corndog-44
11-28-2007, 09:15 AM
The early peoples of Scandinavia had myths of a first generation of deities who personify the untamed powers of nature. This is the story of one of these deities....Hope all you wolves out there enjoy this. ;)
Wilderness Woman
It is night, and the air is chill. . . A wind from the glacier swirls around you, sweeping the night sky clean of all but the stars. They glitter in the darkness like chips of ice; with each breath, frost hangs in the air, but the furs you are wearing keep you warm.
In the distance, you can hear the call of a wolf, most lonely of sounds. You stand on a white slope; above you lift the mountains of Jotunheim where the frost-giants dwell, icy crags wind-sculpted into fantastic forms, trees of ice, frozen waterfalls. Upon the height a fortress clings, white walls gleaming in the starlight. A dark forest laps the slopes below.
Suddenly, a bluish radiance ripples above you as if a ribbon of light had been shaken across the sky. It shivers again, glows purple, lemon yellow, pale green. The crystal walls of the castle glimmer with rainbow refractions. Then the color fades; the night is dark once more. The howling of the wolves sounds again, closer. You still, listening. Are they coming this way? Suddenly you are aware of how alone you are in this waste of rock and snow.
You hasten towards the nearest patch of forest, sliding into the shadow of the tall evergreens. Peering from its shadow, you see a dark shape loping across the snow. In a moment it is followed by another. More come after-- grey wolves, white wolves, black wolves, running light-footed across the snow. You hold your breath, wanting to run with them, afraid to be seen.
As the last wolf passes another figure appears, tall beyond the height of mortals, clad in a white fur cloak with black boots and gloves and black hair flowing behind her. Swiftly she strides, her snowshoes bearing her across the surface of the snow. She carries a bow. Closer and closer she comes, running with the wolves. You shrink into the shadow of the tree. Her face is smooth, her gaze ice-chill. As she nears, she pauses, that icy gaze passes across the wood and your heart stills. Has she seen you? Then her lips draw back in silent laughter, she leaps forward and speeds away down the slope, and a desire you cannot resist draws you after her.
The chase leads down the slope; sometimes you stumble, but you manage to keep her in view. The snow thins, rocky outcrops stud the ground. Now you can hear running water. You slip in mud, the snow is melting, first to muddy slush, then to dark mud. The sound of ice melting, trickling, dripping, is everywhere. You must pick your way carefully through the puddles. The snowmelt has become a rushing stream; quickly it swells, and the air grows warmer.
You are growing warmer as well; you throw off your furs and see that the figure ahead of you has done the same. The garment she was wearing beneath them is as dark as the soil on which she stands. Ahead the sky is growing grey; the air is still cold, but now it is a damp chill, not the sharp cold of snow. The ground is firmer too, and when you pass through a thicket, you can see new buds on the branches; blades of grass are beginning to poke through the ground. A wind stirs the wood, as you emerge, you see that the trees before you bear a cloud of white blossoms; petals drift across the dark soil like spring snow.
The wolves have ceased their mad race; they roll on the ground, leap and growl in play. The Queen wolf snaps at one of the males but he comes back, nosing at her haunches until at last she stands still and accepts his embrace. The Lady has halted at the edge of a meadow, its muddy soil still furred with the silvery husks of last year's grass. Trees grow in a circle around it; this is the Lady's sanctuary.
The sky is growing steadily brighter. In the east the first arrows of gold pierce the sky. Pink follows, blazing in banners of cloud. The Lady's face brightens. It is still beautiful, but it has grown softer, the eyes which were so icy are now lucid as the waters of the stream. The wolves play around her feet. She lifts her arms, and the sun curves up from behind the hills. As the first rays touch the earth, new green sprouts through the winter killed grass. As the sun rises, the figure of the Lady becomes so radiant you can scarcely see.
Dazzled, you close your eyes. The world whirls around you. When it stills, you find yourself in your own familiar surroundings once more. But the glory of the Goddess remains vivid to your inner sight, and when you think of her, the blood still sings in your veins and you remember what it was like to run free.
Wilderness Woman
It is night, and the air is chill. . . A wind from the glacier swirls around you, sweeping the night sky clean of all but the stars. They glitter in the darkness like chips of ice; with each breath, frost hangs in the air, but the furs you are wearing keep you warm.
In the distance, you can hear the call of a wolf, most lonely of sounds. You stand on a white slope; above you lift the mountains of Jotunheim where the frost-giants dwell, icy crags wind-sculpted into fantastic forms, trees of ice, frozen waterfalls. Upon the height a fortress clings, white walls gleaming in the starlight. A dark forest laps the slopes below.
Suddenly, a bluish radiance ripples above you as if a ribbon of light had been shaken across the sky. It shivers again, glows purple, lemon yellow, pale green. The crystal walls of the castle glimmer with rainbow refractions. Then the color fades; the night is dark once more. The howling of the wolves sounds again, closer. You still, listening. Are they coming this way? Suddenly you are aware of how alone you are in this waste of rock and snow.
You hasten towards the nearest patch of forest, sliding into the shadow of the tall evergreens. Peering from its shadow, you see a dark shape loping across the snow. In a moment it is followed by another. More come after-- grey wolves, white wolves, black wolves, running light-footed across the snow. You hold your breath, wanting to run with them, afraid to be seen.
As the last wolf passes another figure appears, tall beyond the height of mortals, clad in a white fur cloak with black boots and gloves and black hair flowing behind her. Swiftly she strides, her snowshoes bearing her across the surface of the snow. She carries a bow. Closer and closer she comes, running with the wolves. You shrink into the shadow of the tree. Her face is smooth, her gaze ice-chill. As she nears, she pauses, that icy gaze passes across the wood and your heart stills. Has she seen you? Then her lips draw back in silent laughter, she leaps forward and speeds away down the slope, and a desire you cannot resist draws you after her.
The chase leads down the slope; sometimes you stumble, but you manage to keep her in view. The snow thins, rocky outcrops stud the ground. Now you can hear running water. You slip in mud, the snow is melting, first to muddy slush, then to dark mud. The sound of ice melting, trickling, dripping, is everywhere. You must pick your way carefully through the puddles. The snowmelt has become a rushing stream; quickly it swells, and the air grows warmer.
You are growing warmer as well; you throw off your furs and see that the figure ahead of you has done the same. The garment she was wearing beneath them is as dark as the soil on which she stands. Ahead the sky is growing grey; the air is still cold, but now it is a damp chill, not the sharp cold of snow. The ground is firmer too, and when you pass through a thicket, you can see new buds on the branches; blades of grass are beginning to poke through the ground. A wind stirs the wood, as you emerge, you see that the trees before you bear a cloud of white blossoms; petals drift across the dark soil like spring snow.
The wolves have ceased their mad race; they roll on the ground, leap and growl in play. The Queen wolf snaps at one of the males but he comes back, nosing at her haunches until at last she stands still and accepts his embrace. The Lady has halted at the edge of a meadow, its muddy soil still furred with the silvery husks of last year's grass. Trees grow in a circle around it; this is the Lady's sanctuary.
The sky is growing steadily brighter. In the east the first arrows of gold pierce the sky. Pink follows, blazing in banners of cloud. The Lady's face brightens. It is still beautiful, but it has grown softer, the eyes which were so icy are now lucid as the waters of the stream. The wolves play around her feet. She lifts her arms, and the sun curves up from behind the hills. As the first rays touch the earth, new green sprouts through the winter killed grass. As the sun rises, the figure of the Lady becomes so radiant you can scarcely see.
Dazzled, you close your eyes. The world whirls around you. When it stills, you find yourself in your own familiar surroundings once more. But the glory of the Goddess remains vivid to your inner sight, and when you think of her, the blood still sings in your veins and you remember what it was like to run free.