Winter

I will update almost daily now! I'm back, for good!

My book is titled Winter, and although I'm not finished yet, it's coming along great!

Here is an excerpt and a taste of my writing style:
(chapter one)

 Brooke

“She has not yet been born:

She is music and word,

And therefore the un-torn,

fabric of what is stirred.”

- Osip Mandelstam - translated by A.S. Kline, Silentium

     Surrounded by the forest that held me captive, I was watching my wolf and he was watching me, his brown eyes holding mine in an unbreakable grip. Kneeling in the dry leaves, I kept my eyes fixed upon him, holding out my hand with my palm facing upward, luring him to me. He was still the same, but so alien – so completely different as he walked slowly, steadily towards me, until his cold black nose touched my fingers, not resisting my human scent. I sighed and reached my other hand out to him, burying my fingers through his stiff outer coat and into his soft, thick undercoat. He was so familiar, so mine, but so distant at the same time. He owned two skins - one human and the other wolf, and I loved both of him. Even though he was lost to me in a way right now, I still secretly thought of him as beautiful.

    He had three colors of fur. His dusty coat was an aura of browns shifting in the light, with white adorning his underside, chest, and legs, and making its way up his neck and to half of his face, including his muzzle. His ears were also brown, but black crept in along his shoulders, down parts of his head, and then merged with the white along his back. His tail was incorporated of white and brown, and at that moment I thought that overall he looked very noble - his tail relaxed, gently curving down towards the dying grass.

    He was muscular and lean, for he had plenty to eat; the deer were abundant, and occasionally a moose would wander too close and we would hunt. I could imagine it now - the pack working together as a family to feed one another, bloody pawprints lost in the mud, and taking advantage of the opportunity to fill our stomachs. I was the only one who hadn’t yet lost themselves to Winter. I was the last to lose and find myself this year, but I didn’t want to go. I’d never really wanted to.

    The trees in the forest around me were oblivious to their sad deaths, their apparel in a runway blanketing the floor. I could feel a chill in my chest, a hollow, empty feeling that meant that I would soon shed my skin. A sensation I looked forward to, yet dreaded. I didn’t want to give up my legs, my fingers, or my dull human senses, because when I lose those, I lost my true self. If I died as a wolf, no one would know who the person behind that skin was, and I would die nameless. I wasn’t ready to give up my human emotions, though it wasn’t that we didn’t have emotions as a wolf. It was because those were my dulled emotions, and I couldn‘t feel everything as strongly or think as clearly.

    As if he knew my thoughts, my wolf, my best friend, whined and tucked his head into my shoulder. I closed my eyes and let myself concentrate on the balance of scents around me. Strongest was his musky, wolfy smell, but beyond that was the aroma of pine and mulch and the mild oak and moss. The intense cedar was also there, along with the nuts and the heavy earth, and then there was also light sense of Winter that clung to everything in the forest. It was a faint smell that I was so attuned to. I inhaled and exhaled with my eyes still closed, and only then did I gradually become aware of another presence.

    This was the problem with being human - the dulled senses. As a wolf, I would’ve heard and smelled them from far away, miles even. But since I was human, I didn’t know they were here until they were almost directly in my presence.

    My eyes flicked open. I heard the leaves on the bushes rustling, the soft thud of paws, and light breathing and the noise of a body moving even though it was barely audible. I had senses better than a human, but never as powerful as a wolf. I was stuck in an in-between that was neither weak nor strong. I looked up, and saw her then, standing so horribly beautiful. Her white fur was like freshly fallen snow, her eyes knife-like, black and filled with hate.

    My wolf, his body warm as he pressed into me, flicked his ears towards her but showed no other acknowledgement of her appearance. I let my heart rate slow down again - I knew she wouldn’t do anything, because if she was going to then he would’ve somehow known. So I had no choice but to ignore her, an unpleasant presence, and I chose instead to kiss the top of my wolf’s head. He raised it slowly then to press his cheek against mine, and eventually he had to break free of my arms and disappear into the forest, leaving not even a shadow.

    She left in silence. And, like usual, I was left alone.

one of the most influential books in my life:












 plus some great music