of men were poised in the last stance of forest, awaiting the passage of the buggy. They were indeed of the most common bandit variety, stinking to high heaven of filth and grime, from weeks of crashing in flop houses and chronic belligerence. They were still, cracking smiles at one another, sharing a perverse fantasy of the spoils they were sure to recover from such a hold up.
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