The other, when I was doing… I don’t know…. stuff. I was bored, and I wrote a sort of introductory scene which came across very very innocent. For me, anyway. Now, it wasn’t difficult to write, nor has it been worked on as such. It was just something I wrote when I had a spare five minutes. Actually, it was something I wrote because I found it difficult to write anything that day. I hope you like it though it’s not finished.
The white wolf wondered all across Sweden; People witnessed him battling the snow giants in the furthest reaches of Norrland; And a few years later, he showed up in Skåne where he killed the King of Denmark, and protected Sverige from her enemies. He was known to live through four generations of men. Legends began to emerge about him knowing the secrets to immortality. They spun wicked tales of him tricking the God of gods, Odin, into gifting him a branch from Yggdrasil, the tree of life. They whispered tales of him having eyes capable of piercing the thickest of mists, and enough strength to rival Thor, and the guile to trick even Loki.
Some spoke of how he would transform into a wolf when he fought in battle, and others spoke of him being much more than a wolf. They believed him to be a God, pretending to be mortal. Of course, these are just stories. Who was to say the white wolf was even a single man?
Uppland, Sweden, there stood a village crafted by the wood of the forest that once lived there. Its people, soft. Some had already converted to the ever-growing faith, Christianity. The followers of the White-Christ were already digging their nails into our lands, and scraping at the territory of the Gods. When the white wolf returned, the mere utter of his name crippled the spines of the weak. And for those strong enough, or foolish enough to challenge him, they lived short lives.
The inn was hearty, loud, and full of drunk old men singing songs of the old days. The voices travelled far enough to reach the nearby houses, as did the smell. Buckets of chicken piled up, and nothing but bones left. The smell of dirty ale, honeyed-mead, and piss flooded the vicinity. The door swung open, and silence befell the room. The man who pushed through hid his face with a cloak crafted from the pelt of a white wolf. The hood still had the head of the wolf attached. Rowdy old men stopped, and looked down. The man who walked in had blood staining his cloak. He walked towards the bar and took a seat. In a coarse, yet young sounding voice, “It’s done, I’ve handed the evidence to your wife outside. Where’s my money?” he said. The man standing behind the wooden counter approached him, and handed him a horn of ale.
“All twelve of them?” the bartender kept his eyes on him, “Ale?”
The man rejected, and raise his hand, spreading out his fingers. “Ah, one of those days, Thomas?” The bartender reached for a green glass bottle behind him, “I’ve still got the spirit you gave me last time you came through. From Francia, wasn’t it?”
Thomas nodded, “Yeah, I took a bottle from my father’s. He got around, didn’t he?”
Thomas received a smile from the barman, “O’ yeah, I remember. Trinson was one of the good ones, wasn’t he?”
“I guess. Can’t fault his taste in alcohol, at least.” Thomas looked down. “Sten, I won’t be doing another job after today…”
Sten’s eyes widened, and after putting the sack of coin on the counter he folder his arms, and brushed his hand through his balding grey head of hair. People began talking again in the bar, and Sten leant in, “But why? You’ve done so many for us now, you’ve protected our people from so many bandits, brigands, and crusaders now… Why now?”
“I just…” Thomas sighed. He took his hood off and clenched the bottle. He put the bottle to his lips, “Something has happened, and I need to return home.”
Sten’s face said it all, but before any more questions could be thrown at Thomas, the inn-door opened. Everyone looked with gawking eyes. Sten muttered, “A woman? At this time of the day?”
A woman approached the bar with raven-black hair, crystal blue eyes, a curvaceous figure, and was dressed in a pair of leather trousers, and a hide shirt. Even though she was dressed like a man she was looked at as if she was a goddess. She looked like she had walked through a war, and survived.
“Why is she dressed like a man?” Sten asked.
Thomas sighed, “She demanded it be so. She didn’t want to ruin her dress.”
“I see,” Sten smiled, “this is the thing that came up, then?”
Thomas nodded. She stood behind him, straightened back, and an infinite amount of courage. She had to have it to enter a place full of drunk men in the middle of the day. The laces around her shirt tightened her bust. She waited a moment behind Thomas. The people in the inn were whispering, “Is she insane? That’s the white wolf… how could she approach a man like that? He’ll kill her!”
Her face grew fierce, and her tongue full of attitude, “Thomas!”
Thomas kept the bottle in his hand, and stood up to face her, “Yea— “How dare you leave me on my own!?” she interrupted.
So, that’s it. I hoped you enjoy.
I’ve now got to write a 3,00 word story on something not so innocent to accompany the poem I wrote.