The Fur Song
You've got fur on your fingers, you've got fur on your toes.
You've got fur on your bodee-ee, that's what you wear for clothes.
You've got fur on your tail and you've got fur on your face.
As a matter of fact, you've got fur every place!
Chorus: You've got fur! You've got fur! You've got fur; you've got fur. As a matter of fact, you've got fur!
I infer that you've got fur. Let's confer about some fur. Let's secure all of your fur. Don't deter the growth of fur. Let's defer to those with fur. I prefer that you have fur!
Amaroq is a large black wolf, with golden eyes. He doesn't seem to be so special; sure, he's an alpha of a quite special pack, and he's Inness's guide and best canine friend, but that doesn't make him special.
Ah, but he sings!
Of course I do. I also talk! And dance.
"Sort of." Inness smiles.
Amaroq looks injured.
I dance well!
"Of course, love."
Well, anyway, he dances, sings, and talks...
And I have a rhyori friend Lovis--you may have met her. And two winged wolves, Narka and Negrias, from Marbethil!
And, you have a story, which I would tell if I didn't keep getting interrupted!
Sorry. Go ahead.
Thank you. It is, however a work in progress...
Amaroq, a handsome ebony wolf, sniffed the early morning breeze and smiled. His sister, Cymrae, was coming. Over a grassy hill near him, she came, darting to his side, her sparkling green eyes laughing. The reddish-brown fur covering her body shimmered in the dazzling sun. Amaroq bowed the traditional bow of inviting another wolf to play, grinning with wolfish delight, and tagged Cymrae with his tail. He was off in a flash, skimming the spring-filled tundra, panting with delight. His beautiful silver mother was sparkling, the sunlight glancing off her white-tipped fur, spreading a halo around her. She smiled, watching her young ones play. Amaroq was but two and one half, and Cymrae was only two years of age. Parien came up to stand by his mate, a serious expression on his noble face, but a twinkle in his golden eyes. He turned to nuzzle Olivet, and she smiled at him, and lay down to rest. Her second eldest son of two years, Amaraq, a handsome grey and white wolf, came to stand by his father. With him came his sister, Regalia, a slim, lovely white wolf of three and three-quarters, the eldest child of Olivet and Parien. Then Tolio, the very youngest pup, a fuzzy gray male, with happy blue eyes and perky ears, came to snuggle against his mothers side. Olivet growled lovingly, and bent down to lick his face. Tolio smiled and snuggle close as Parien stepped near and licked his warm body. Just then Amaroq and Cymrae raced to where the rest of the family rested, laughing and leaning against each other. The family reveled in the crisp air of autumn. All were happy, loving, and content in the Kumree*Hills pack.
And then Disaster struck.
None of the wolves knew it was coming; they had all been playing a game of tag, and not listening to the world around them. That proved to be their undoing. They didnt hear the plane as it flew over their peaceful land. They didn't hear the gunshots until it was too late. Amaroq saw his peaceful, sweet mother, and his humorous, noble father go down in an instant; a flash of crimson blood marked their death. Little Tolio, lying by his mother and father, trying to get his lifeless parents to move, to run, finally decided to run himself, and became only a bloody gray stain on the tundra. Regalia was horrified, but she ran as fast as she could, trying to get to the den...and they trapped her, soaring over the den and toward her; she ran towards a huge hill and tried to get over it, to the leeward side, and safety...and was hit on the top, starting to go down, so close to safety. Cymrae spun in dizzying circles crying for her killed loved ones, and then a well-aimed bullet found its mark, and she fell, pleading green eyes dulled and glassy. Amaroq and Amaraq, frozen by the sight of their familys death, came unfrozen, and ran toward the den, away from the dead bodies and the horrible silver plane. They reached safety, bullets landing at their heels, and darted into the den. A muffled curse came from the plane, and the men circled away, into the horizon.
They were safe...but five of the seven wolves were dead. Almost an entire family wiped out in one day. Amaroq cautiously slipped out of the den, and, acknowledging that the plane was gone, and trotted toward his family's dead bodies. He sat back on his haunches and howled, a lonely, mourning sound of grief. Amaraq came to sit by him and joined his howl.
After they were done, Amaroq nuzzled his brother, and trotted across the tundra. Amaraq watched until Amaroq was only a tiny black speck on the horizon, then turned the other way and loped toward a new place, and, what he hoped would be his destiny.
Amaroq had been traveling for days, and he still hadnt come to the forests. "Oh well," he reflected, "the most important thing on my mind right now is food." So he found a small river, waded in, and caught a small fish. As he gulped, his ears detected a faint howl to the west. "Oh no!" he thought, "I must be in another packs territory." Amaroq shrugged, and decided to keep by the river, so if the pack did come for him, he could swim across to safety. He loped quietly by the side of the stream, and no pack came to intercept him.
Finally, the forests loomed ahead; small bunches of scanty fir trees packed together, a pitiful excuse for woodland. Mounds of snow already covered the ground, and fluffy, thick flakes were spiraling downward again. Winter had come much more quickly than Amaroq would've liked, although, if he snuggled up with Cymrae or Regalia, he could stay warm-but no. They were gone. The thought of the stiff forms of his dead family saddened him. He bowed his head to the ground, and kept moving to keep warm. There. He had reached the edge of the forest, and, without looking back, he plunged into the sparse growths of slanted trees.
Amaroq had not expected to find much of interest in the tree area, and he was right-there was scarcely any prey to hunt, and although the mice must have been plentiful, he was too cold to bother.
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