The Hooman Saga - V

So far: rescued Sue and rescuer Tig find themselves herded into a dead-end canyon, steep walls on all sides except where a feral hunting pack of wolves is now blocking their only exit...

Nov 23, 2024

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V

TIG THOUGHT IT WAS ODD for the ferals to act so organized.

He'd seen them hunt in packs. And he knew how his clan would hunt, how his pack would hunt. But those hunts were always with sentients sending back and forth without letting their prey hear their thoughts.

These ferals were working in a tightly organized pattern. That was new. He kept thinking over and over what they were doing. Looking for patterns, comparing them to how he would hunt and how he would use this tactic. And he realized what they needed.

They were waiting for their whole massed pack to bottle-in this canyon before they attacked. There was no sense guarding ridges that no wolf could climb out on their own.

They also had no experience with humans except the ones that from the settlements that hunted wolves. So they wanted the strength of numbers to ensure this sentient and this hooman didn't escape.

Generations ago, the sentient wolves had pushed the ferals back around the settlements of the remaining humans. This was the sentient's protection: a buffer zone to keep the humans away from their cubs and their lives.

While Tig's pack didn't relish killing that occurred without a reason or purpose, they always chased the humans back and made them lose their weapons.

Some humans had accidents out of their own fright, but even then the wolves would respect those dead, cover them with stones or earth as they could, and howl over their death. Dirges would be sung. Not the triumphal great hunt or victory song. These were sung as the sad, unnecessary loss of someone respected.

Reversely, hoomans skinned the feral wolf for hide. His carcass left for other animals to glean. Desecrated. They didn't even value the wolf as meat, only as trophy-pelts.

Sometimes Tig could sense thoughts of the ferals and sometimes he couldn't. Both ferals and the sentients remained alien to each other. Just as the day the hoomans left. Today was no different.

The feral howls increased. Now it sounded like the rest of the pack had shown up and were coming in. Tig could hear them moving closer. He positioned himself forward of the brush on both sides of the canyon opening.

Some cedars, pines, and birch stood on each side. Still too wide for a good defense.

She could climb that wall and clamber out.

Tig could only take as many ferals down as he could. He'd back into a corner, then.

First action: provide her time to climb. Tig looked back over his shoulder at her. She was trying to find a grip.

Tig noticed her slip and slide back down leaving red traces on the wall. Her hands were bloody.

He sent "You can do it. I know you can."

She turned and smiled at him. His face softened, then steeled again as he turned back. Tig was resolved. Her only choice was to get her up that cliff wall. His was to fight for an opening and escape as best he could.

Just then he saw the ferals show themselves. The largest ferals were in front, followed by the lesser-ranked. They were edging closer. Almost shoulder to shoulder, growling low growls, watching him without wavering. Three or four deep at least. This was a big pack.

Tig even saw females at the back. Huntresses were not uncommon. Females were often more efficient at hunting than males, particularly if they had to feed their young after a long winter.

Tig backed a step, then another.

Sue was not half-way up that wall. She kept looking for hand-holds and footholds. It was slow, hard work.

Tig sent, "I knew you could." And all he got from Sue as reply was her vision of where she could find hand-holds he could hold if she could only get him up this wall. He sent back his confidence in her and shielded her from his worries and concerns.

Sue was having a hard time finding those hand-holds and footholds. As Tig had noticed, it was slow going. At the moon colony, she knew all the holds on the climbing walls. It was just a matter what patterns you would choose. Here, she had to select firm grips out of the rocks. Too soft and you'd slide back down, which she'd already learned several times. Sliding back down from half-way up could be fatal. Every hand hold and foothold had to be exact.

She dare not even look back behind her for fear she would lose one of those precarious holds she found. Through Tig's eyes she saw the scene below, while he would not send the emotional content. It was like watching a monitor with the sound off.

She turned her attention back to the wall to find the next hold she needed. Her job was to escape.

At last, she climbed onto a narrow ledge. It was almost a foot deep and a couple of feet wide. Here she could stand and rest. When she did, she turned with care. As she did, the sight stopped her breath.

There was a deep, tawny pack of wolves in the narrow opening of the dead-end canyon. They filled that end for yards, four and five bodies deep. Tig was inching backward from the opening and toward it’s center as he watched them, and she was concerned. She sensed that this kind wolf who had saved her would now meet his end. And nothing she thought she could do.

One of the ferals then ran forward away from the pack and met Tig. It then slammed to a stop and laid down, still. From Sue's view point, it appeared Tig must have given him a mighty shove, knocked him unconscious. But his neck was at an odd angle.

Tig heard her thoughts and replied, "I broke his neck. I'll break as many as I have to today. You keep climbing."

The rest of the feral pack stopped on seeing that outcome. But a sheer howl arose from among them that was deafening.

Sue now flattened against the wall and closed her eyes in complete fear. But then somehow, by being in touch with the wall, she got a stillness inside her. She began thinking much clearer, as if the wall itself was giving her strength, or absorbing her unwanted emotions.

She opened her eyes in time to see another of the feral breed came running towards Tig, hoping to catch him off guard. The feral came from the flank, while Tig stood there, staring straight ahead at the leaders in their center.

At the last minute Tig again jumped to catch that pack member flying at him. And again both wolves landed. Tig was upright. That feral's neck was now also folded at an odd angle, loosing one last breath as he died.

Two ferals then leapt from each flank for him. Tig didn't wait this time. He met the one on his left, forcing the one on his right to chase after him. The feral to his left fell with a broken leg. Tig then spun and met the other, crippling him the same way.

Both stumped back in dishonor to the pack on their three good legs, knowing that there was certain death for them waiting already. Wolves couldn't fight, much less hunt effectively on just three. This stopped the other feral wolves. The howling quit now. Their threatening sounds proved they now knew. He was an enemy long unmet in battle. Most of them weren't ready to face him on his terms.

Tig then sensed some of their ideas, which was a strange experience. Like listening to a language dialect. Most he still couldn't make out.

Now he was over to one side. The two ferals had withdrawn, and he stayed. This forced the pack's attention on him and away from the hooman climbing the wall.

It was an impasse - one that time would eventually unravel, against Tig on that canyon floor.

Then a solution came to him.

We’ve now well into a new serial.

At this point, our hero and heroine are trapped, waiting certain doom. Of course there are some 28 chapters after this. But you’ll have to stay tuned until next week to see how they get out of this…

For now, set your calendar to keep track of these new adventures. Every Saturday.

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