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Uncle Al was born in 1879, so it’s his 127th birthday–in this frame of reference, anyway.

This month’s random thread, continued, continued. Please read The Rules if you haven’t yet.

THANK YOU GAPA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!! Now my story isnt very good, and the ending was really rushed. Its really only the first chapter or too of my origanal idea, so i might continue it later. here it is:

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I awoke to a sunny day. I sniffed the air, smelling the sweet herbal tea that our servant, Merinin, drinks. It was about then that I received a sharp poke to the ribs. It was Cassandra, my older sister, of course.

“Wake up, Keira!” She half sang. “There are chores to be done, and I’m not doing your share for you!” Chores. And with today nearly a holiday, too. I sighed, but got up. Cassandra was already doing her hair, twisting it up into a red-gold bun high on her head, allowing only two strands to tumble down around her face. I prefer to wear my hair loose, but with the recent heat I felt tempted to twist it up. Mother says I’m almost sixteen and should not wear my hair like a young girl, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to grow up. As I left the room, Cassandra called out once more.

“Don’t forget to wake Kestral!” As if I would. Kestrel is my younger sister, and the joy of my life. I head towards the room where she sleeps. She is lying across her bed, her sheets kicked off to help stay the summer heat. “Kestral,” I crooned. “Time to get up.” I nudged her. She stretched and smiled sleepily.

“Today’s the festival…” She murmurs. I helped her to sit up and brush her hair. It is golden, cascading down her back in rolling waves. So different from my hair, which is brown and straight. She smiled again, and I felt warm inside. Kestral has that effect on people.

When we had all eaten breakfast and finished our chores, Kestral begged us to take her to the carnival, and I gave in without much resistance. “Wait,” I told her. “I have to ask Mother and Cassandra.” She pouted, but stayed put while I dashed off in search of my family. Our house is big, but not grandly impressive. We are of merchant class, after all. When I found them and asked, Mother bit her lip. “I’m not sure…” My Mother murmurs. “It may not be safe out there…”

“Oh, come on Mother,” Cassandra chimed in. “I’ve been meaning to get a new necklace for myself, and weren’t you wanting some new fabric?” Mother finally relented, and gave us each a small bag of coins, with an extra one for Kestral. Fortunately, Kestral was where I left her, hopping up and down with the excitement all eight-year-olds seem to have.

“Can we go?” She asks, her eyes hopeful.

“Yes, yes. We can. But we have to be home before mid afternoon.” Cassandra told her.

When we arrived, I was amazed with how it looks, just like I was every year. The street was filled with tents, merchants and jewelers peddling their wares. Kestral laughed out loud, and I don’t blame her. Colored paper ribbons decorated all the stands, everything competing for your attention. We walked along, pausing now and then to exclaim over some trinket or other. Kestral soon lost interest, however, and dashed ahead to watch a minstrel play the lute, or a jester make a coin disappear. I fingered one of the coins Mother had given us, debating whether or not to buy an amethyst bracelet. Something flickered at the corner of my eye, and I allowed the stone bracelet to slide out of my hand and back onto the table. Carefully, I turned towards the slight glimmer. It came from a table, draped with colored scarves. They fluttered in the slight breeze, but never gave me glimpse as to what was inside. I made my way towards it, barely aware that I was moving. I stopped, suddenly uncertain. Whatever was concealed behind the tent was pulling me. Hesitant, I stepped inside. I could have sworn that the temperature had dropped from boiling to cool in the space of a few seconds. No one else was inside; save for the merchant, an old woman who sat huddled in a blanket. I glanced around, slightly disappointed. I had been hoping for an adventure, but all I saw hear were musty old scarves and tarnished necklaces.

“You have come.” A horse voice croaked out behind me. I spun around, facing the woman.

“I – I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But do I…do I know you?” She made no reply to this, only gave a horse laugh.

“I waited,” She whispered. “They said you would come to me and now you are finally here. All the years I spent searching for someone to take this curse, this burden away in vain.” She laughed again, a horrible chocking sound. “I should have listened.” She finished, with a tinge of bitterness.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to offend you,” I said in a hastily, backing away. “But I really have to be going now you see I-“

“Stop.” It was a command. I stopped. “Come here.” Hesitantly, I moved forward. Without asking she reached out and grabbed my hand, her fingers icy and gnarled. She twisted my arm over so my palm was facing up. She traced a design onto my hand, as if outlining a blemish.

“See that mark?!” She demanded.

“No.” I responded, truthfully. Ignoring me, she used her other hand to remove a silver bracelet from her wrist. With shaking hands, she peeled the bracelet from her wrist, slowly lifting it away from her flesh. The strange bangle flashed silver, and she winced.

“So I was not spared…” she murmured, her voice edged with sorrow, and, strangely, relief. I starred at her arm in growing horror. There were two small red holes in her forearm, slowly welling up with deep, red blood. I tried to back away, but found I couldn’t move. She reached out again, ignoring the blood, and clasped the bracelet round my wrist. It fit perfectly, the cold metal clinging to my wrist, but not tight enough to hurt. Satisfied, she collapsed back, panting.

“It’s lovely,” I said to be polite. “But I don’t think…” I trailed off, staring down at the trinket. It was shaped like a snake, coiling twice around my wrist. It shone pure silver, almost lifelike in its appearance. Emerald eyes glittered at me from the serpents head. And there was no way to remove it. I searched for a lock, a clasp, anything before-before what? I asked myself. “Thank you, but I really can’t accept-”

“Go!” She screeched, shrilly ordering me out. “Leave now!” She pointed a shaking finger at me, her eyes wide and dilated. “You must go,” she croaked. “Find the key and unlock the verse/Run from Athena’s deadly curse/Give in only to save your lives/See others flee from their demise…” I backed away and, realizing I could move, turned and ran. Out, away form the woman and the strange cool air. For the first time in months, I welcomed the scorching heat. The merchant’s voice cut after me, screaming still.

“Freezing sun and scorching frost/All light is gone, all hope is lost!”

I charged past a juggler, accidentally knocking into him and sending colored balls bouncing to the ground. Angry yells issued from his audience.

“Sorry!” I called over my shoulder. Where was Cassandra? I stopped, slightly annoyed. I stopped and glanced around. Of course. She was standing near Kanto, who was by the knives. Cassandra glanced my way, and sighed.

“Never mind, there she is.” She came towards me, looking a bit exasperated.

“Thanks,” She said.” You just made me look like a fool. And it’s your turn to amuse Kestral.”

“You make it sound like a chore.” I accused. Kestral was watching a fire-dancer, spinning and wheeling on a makeshift stage, the flames never seeming to burn or singe him. Suddenly, he leapt into the air and shot a jet of flame straight from his mouth. The crowed screamed in fright, then cheered. He bowed once, and then vanished in a puff of smoke. The announcer took his place.

“That was Blaze, the Fire Master!” he roared. I spotted Kestral one again and started working my way towards her. She saw me coming and threw herself into my arms, laughing, her voice musical and sweet.

“Did you see!” She cried. “That was amazing! Can I learn?” She looked at me eagerly. I had to laugh at her.

“We can’t have you learning to breathe fire. We’re practically noble. She looked disappointed, but only for a moment. Then she was tugging me towards more displays and chatting up a storm. I must admit, I forgot all about the old woman and the bracelet. Well, maybe not forgot, but I ignored it, at least.

An hour or two later, we set off for home. Kestral and I probably could have stayed at the festival all day, but Cassandra’s prodding brought us home on time. We were all laughing and happy upon our return. Even Cassandra was smiling. Ceto, our mother, glanced up from her weaving on the loom in the corner. She is famous for her intricate patterns and delicate hands. Her works sell for high prices and give us extra money for more frivolous things, unlike father, who works to support us and raise our social standing. Mother smiled. “Have a good time?” She asked. “Your uncle Thumas will be coming to stay with us for a while. I expect the best behavior from all of you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us. We’ll be good” Cassandra said lightly. “Don’t you just love this necklace?” She held up a chain dangling silver flower set with purple stones.

Later, once I had escaped Cassandra and my mother, I slipped quickly up to our room, and took a closer look at the snake winding around my wrist. It was silver, as I mentioned before, with glittering emerald eyes. The mouth was closed; I could just see the hint of teeth inside. I ran my fingers along the edge, once again looking for a way to take it off. There was none. I raised my arm so I was staring directly at it. I had to admit the craft work was marvelous. The pattern was intricate, each scale individually etched into the serpents body. My eyes were starting to blur from staring at it so long and hard. I blinked, and sighed. This was useless. Why did I want to get it off anyway? It was pretty enough. I could pretend I bought it. But some deep part of me wanted it off. Off and far away from me. This would have to wait.

I sat in the front room, working on a loom. I love weaving, it is about the only useful thing I can do well. Mother also says it keeps me out of trouble. I was working on a new pattern, depicting Athena as she fought. Her sword flashed, a grim smile on her face. She fought against an entire army. Her shield was raised to block a sword slamming down at her. Mother came in, studying my work.

“Interesting,” she commented. “Did you make it as an offering after the feast?”

I sat back and examined what I had done. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ll probably make something a little more flattering for that.” This week we spend time honoring Athena and all are allowed to take the week off work and spend time with our family. We end with a great feast enough to feed most of our town and everyone brings offerings to place in front of Athena’s statue in our temple. “For that weaving I was thinking of doing a portrait of her.” I was interrupted by a loud banging at the door. Merinin rushed to answer it while father called to us from upstairs.

“Is that your Uncle Thumas?” The door flung open with a tall, black haired man striding in.

“Uncle” I cried, running towards him.

“And could this possibly be little Keira? I don’t believe it.” He hugged me hard, squeezing the breath out of me. He released me, turning to mother. “And this lovely lady? Could it possibly be Cassandra? No, far too young.”

“Don’t tease, Brother,” Mother laughed. “As if you don’t recognize your own sister.”

“Ah, but I envy you, dear. You haven’t aged a bit since I saw you last. And that was nearly this time last year!”

“Thumas!” It was father rushing downstairs. “Thumas, how are you?” he cried.

“As well as possible, if a little undernourished. I could eat an entire cow by myself!”

“Well dinner should be soon. Keira, go tell Merinin to set another place.” I wondered off to the kitchen and delivered mother’s message.

“That man is a bottomless stomach,” Merinin replied. “If he stays longer than a week he will eat us out of our own home,” she said shaking her head. I sat down near her, watching her as she cooked. “Here, make yourself useful”, and she set a metal tin of potatoes in front of me and handed me a knife. I started peeling, debating whether or not to tell her about the bracelet. Finally, I spoke hesitantly, “Merinin?” I asked? “Do you know if this is a symbol for anything?” I pulled back the sleeve of my dress, revealing the snake bracelet. Merinin, it turned out, knew more than I ever guessed. She studied it.

“The Snake of Might. A snake that could survive anywhere, be it sea, land or even fire. Possessing one was said to make you strong but also in danger. For along with the ability to go anywhere, it possessed a deadly poison.” She looked at me strangely, “Where did you get this?”

“At the street fair,” I replied. This was true.

“Well, we have talked far too long. Just let me finish making dinner and we can talk then.” After that, all I did was try to peel the skin off of a potato in one strip.

During dinner, Uncle Thumas talked to father about business and commented on how Cassandra was turning into a fine lady. I was bored, eating without really noticing what was going on. Kestral sitting across from me was nearly falling asleep. “Mother?” I asked during a brief pause in the conversation. “May I take Kestral upstairs? We’ve had a long day.” She hesitated and glanced towards Uncle Thumas.

He stretched. “Oh let them go, Ceta. More dessert for us, eh?” She nodded to me, and then turned back to her conversation with Cassandra. I followed Kestral upstairs, gently nudging her towards her room. Then I went into the room I shared with Cassandra.

I lay in bed, unconsciously twirling the bracelet around my wrist. The snake of might. Somehow, it fit. I could feel sleep closing in on me. Resting my arm on the pillow near my head, I stared at the snake’s emerald eye. “Why are you’re here?” I whispered. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep were the words “to help you.”

I stood on a cliff, looking down at the sea below me. Surf crashed onto the steep rocks below me. I bent my legs, crouching and sprung off the edge. Plummeting down towards the water, faster and faster until the surface was only a few feet, inches away – cool mists surrounded me. I floated, submerged completely in blissful wetness. I know that I was dreaming, but only because I could accept all of this. In real life I would never have jumped off the edge of a cliff. But here, it was all right. I slid forward into the water, looking around me. I couldn’t see much, just endless, serene blue.

“What do you seek?” a voice asked. I spun around. A snake floated in the water behind me. It was huge.

“You’re the same snake from my bracelet.” I breathed. Even in dreams, fear prevails. I glanced down at my now bare wrist. Of all things, the snake looked amused.

“Your questionsss will be ansssswered.” Its voice was whispery, like the rustle of dry leaves. “But you mussst wait.” Then I was falling again, but this time into darkness. I sat up in bed, gasping for air. Cassandra was standing in front of her wardrobe putting on a dress.

“Are you all right?” she asked me. “You were tossing and turning for the better part of the night.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I told her.

During breakfast Uncle told us a story from when he was on his ship trapped in a severe storm. “We were caught in the very middle of it,” he recalled. “A man from my crew, a fair skinned lad called Terrim, fell overboard. We threw an empty barrel at him in hopes that we could pull him back, but the storm was so fierce that the water grabbed the rope out of our hands. It was then that a terrible monster, at least 40 feet long, bursts from the watery depths.” He shook his head, dazed. “I will never forget the looks of it. Terrible, terrible beast. I called: ‘Poseidon, In the name of all wondrous things you created, let us pass!’ Well, I thought we were doomed. And so did my crew. It wasn’t an hour later when a strong humming filled my ears. I thought it would drive me mad, that sound. But low and behold, the sea serpent stopped its attack and the storm subsided. And a few seconds later, Terrim came floating towards us, clutching the barrel. It couldn’t have been anything less than the work of the sea god, Poseidon, himself.”

Uncle sat back, finished with his story. Kestral stared at him, awe-struck. Mother smiled. “Oh Thumas, you were always one for tales.” Uncle Thumas looked serious. “This isn’t a tale, dear sister. Even one such as I wouldn’t dare lie about the Gods.” Father strode in. Uncle jumped up.

“Ah, Phorcyes. You missed my story.” Father laughed. “Don’t worry; I’ve got much more to do today. After all, the great feast honoring Athena is tomorrow.” I excused myself, heading to the front room. I sat down at the loom taking off my old tapestry. I threaded the loom with the beginning of a new project. It would be of Athena of course, standing on a mountain of clouds of the whitest thread, golden on top where they met Athena’s feet. The goddess held her sword up high, the triumphant mile plain on her face. It was apparent that she had won a great battle. On her other arm she wore a shiny silver shield. I opened my eyes. The vision still imprinted in my sight and began to weave.

Hours later, I leaned back, stretching my aching limbs. I appraised my work, studying it carefully. It was good so far, although I probably could have done better on her shield. Something was missing…. Mother came in and at her glance at it, nodded once. “I like it. It looks like you could use some more white though. It looks like you are running out.” It was true. “Here, I will get you some so you don’t run out.” I nodded my thanks and returned to my weaving.

That night, I slipped into bed, barely believing I would be able to fall asleep, with the feast tomorrow and the proposal of another dream. But in moments, I was once again standing on the cliffs. I glanced around this tine, wondering what else was in this strange landscape. On all sides of me, just a few feet away lay thick mists, obstructing my view. I could not tell how far they went, only that I could walk into them forever and never find my way out. So I turned once again and like the previous night, dove down towards the water. Once I was surrounded by the crisp, sold blue I looked around for the silver serpent. I saw it, gliding towards me with effortless grace. “What is out here?” I asked “Beyond the mist.” The snake paused, its deep blue eyes clouded over.

“I can not tell you, my child, as much assss I may wish for it housssesss a terrible and beautiful power. One that I do not wish to come acrossss. It is old and dark magic. Only immortalsssss can travel to it beyond the mistssss.” I stared at the serpent.

“Your eyes” I breathed. It stopped its restless twisting for a moment, and then relaxed.

“ Yesss, my child. When I am in the water, they glow a deep blue. On land, they are an emerald green. And when I travel into fire…..they burn with the deepest red-gold, the heart of the flames. But we have not time for thiss. You mussst leave sssoon and there still is much I have to tell you, warn you of, before-” He stopped, rigid. “Roc! Run!”

There was a flash of silver and he vanished. I glanced up through the water above me and saw a pair of enormous talons swooping down, ready to rip, tear, and kill. Another flash of silver hit me hard in the chest, driving me back as the huge bird’s claws tore into the water where I had been an instant before. “I will be back sssoon. You must go!” he commanded.

“I don’t know how!” I wailed desperately. He wrapped himself around me, facing me to stare into one of his deep blue eyes. I once again fell, through a glittering cerulean haze back into my bed. I felt it under me and was asleep in a moment, exhausted from what had happened.

“Keira! Hurry up and get dressed. It is already almost 10 o’clock and no matter what mother says, I am not going to let you sleep all day.” Cassandra. Again. But at least I was well rested.

That morning was spent pre paring for the feast. Getting offerings together, changing clothes, Telling Cassandra that yes her dress did look good on her and yes, she should not change it again. But when we got there, it was worth it. Everything was draped in sheets. Olive sprigs were twining up pillars, with statues and portraits depicting Athena in all her glory I carried my weaving under one arm, fighting my way with Mother and Kestral towards the temple. When new finally got there I found an open spot a little off to the side of a statue of her. Mother spread her tapestry out, with mine along side it. Kestral and the rest of my family put their gifts on top. And, oh, there was so much food! It was everywhere, piled on tables and on blankets set on the ground. Everyone was eating and laughing. We chose a table near Kantu’s family, anther wealthy merchant. The next hour was spent eating our favorite foods and trying new, interesting looking delicacies. Everyone would eat well today. We sat, listening to Kantus’s family talk and replying and laughing with them. During a brief pause, Kantu took a breath. He hadn’t spoken much, but turned to face Father. “Sir”, he said, I would like to ask for your daughter Cassandra’s hand in marriage.” He stood tall as he asked and Cassandra, who was sitting next to me, caught her breath. I glanced at her, her eyes full of hope and fear. My father chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then swallowed.

“You are a fine young man with a respected family. If this is what Cassandra wishes, then you have my blessing. Cassandra gave a cry of joy and rushed to embrace Kantu. We surrounded her and congratulated both. You are betrothed” I whispered in excitement.

“Yes” she said, dazed. “I am.” She and Kanto sat next to each other for the rest of the meal blissfully unaware of anything else. Mother was crying.

“Oh, you just look so beautiful” she wept. “As beautiful as Athena herself”.

“Just as beautiful?” Cassandra teased.

“No, even more so.”

“More beautiful than me?” a voice rang out from behind them. It was clear and sharp as a knife. I caught my breath, not daring to believe my eyes. Could it possible be ……?

“Athena” Kestral whispered. I stared, dazzled by her beauty. But Kantu barley noticed.

“I worship you” he said, “But I could never love you like I love Cassandra. In my eyes, she is more beautiful that any goddess.”

Athena’s lips curled in a mean smile. “Is that so?” she asked. “Well what about me?” Cassandra uttered a short gasp of pain, turning to me in horror. But I felt it too. And from Kestral’s shuttering moans, I knew with a sickening feeling that something horrible was about to happen to us. My skin prickled and bronze scales rippled down my arms. My back exploded in a horrible cloud of screaming pain as wings wrenched themselves our on my back and arched skyward. I am not even sure what all happened to me. I could tell I grew claws and talons on my feet. But all I could tins of was Kestral poor Kestral, in so much pain. Somewhere distant, away from my mind I heard screaming and horrific gasps. Then a cry. Kestral’s. I fought my way into consciousness, only to feel my hair turn itself from long, twisting strands to form – snakes. Slithering, hissing snakes in the place of where my hair had been. Cassandra screamed a terrible inhuman scream. I forced my eyes open and saw what had become of us. We were horrible monsters, no longer human. Cassandra wailed, her happiness gone completely. I saw Kantu, rushing forwards, straight towards Cassandra. He took her hands in his. She hid her face, hiding it from view. He whispered fiercely,

“I still love you.” Shocked, Cassandra stared up at him, seeing truth in his eyes. And perhaps we could have gone on like that, except for the last, most terrible change of all. As she stared into his eyes first disbelief, then pure joy. Her own eyes flashed, and in a moment, Kantu had turned to stone. Grey, lifeless, all trace of human gone from him. His face still held the loving look he had last given her. Cassandra shrieked a wailing echoing cry that cut the air like a knife. She wretched herself out of his cold embrace, and clawed at her own scaly skin. Men were shouting, streaming towards us. They carried swords, daggers, anything they could use to hurt us.

“Fly, my sisters, fly!” I cried. Cassandra lifted up her wings, pure white edged with black. With a powerful down stroke, she rose into the air. A moment later I joined her, my silver tipped wings creating a gust of wind that knocked the food off the tables. Kestral leapt up and grasped my hand. I pulled her into the air until she managed to keep herself aloft using her own gold edged wings. We tore up into the starless night sky, away from the earth and those who wanted to kill us. We flew effortlessly, gilding on unseen currents of air. If I had not been a monster, I almost could have enjoyed it.

“Cassandra…” I started hesitantly.

“No,” she responded. “I am no longer Cassandra. Cassandra is dead.” Kestral sniffed from behind me.

“She is right,” she whispered coarsely. “We can never go back.” I felt confused, but I knew they were right. I had left my self behind, I was no longer Keira. “What will you call yourself?” I asked.

“Euryale.” Kestral said softly. “Wanderer, because we can never go home.”

“Sthenno.” I said. “Meaning might.” Cassandra, or what had once been Cassandra, remained silent.

“My name will mean cunning,” She finally said. “I am Medusa.”

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The hunter raised his gun. He had come here to kill a wolf. They had killed the cows he had been trying to raise so he could sell their milk. He had woken up one morning to find that there was nothing left of the cows but a trail of blood and a paw print. The wolves were near. He could hear them. Smell them. The pack was close, coming closer. He tightened his grip on the trigger. When they came, he would be ready. A twig snapped in the undergrowth behind him. He whirled around, ready to fire. What he saw made him dropped the gun in surprise. For staring into his eyes were the bright, green eyes of a girl.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Salaen stared into the deep blue eyes of a man. She threw back her head and howled. Run! Pack run! Now! She took off into the woods, dodging trees as easily as a bat. She ran on four legs, like a dog. As she ran, a dark gray wolf joined her.

Danger? He asked silently.

Yes. Salaen replied. Man with pain-stick. Hurt bad if hit. Run fast home now. The wolf gave a short bark and dashed ahead. A few moments later Salaen herself burst into a clearing among a group of wolves, all barking and yipping madly. A large, snow-white wolf leapt onto a boulder (his name was Snow-drift). He howled and the pack grew silent.

A man came. Sleep now. Hide. Do not leave. He told them. The wolves trotted obediently into several caves on the other side of the clearing.

Salaen. Stay here for a moment. Snow-drift called to her. Salaen stopped and hesitantly approached the rock. What happened back there? He asked.

I’m not sure. I saw a man. He looked at me and backed away. Then he yelped and dropped the pain-stick. Snow-drift nodded.

The Song Pack will be coming in 5 moons. He said suddenly. Salaen almost yipped in excitement. The Song Pack was well known among wolves. The elders often told tales about them, wandering endlessly. They would travel all night in silence until the full moon. Then the wolf at the head of the pack would stop, sit down and throwback his or her head and sing. The rest of the wolves would then the file past them as they listened until the head wolf was at the back. Then the next wolf at the front would sing. Any pack that wanted to could join them for as long as they wanted.

I want you to sing for our pack, along with Leaf and Siera.

Salaen stared at him. Me? She asked disbelievingly.

Yes. Snow-drift said. Then Snow-drift shook his head and gave a short, low bark, which probably meant something like that will be all. Salaen dipped her head respectfully before trotting over to a cave. As she walked in, a dark wolf raised his head sleepily.

All is well? He asked drowsily.

Yes, Rahea. All is well. He yawned and lay down again. Salaen stayed up for a while and thought. Snowdrift and Rahea were different from most wolves. They spoke differently. (Spoke is a very lose word. Wolves communicate more with understandings, such as the raw, half-formed thoughts that race through your head.) These wolves spoke in sentences with complexity, not in short statements accompanied by a bark or a growl. Like her. They spoke like her.

Salaen knew she was different from the other wolves. For one thing, she was covered, not in fur as the others were, but in tough, light brown skin. She also had longer back legs than fore legs. This made running difficult but it was easier to jump with her long back legs. She also had longer front paws with slender, narrow toes. She could do odd things with these paws, such as pulling burrs out of a comrade’s fur or even holding onto tree limbs with them. They were very useful. She sighed and settled down.

It was noon when she woke, or what wolves call shan, their word for no shadows. She stretched and yawned. Day was not when wolves were most awake. But she was hungry so she left the warmth of the cave to go and eat.

As she went out, she noticed several other wolves standing in the clearing. Leaf was there, one of the other wolfs that would sing. He had gotten his name from his eyes. They were brown with green around the edges, like an almost dead leaf. Green was not a normal color for wolfs eyes. Any wolf that had even a spec of green was rare. Salaen supposed that was why she was different. She had pure green eyes. She walked over the dew covered grass towards the lake. She was a few strides (a stride is about a yard) away when a great black shape hurdled itself at her, pinning her to the ground.

She gave a low growl and flung herself into the air. Whatever held her, let go. She twisted and sprang at a wolf as black as night. His coal black eyes glistened with surprise at the sudden attack. This gave her a moment to push him to the ground and bat at his head. Then she leapt to a small patch of dirt and lay down panting. The black wolf lay down and growled.

You’ve killed me. I’m dead. He rolled onto his back and looked at her, his legs in the air.

Salaen laughed. Stop it, Rahea. She said. I’m going for a walk. Rahea was her best friend. The rest of the wolves saw her as different, but not Rahea. He understood her better, like Snow-drift. She supposed that this was because they all talk the same way, but wasn’t sure. Plus, she had known Rahea as long as she could remember. They were good friends.

Okay. He sprang up on to his feet. I’ll meet you in a few minutes. Salaen headed into the bright forest. Once inside, she stopped to study a spider web. The pattern connected easily in her mind. The dew drops on it glistened like tiny rainbows. The yellow and orange spider still slept in the middle. She went on to look at flowers and single stems of grass. She did not know why she was interested in these things. Maybe she just wanted to understand them better. She was about to step closer to a brown and red leaf when she felt something. It wasn’t like a thing had poked her or like she had stepped on something. The forest just seemed different for a second. She paused and sniffed the air. Something smelled wrong. Almost like………Humans! They sprung out from behind trees and ran towards her. Salaen twisted around and saw more of them. She growled as they came ever closer. Suddenly a voice shot through the forest like lightening.

Salaen! Rahea cried, crashing through the trees. Snow-drift and two other wolves (Sol and Tora) followed. The men made surprised noises.

Run! Snow-drift bellowed to her. She tried to, sprinting towards a small opening between the humans. But then a buzzing sound filled her ears followed by a sharp pain in her shoulder, and she remembered nothing more.

Pain……moving fast………so fast…people……all white, blinding ……… muttering…….can’t…….understand……..must learn……….

Salaen woke slowly, pain throbbing in her head. A dim awareness told her that she had been sleeping, but her body was all wrong. She was laid out flat across something that was neither rock nor moss. She tried to curl up into a ball, but spasms of pain rushed down her spine. She gave a soft moan and tried again. She soon learned that if she moved slowly enough, she could move a few inches at a time, but would have to stop for a short while after. Strange sounds came floating towards her. Suddenly, a face stared down at her. It was a human face, with grey eyes. She stared back, too startled to do anything. It said something, the voice low. Another female face joined it, this one with brown eyes. It spoke in a high, twittery voice, much like that of a sparrow. They looked down at her. She gave a weak moan and heard the low voice again, this time sounding surprised.

Suddenly the surface she was laying on gave another jolt. She thrashed and sent another wave of pain down her spine. She laid, heart racing, while the bed moved into an upright position. Then the grey eyed man looked her up and down, took a strange machine and attached something to it. He picked up what looked like a pine needle. He made a sudden movement and jabbed her in the arm with it.

Salaen yelled at the sharp pain and was once more plunged into darkness.

More voices…..many, many voices….. language……. I must learn ……….. to speak……now…….more darkness………no!

Doctor’s Medical Journal: Day 7

The girl my colleagues brought back from the forest is strange. She does not behave like a normal teenager, but like an animal. A wild animal. Mrs. Sprek, the nurse, reported that she had actually bit her the other day. I am glad at this sign of liveliness from her, as she seems to have been very weak for the four days she has been awake. When I first stuck the IV tube into her, she shrieked and passed out from shock and exhaustion. But strangest of all, scientists want to see her. They are astounded that she could have been living with animals all of her life and still be alive and in reasonably good health. Most assume that she is stupid and is not capable of learning anything. This is not true. Whenever I or Mrs. Sprek comes into her room, recognition flashes in her eyes. She knows us, maybe even trusts us.

Salaen lay in bed staring perplexedly at a box on the wall. When she hit a panel on a certain spot, people inside it changed appearance and started doing different things. She made them change about five more times when all of a sudden, the woods were inside the box. She stared at the screen amazed. Then of all things, a wolf trotted into her view. She gave a cry of sorrow and pain and joy. The sparrow lady came running. She made strange sounds in her throat and looked at Salaen. Salaen opened her mouth and tried to speak human but all that came out was garbled wolf. She desperately tried again and this time she spoke in a different way. The shocked Mrs. Sprek heard in a cracked, husky voice a single word: “wolves.”

Salaen stared coolly at an unfamiliar lady sitting in her room. She spoke to Salaen as if she were stupid.

“Can … you…understand…me?” She looked at Salaen, and she looked back.

“No.” Salaen said firmly. The lady blinked. Salaen had learned much of the human language in a few short days. It was like the way she spoke to Rahera or Snow-drift, only with more noise.

“Can…you…say…anything…else?” Salaen looked at her in disgust.

“No.” she said again.

“Yes…. you… can.” the women replied.

“I am not stupid” Salaen retorted. “Go away.” The lady sighed and left. As soon as she was out the door, Mrs. Sprek, the sparrow women, hurried in.

“How was it…” she asked, “…that Miss Adrian seemed sort of ….” She paused to think.

“She thinks I’m stupid,” Salaen said flatly.

“No, No! She just doesn’t understand you.”

“Am sorry.”

“For what dear?”

“For bite you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. My son bites me harder. Now, how about some lunch?”

Salaen nodded vigorously. Talking in human was hard work. Lunch consisted of soup and bread, though she would have preferred meat. Salaen ate everything.

“My, I remember when you never ate anything” Mrs. Sprek laughed. Now let’s see what we can do with your hair.” Mrs. Sprek had been dying to comb this girl’s hair. It was all knotted and tangled, and she wanted it to be neater. The girl looked at the items in her hands suspiciously.

“You not stick me with needle again?”

“Oh no, of course not dear. Just sit up straight now…”

Two hours later, Mrs. Sprek looked proudly at her work. Instead of a tangled mess, Salaen’s hair was long, going down almost to her waist. It would have been longer, but Mrs. Sprek had to cut a few burs off of the bottom. It was also jet black, and contrasted wonderfully with her green eyes.

“My head is sore.” Salaen said. She did not like having her hair brushed. It was annoying. She lay back down, tired. She could feel the sun overhead, even though three stories separated her from it. It was around 1:00 pm when most wolves would still be sleeping. But the doctors had gotten her out of the habit of sleeping only during the day.

Doctor’s Medical Journal Day 16

Salaen has been here for over two weeks and is fully recovered. We are still in a bit of a dispute about where she is going to live after this. As far as I know, a scientist named Adrian Troy has asked for Salaen to be living with her for observation. That does not sound like a good idea to me.

Salaen stared dully out of the window in the lobby of the hospital.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetie. I am sure you’ll have a lovely time at Miss Troy’s house.

“No, I won’t,” Salaen Salaen said miserably. Mrs. Sprek sighed.

“I know you don’t like her, but you will have to try.”

Three days later Adriane was giving Salaen a tour of her new home.

“And this will be your room” she continued. Salaen walked inside and looked around. A bed covered with a light green blanket rested in one corner. A dresser and a mirror stood opposite. The walls were colored a dark green and the rug was just a shade darker. Then Salaen noticed the window. It was small, only about a foot and a half square, but it looked out into the woods. Salaen had never been on this side of it, but she was almost completely positive that this was the woods where she had once lived. A pang of homesickness suddenly struck her. She turned and walked out of the room and back to the hallway. Miss Troy, unfazed by her silence, continued on.

“And this is where you will spend most of your time, working” she concluded. The room she pointed at was painted light blue, with a white tile floor. A large table stood in the middle, with several pieces of paper on it. As they turned, another woman came towards them.

“Salaen, meet Mrs. Jay. She will be working with you most of the time and with Lark.” Salaen was confused.

“Lark?” she asked.

“Yes, Lark is another girl like you who also lives here. She is Mrs. Jay’s adopted daughter. Lark was found as a young girl living all alone in an abandoned house. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment.” Miss Troy walked out of the hallway and into a side room that she had not shown Salaen. Miss Jay smiled at Salaen.

“Hello. You can just call me Allison or Allie for short.” Salaen just looked at her. She was tall, but shorter than Miss Troy. She also had light brown hair. Allison seemed used to this.

“Come on then.” She led Salaen into the room and sat her down at the table. She sat opposite and pulled out a deck of cards with pictures on them. Facing Salaen, she laid out the cards.

“Can you tell me which one is a picture of a mouse?”

Salaen studied the pictures. One picture had a strange box, one with a fuzzy animal and the other with a plant. Salaen pointed to the animal.

“Mouse.” She repeated.

“Good. Now show me the computer.” Salaen guessed and pointed to the last picture.

“No Salaen that is a type of plant.”

Two hours later Salaen climbed into her new bed. A crescent moon bathed her room in silver light. She closed her eyes and almost at once fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next day, Salaen went into the work room once more. Mrs. Jay was there, already seated in her chair. Today they were going to review letters. Mrs. Jay once again placed three flash cards in front of Salaen. This time the cards had strange symbols on them.

“Show me the letter M.” Salaen pointed to an F.

“No Salaen that is an F. This is the M. Now, show me the M. No, that’s the F again. This one is the M. That’s better. Now show me the F.” Salaen pointed to the F.

“Good. Now show me the Q.” Salaen pointed to the Q. Mrs. Jay took the letter away and replaced them with new ones.

“Salaen, point to the letter O. This one looks almost like a Q.” This went on for awhile, then Salaen was handed paper with lines on it. A row of letters was printed on top.

“Now try to copy the letters onto the lines.” Mrs. Jay instructed. Salaen tried. Most of her lines were crooked and her writing barley legible. She showed Mrs. Jay her work proudly.

“Good job, Salaen. Let’s do some more.”

Salaen stretched her fingers. Learning how to write was harder than talking.

“Do you want to rest for awhile? We could go outside.” Mrs. Jay said. Salaen perked up. She has not been outside since she was taken from the woods “yes!” She said joyously. Mrs. Jay walked to a small door with Salaen closely following. She took the ring of keys and several large locks. Then she opened the door, letting a warm autumn breeze fill the room. Salaen took a deep breath, and dashed outside. She stopped to study her surroundings. A high fence surrounded a yard filled with grasses and small, bright flowers. She inhaled deeply sensing a rabbit. She glanced toward it, tensed, and leapt. The rabbit shot like a lighting bolt across the yard. Salaen had barely taken one leap after it when she heard a voice. “Stop!” It cried. Salaen flicked her ear in agitation at seeing something to chase it away. Then she turned to see who had called to her. A small girl, maybe a year or two younger than Salaen herself, walked towards her. “I’m Lark,” She said. She talked strangely, as if she was used to thinking and speaking another language. “I am Salaen.” She struggled to say. “Why you call me?”

“I did not know who you were. Do you know Allison?”

“Allison?” Salaen said, confused. “Mrs. Jay? ”

“Yes, do you know her?” Lark asked again.

“Yes. I do.” Salaen said haltingly. “ Why?”

“Oh! So you must be the new girl she’s working with. She said I can have a lesson at the same time as you. What you want me about? I was studying…”

She continued to chatter on, as Salaen half listened. She could certainly see where this Lark she would have got her name. She sounded like a bird, with all her talking. As if on cue, a black crow flew out of the trees into the grasses front of them, cawing. Lark caught her breath in fright, eyes full of terror. She stared at it and uttered a tiny moan as it drew closer. Salaen was outraged. How dare this bird frighten her new friend. With a growl and a leap, she was upon it. It’s squawked in surprise, and tried to flap a way, but Salaen was pinning one of its wings down. She squeezed it tight, and then released. It took off in a lopsided flight into the sky and out of sight. Lark was shaking. Before Salaen could do anything, Mrs. Jay rushed out and escorted the girl inside, with Salaen following. As they went, Adrian appeared. This was the first time Salaen had seen her since she had first come. She stopped next to her.

“What happened to Lark?”

“She is terrified of crows. When she was found at a young age, crows were attacking her and she was covered with scars. She has feared them ever since.” Adrian said simply, “Now if you will excuse me. I have to go.” She walked into the side door again and disappeared from sight. Salaen was alone. For lack of anything to do, she went to her room and sat there until she fell asleep.

The next day as she walked into the classroom she saw Lark sitting at the table. They did not mention the crow for the entire lesson. From that time on, Lark was at most of her lessons, working with her on more difficult tasks. Salaen was surprised to find that on some tasks (mostly concerning the English language), she was helping Lark. One day something was bothering her.

“Mrs. Jay, how does Miss Troy know what we are doing? She never comes in and sees us.”

“She looks at us through a video camera. That one, up there.” Allison pointed to a black box in the corner of the ceiling.

“It lets her see us, even when she is not in here.”

Salaen was mystified, but Lark just laughed. Lark’s laughter sounded almost like bird talk. They had been reviewing colors and shapes that week. Pick up the red ball, the orange cube and so on. I was easy for both of them, so they were allowed to go to their rooms early.

“Want to see my room?” Lark asked. “Miss Troy probably didn’t show you it.” She walked down the hall to a door Salaen had never noticed before. Lark opened it, revealing a room, bright yellow in color and her bed light blue. Then Salaen noticed the mirror, like the one in her room, though this one was much more obviously placed. Salaen turned towards it, surprised at her own reflection. She had never really looked at herself standing upright. She was used to being crouched down on her hands and feet. Then she noticed something odd.

“Lark, does the mirror flash light?”

“Huh?” Lark asked.

“The corner flashes red light. Look.” Larks face screwed up.

“I don’t know. Maybe it is one of those video recorder things.” Salaen was disturbed. She did not like to be watched, but she pushed it out of her mind.

“Want to see my room?”

It was 10:00 pm and Mrs. Sprek was still working. There had recently been an outbreak of flu and people just kept on coming in. She sighed and grabbed her coffee mug. She then muttered something to the other nurse on duty about needing some fresh air. She walked to the elevator and waited patiently until she was at the first floor. Then she hurried to a side door and stepped outside into the fresh morning air. She inhaled and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she nearly choked in surprise. For standing in front of her was a snow white wolf. It stared at her levelly. As it stood, other wolves appeared out of the darkness, one with a white chest and paws. One grey, one with black ears. And then a wolf so black, she would not have seen it if it hadn’t stepped towards her. It was big, bigger than any dog. It made a low noise in its’ throat, more questioning than threatening, but Mrs. Sprek flinched any way. The wolf seemed to draw her eyes toward his, as if silently saying look at me. It held her gaze, and then Mrs. Sprek suddenly thought of Salaen, running through grass. Salaen jumping over a dead log. Salaen running with – the wolves. These were the ones who had raised her. Mrs. Sprek new this as well as she new her own name. The wolves missed her. She was one of them, and they needed to find her. Mrs. Sprek knew what she had to do.

“She is that way”, she whispered looking towards Miss Adriane’s house. The black wolf dipped his head in acknowledgement and they disappeared as quietly and quickly as they had come.

Salaen tossed and turned. She couldn’t sleep. She did not like it here where people always watched her. Eventually she fell into a restless sleep. Then she dreamed. In her dream, she was in the forest. She saw the wolf named Leaf. He looked at her and backed away. “It is me” she called, but she was speaking human. “Leaf” she called again, running towards him. He whined, and ran away. Then she was in a circle of wolves, her pack among them. “Remember me” she cried. Snowdrift stepped forward.

You are not a wolf. You are human. Go away. Then they lunged at her and she was in darkness once again. When dawn finally came, a pit of sadness ached in her chest and it did not matter how many games she played with Lark or how many lessons she had. It would not go away. That night she could not sleep again. Mrs. Jay asked her if there was anything wrong, but Salaen would not answer her. This went on for three more days. Adriane tried to make her take a pill before she went to sleep, but Salaen hid it under her tongue and spat it out later. On the fifth day of not sleeping, she heard something outside. She looked out the window and heard it again. She did not hear the strange noise with human ears, but with the ears of a wolf. A pack was traveling through the forest. Salaen almost went mad. She had to get outside. Had too. She stepped back and studied the window. She looked at the hinges, the bolts, and the latch on the bottom.

“Wait. Latch on the bottom?” She pressed down hard and the window silently swung open. She easily leapt through and landed lightly on the ground outside. The light of the full moon looked as if it had fallen in shining drops onto the grass instead of dew. She listened again, all of her senses on edge. Then she saw him. It was Rahera running towards her. She gave a cry of pure joy and ran to meet him.

Rahera, she called. He was just a few yards away when a terrible noise rang through the silence. She saw Rahera stumble. She saw him fall. She saw the blood pour from his wound. She fell by his side and wept.

Go! He yelled to her. Go!

She ran, her tear stained face clouding her vision. But she made it to the hole under the fence where the wolves had dug through. As she squirmed under it, Rahera lifted his head for the last time, and sang. Salaen joined him, and for a moment the world was still. Then Rahera was dead, and Salaen and her pack were gone.

Mrs. Sprek stood with her husband on the wet ground outside the hospital. “There’re coming.” She whispered “I know they are.” Her husband said nothing, his gray eyes shining in the moonlight. Then they saw them. The wolves. But it was much larger than it should have been. There were 40 or 50 wolves at least. The wolf at the front stopped. It was gray, with a black head and paws. Then it looked straight at them, and they both nearly fainted. Mrs. Sprek clutched the doctors’ arm.

“Look,” she breathed. The wolf had green eyes. Human eyes. Then she, for the wolf was a she, threw back her head, and sang.

Everybody wishes there were ten times as many Musers–and with the magazine turning 10 years old next January, now is a good time to think about ways to make it happen. What can readers, editors, GAPAs, and the publishers do? Ideas, please!

The creator of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series would have been 52 years old on Saturday the 11th.

The next issue of Muse after one is about language and we’re running an article about a guy who invented a language called Tho Fan for a game called Jade Empire. We’d like to translate a short bit of something into Tho Fan as an example. Does anyone have any suggestions?

It has to be really short, like 200 words. Maybe something about language but maybe not puns which might blow a translator fuse. Something funny? Something pop? And as always we need it yesterday (actually by Friday the 10th). No Elizabethan.

–She Who Must Not Be Named (Sorry, don’t know how to flourish on computer.)

OK, we’re helping out a friend here. But we just had to post Musepal Polly’s latest news about her book:

Please excuse the self-serving email, but:

Time Magazine reviewed Enthusiasm!!!!!!!

Julie Lefkowitz is accustomed to public embarrassment: “When your best friend goes around town dressed in armor constructed from cookware, eyes naturally turn your way.” Julie’s best friend is Ashleigh, and Ashleigh is an enthusiast: she gets obsessed–way, over-the-top obsessed–with things like King Arthur or ballet or juggling. Ashleigh’s latest craze is Jane Austen, and in addition to dressing in gowns and talking in period English, she persuades long-suffering Julie to crash a dance at a fancy all-boys private school, hoping to meet a Mr. Darcy, or at least a Mr. Bingley. Winsome and witty, loaded with lunatic junior-high aperçus (“Juliet’s not even 14 yet,” a young Shakespeare scholar remarks. “He’s going to kill himself over an eighth-grader?”), Enthusiasm has the makings of an instant classic.

(It should be on newsstands now; it’s on the web, anyway.)

This month’s random thread. Please read The Rules if you haven’t yet.

Resistance was useless. The amazing thing is that we haven’t done this before.

Your own or your favorites–post them here for everyone to appreciate.

*Round-Robin ‘Riting. A new story, not about the afareet.

A musepaper for newsers, by popular request (original idea by Kricket, name by Jadestone). We’re not sure whether you want to write news about the places where you live (carefully disguising local names, etc.) or to write news about the blog and the magazine, but we’re sure you’ll sort it out. Double pink-bunny bonus points for writing it in real newspaper style.

A place to record your most memorable acts of wanton lunacy.

[Closed to comments 12 July 2006, because we’ve just opened version 2006.2.]

You’ve been talking about it (and posting its songs) all over the blog. Clearly this cultural phenomenon deserves a thread of its own.

Here’s a place to try out tricks with type, new bunny designs, etc., before unleashing your experiments on other threads.

This month’s random thread. Please read The Rules if you haven’t yet.

If you’ve just arrived, please read The Rules before doing anything else. The HG2MB is worth glancing at, too. The Administrators and veteran MuseBloggers will be happy to help you with any other questions you might have.

Theodor Seuss Geisel would have turned 102 on Thursday, March 2. All hail the man who taught so many of us to read!

The challenge: take an Implicit Association Test at www.implicit.harvard.edu and blog about the results. Parts of the thread will be published in the September 2006 issue.

O.K., Musers, it’s all yours…

Here’s what Cedar says:

IMPORTANT NOTICE:

The blog ought to start a section called:

MUSE FANS FOR A KOKOPELLI AND COMPANY MOVIE

This section would be used to allow Muse fans to give out ideas regarding the creation of a film version of “Attack of the Smart Pies.”

Examples:

Who do you think should play a certain Muse?

Descriptions of various houses?

Who should play Emma and Darien Drinkwater?

How bout Ms. Krishnamurti (Yes I know it says Ms. My family dosen’t believe in saying Mrs.)?

And finally:

Tell other people what props you plan to buy and send to the Muse crew, so they have less work to do, in making the ultimate dream come true.

PS: THIS MOVIE IS THE KIND THAT MUSE FANS WILL WANT TO SEE IN THEATERS!

Okey-doke, Cedar, here’s your special section. And a-WAYYY we go!