The Eclectic Pen - Of Wolves and Elves - Snippet 4


By: Rebecca W. (RFredrick475)   + 3 more  
Date Submitted: 3/9/2007
Last Updated: 3/9/2007
Genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy » Fantasy
Words: 799
Rating:


  Among the elves, there was always an Historian, someone who kept records and told stories and tracked the heritage and evolution of both races. But when fewer elves were born than died, the historian had no successor, and much of our history was lost with him. Elves are not immortal, as the fairy tales might claim, nor do we live in trees and have pointy ears. For all outward appearances, we look and act exactly like humans. We just happen to be blessed with an elongated life-span. I can be killed as easily as a human, but left alone I could live four hundred years or more. Elves are considered juveniles for their first fifty years and elderly after three hundred, so at roughly 139-years-old, I was still in the prime of my life.

You see, each elf is born with a purpose; a specific career, if you will. I was born a Wolfsangel, I had an affinity with all wolves and the ability to recognize a true Alpha werewolf. I say “true”, because today most Packs are led by brute strength and bloodshed. A true Alpha might be the strongest, but more importantly, he leads with cunning and diplomacy, always keeping the best interests of the pack first and foremost.

To be honest, I know more about wolves than I do about elves, having been raised by the Beta pair of a healthy Pack. I don’t remember the Pack’s original Wolfsangel, or know how she died. I do know she wasn’t my mother, as an elf’s specific purpose is not hereditary, but rather based upon the needs of the current Clan. I was female and born into a Pack with an Historian but no Wolfsangel. It was fairly easy to guess what I would become.

I made a few more notes in the journal I was working on, and flipped back a few pages to re-read what I’d previously written about Duncan, the Historian. Even though he’d died while I was still a child, I knew now that his stories were an effort to pass on as much history as he could in a very short period of time. Since I was the only elf I knew, I was doing my best to chronicle what little heritage I remembered. I was pretty sure other elves existed somewhere, and Jordan was convinced of it, but we had no ability to locate them, and I could only hope they were keeping their own records as well.

With the perfect vision of hindsight, I was pretty sure Duncan was my father, though aside from knowing my birthday, as any good Historian would, he never acted in a parental manner. Allen was the father I remembered, and Rhianna the only mother I knew, as the beta pair they raised all the children in the Pack. Before I was old enough to consider questioning him, Duncan died alongside many wolves, all of them trying in vain to protect their Alpha. This was one thing I remembered clearly. The death of their Alpha created a void, and caused me to recognize Gabriel while I was still a teen. In literal years, I was almost twice Gabriel’s age, 54 to his 32, but by our standards, we were both still little more than children. It would be another ten years before Gabriel saw me as an adult, and still five more before he made me his wife and partner.

As the only elf child in the Pack, my companions and playmates were wolves. My best friend was Aidan, the only wolf my own age, and our Pack’s Vereticus. Gabriel was adopted by the Pack as a teen, and while the boys matured twice as fast as I did, the three of us were still inseparable for almost twenty years. We had no way of knowing that our trinity would keep our Pack united for over eighty years, and eventually, Aidan’s death would tear it apart.

Sitting back, I rubbed my eyes and sniffled back the tears that threatened. The soft heart of a Wolfsangel was not meant to be combined with the reminiscing of an historian, and I would have gladly given the job over to Jordan in an instant. But his lucrative career did keep us safely ensconced in a Scottish keep that otherwise might have been falling down around our ears. So the least I could do was journal our lives for future generations. Assuming there would be future generations. Jordan had yet to find a Pack, or mate, he deemed suitable and I was beginning to wonder if the search was in vain. Aidan and I had been born into a Pack that expected and welcomed our arrival. How would we explain ourselves to a Pack who didn’t even know their own heritage?


The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Rebecca W. (RFredrick475)

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Comments 1 to 2 of 2
Jessica M. (scoobykins) - 3/13/2007 8:00 PM ET
Great backstory and well thought out details - I'd love to read more.
Trisha H. (wolfgrrl) - 3/14/2007 2:46 PM ET
interesting story line so far....you have my attention.
Comments 1 to 2 of 2