Squeal, little piggy.
A story I wrote for the first challenge of the Gibberish writing competition! Enjoy.
The first prompt of the competition was to depict a chase and the competitors could choose the genre, so I had a play with a fantasy short story. I did my best and I hope you think so too.
The Jarl placed his ear to the ground, wilfully covering the left side of his face in freezing snow. “She’s here, somewhere.” His once tired eyes were lit up with the determination of a madman.
“How do you know it’s female?” asked Hrothgar, concealing his ambivalence.
“It’s a bitch, in every sense of the word.” Harald stood now and looked straight ahead into the gloom of twilight.
“But, my lord, you know what they say,” Hrothgar spoke in a low, respectful voice.
“What do they say?” he asked with a snarl before gulping mead from his pig’s bladder.
“Only the wanton fool hunts the she-wolf,” Hrothgar looked over his fur-clad shoulder. Snowflakes fell lightly, melting in his white eyelashes as he blinked. “This isn’t right. There’s something wrong with this.” In the corner of his eye he spied the pale, four legged spectre. As soon as he turned to look, it was gone.
“Ha! He is happy to hunt the last Snow wolf for Odin but if it is a female? Don’t be ridiculous, Hrothgar,” the Jarl shook his head and waded through the snow, arms wide. “Only a frightened little girl fears the she-wolf.”
“We have been gone for-”
“Shut it, Hrothgar. You sound like my nagging wife.”
“But, the storm, my Lord, it-”
“Nonsense. We have time. One night, Hrothgar. That’s all we need.”
Only the wanton fool hunts the she-wolf.
Dear, hapless would-be-king, you don’t know what it is you’re doing. If I could laugh in your face, I would. I fear that I am the last of myself for now. I am everything you cannot be and I will be free to run, free to hide, free to eat you all up.
Beware, dear Harald, for it won’t be long before I can no longer control myself.
I can smell your scent from miles away. I long for the moment when I catch you and drag my teeth across your naked chest. If your blood is anything to go by, your heart will taste delicious. The moon is getting stronger. She fills me with wild strength!
Four legs against two? I dare you to catch me, you pig. What’s that? A white hare- no, I need to focus. Come on Harald. I’m hungry. You’re my favourite animal. The stupid kind.
Only the wanton fool hunts the she-wolf.
Harald reflected, feeling the words land as they rode their horses into shallower snow. He did know the words. He had known them since he was a boy. His grandmother had told him. His mother had told him. His wife had told him. He covered his ears with his hood as the snow fell heavily around them. Old wives tales, he thought. These women were just that: women. They were women who had never found themselves with a chance of becoming king should they slay the Snow wolf and bring its pelt to the altar of Odin. Harald would be the only king. He would settle for nothing less. They ploughed on, heavy hooves clearing through the snow as though it was the shallow water of a brook.
The snowflakes danced around their eyes and stuck to their beards. Winter in the forest was unwelcoming. The tall pines here did not offer much shelter from the elements. Hrothgar felt sick with worry. He knew they should not have come.
I must not lose myself. I need to focus on the game. The hunt. Chase me, that’s it. Come on, your horse smells great too but it’s you I want.
Oh that is it, oh the smell is too much. I wanted to bite through your horse’s hind when I last circled you but I know, I know you’ll be worth it. You can’t even see me when I loop around you once, twice, oh, maybe the other one saw me. I don’t want him anyway, I’m so hungry for you. No one can help me now. The moon is coming and she urges me on. My arms and legs are unbound and it feels exhilarating, ugh, I am drooling. You can’t see through the snow in your eyes but I can. I can, Harald. You smell so good. You will get what you deserve. I’m going to have some fun.
Pray to the gods if you will, Harald. I’m coming for you.
On higher ground, the men could track the paw prints in the snow until a fresh sprinkle of powder threw them off their trail once again. Bitch.
Harald cried out in frustration, “It’s been two days!”
They rode further into the forest as fast as their steeds were willing to carry them. Hrothgar longed to return home. He thought about her while he rode through the bitter wind. He wanted nothing more than to be with the woman he loved, inside, in the warmth. He sighed as the eastern track grew more hostile, spitting snow sideways with the aid of the icy gale that was trying desperately to turn them away.
Daylight began to fade into its long, winter slumber. They came to an abrupt halt and waited in the patchy light of the unclouded moon. Heavy, grey clouds loomed to the north. The snow would not relent.
“More prints,” Harald whispered, pointing to the path. They were fresh.
Hrothgar felt himself groan. There was no stopping the Jarl. Hrothgar froze when he saw the wolf’s ghostly silhouette in the corner of his eye, weaving through black trees like a spectre. He said nothing.
They told you to beware the curse, young, would-be-king. They told you and you didn’t listen. What’s that I can smell? Another hare, a rabbit? A deer? A deer. I could catch it and it would never have seen me coming. I’m so hungry, I need to hold on- just one leg- no. I must wait. I must wait- and you’re lost out here. You shouldn’t have come. You never listen though, do you? I can smell you now. I can smell your fear. Ah! Your very scent is quenching my thirst for blood.
It’s getting darker now.
Squeal, little piggy. I’m going to eat you all up.
The horses huffed clouds of hot breath into the icy stillness. A cold rasp of mountain air whispered doubts in Harald’s ear. Go back he thought he heard it say. Go back.
Then, on hearing the chilling howl of the lone wolf, their horses whinnied and they raced north, giving their mounts a sharp kick. Harald’s heart beat furiously within his lightly armoured chest, spurring on the nausea in his gullet.
It would not be long before the seven days of night fell upon the land, taking with them his last chance of glory. He would not lose it now.
They tried desperately to steady their breath as they approached the clearing, dismounting with a ghostly quietude. Hrothgar felt that Fenrir himself would not have been able to discern a sudden drop of snow aimlessly sliding off a shrub from the stealthy dismount of Harald and his best huntsman.
This wolf was different.
Now you see me, Harald. Come little piggy. I’m going to eat you all up.
I’m here, Harald. What are you waiting for? I’ll rip your face off, no, wait, I’ll pin you down first and frighten you some more, oh maybe just the leg to start with. No, no, I need to carry you further into the darkness, where I’ll drag you to my den and lick the bones clean. The snow is caking in my fur and I need to shake it off. I’ll lick your bones clean and bury them in the earth.
Do you like what you see, you fool? Come closer and I’ll bite you. I’d love nothing more than to bite you. I bet you’re juicy.
Hurry, before the night takes you. You’re meat, Harald. Nothing but meat and metal. Such tasty man meat and you’re nearly mine.
She was as white as the fresh blanket of snow she was standing on, her pelt illuminated by the bright, translucent moonlight. Her crystal blue eyes were fixed on her hunters; they twinkled in the gloom. She served them a white-toothed snarl.
The blood in Harald’s heart turned ice cold as he fought back the urge to blink, slowly, carefully reaching for an arrow. His hands shook violently. His mouth felt dry. She could not have been more than ten feet away. He had never seen a wolf so big, so fearsome and so close to where he was standing. His arrow started to wobble with the suspense.
The chilling wind was still telling him to drop it. Stop. He would not listen. Hrothgar’s feet were firmly buried in the snow. He watched with wild eyes and clutched the reins of the horses, as though protecting the animals would render him innocent and of no involvement, in the eyes of the gods.
In the split second that Harald released it from the string, the arrow twisted and fired with the whoosh of a peregrine falcon closing in on its prey.
Unlike the attack of the falcon, it seemed to miss somewhere in the murk. “Bitch!” He spat the word; saliva spraying from his mouth like a berserker.
Without thinking, Harald left Hrothgar with the horses and ran, stumbling over disguised logs and ferns as he kept his gaze on the tail of the wolf. In the moonlight, he could make out fine scattered drops of obsidian in the snow. Blood.
His boots crunched the deep powder beneath his feet as he picked up the pace, panting and pumping his arms to lift him into a faster run. The wolf seemed to weigh nothing. It leapt and raced ahead, avoiding all of nature’s obstacles with an unnatural precision.
He huffed and puffed heavily in his pursuit, the white froth foaming in the corner of his mouth. Bitch.
Come little piggy. I’m going to eat you all up. You’re the best meat I’ve ever smelled and I’ll lick your bones clean. What was that? It’s just a hare. I don’t want a hare. My prey is following me to my den- I couldn’t have wished for a bigger fool. Well done.
It’s so dark now. How ever will you survive? You won’t Harald. You’re meat now.
The creature seemed to fly, it was so fast, luring him into the deeper recesses of the forest. He felt it taunting him as it slowed down and sped up each time he grew closer, looking right at him before it did so.
His rage pumped the blood faster into his limbs as he charged, red faced and breathless into the darkness. His arms swung, carrying him along into the pitch blackness.
He did not see the bear.
The snow storm that night arrived as the lookouts had promised. Hrothgar returned to the village the following morning with the two exhausted horses. His hands were red and raw, his bones chilled to the core and his soul weary.
He passed children playing in the snow, rolling balls and throwing them with laughter.
On handing the reins to the stable boy, he overheard two women gossiping outside. The Jarl’s wife, they said, had been gravely injured in the night.
Psst, hey and this piece is 1860 words.
I think the most striking thing about this to me is your decision to get a POV on both sides of the chase. It's somehow even more immersive that way. Very good!
Great title, great concept, great story. You captured the mounting dread and I felt the visceral cold. I really liked how you switched between past and present. I didn't even notice the device at first (because I was just in it), and it helped the wolf's senses feel really immediate. Well done!