Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Hum (06/06/13)
TITLE: Humming Balm
By Sheldon Bass
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As the bear was exiting Wankan's cabin, the tame wolf was coming up the trail. The scent of Wankan's blood on the grizzly's muzzle dispatched Smoke Dog into a rampaging attack, wounding and driving the bear off.
When a neighboring rancher came to visit, he found the mauled body of Wankan and saw the bear's blood on Smoke's snout. He assumed...
Smoke protectively stayed by Wankan's side, growling at anyone coming near, creating a verisimilitude of guilt in the minds of the community folks.
Prejudices die hard for many ranchers, who'd lost much livestock to wolves in by-gone days. Ever since Wankan brought the wolf pup home, several had ranted against Smoke, saying he'd turn on the old man, and complaining, "That wild beast shouldn't be allowed in town!" They'd blame the gentle giant for attacks by other predators. But each time Smoke had been vindicated, and the real culprit discovered.
Wankan reared this clever canine with loving discipline. Smoke understood the way of love, was good with children, and some folks in town had grown to trust him. He had overcome his wild instincts. But now, it may be that very fact, which would cause him to starve to death. He was hungry and alone in the forested wilderness of grief and despair, an outcast from the wild, and from the world of people.
Miles to the south, near Shiloh, Smoke lay in a meadow strewn with wildflowers, much like the one he and Wankan frequented. Shafts of warmth beat down from above, with colors of vibrant blooms blazing. Birds cheered him in song; abating stress. Smoke drifted off to sleep, but was aroused by a mellifluous humming.
Tilting his head as canines do, he cocked an ear to listen. Comfortable familiarity! He recognized the tune. Bitter-sweet memories flooded his heart of Wankan intoning the same melody.
"Just a closer walk with thee, grant it Jesus is my plea..."
Smoke stalked the humming voice, and found the little girl down by the river, splashing both feet in the cool water as she sat on a smooth rock. His heart leapt. Having been reared with doting affection, he was ravenous for it now; and yearned for the children of Spearville. Yet he knew he could never go back there. He'd lost their trust. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to begin again, in another place.
Smoke stepped from concealment, revealing himself, laid down, and whimpered. Her head jerked up.
"Why hello doggy."
Smoke was good with this sort of thing. He'd converted many doubting folks with his sweet antics. Belly crawling, the whining wolf inched closer, wagging that big bushy tail.
If the ten year-old's parents had seen this situation they might have run for a gun. But she was alone and knew no difference between a wolf and a domestic dog. Jumping to her feet, she skipped over to Smoke; her sandy colored pigtails flying, and plopped down next to him on the dirt bank of the gurgling river. Extending a frail hand she patted Smoke on the back, who turned up his head to lick her hand—a wet wolf kiss.
Before long the two were romping through the meadow, playing tag, ending up back in the river to cool off. Approaching steps crunched.
From an obscured trail, appeared a boy of ten. Smoke reacted. Muscular legs let loose like steel springs, launching the beast ten feet through the air, knocking the lad to the ground. A facial tongue bath ensued.
"SMOKE DOG! I thought you were gone forever!"
It was Billy, Wankan Tehoa's grandson and second best friend to Smoke. The youngster would normally visit Grandpa and Smoke on weekends.
When Billy's family had learned of Wankan's death, they knew the impossibility of Smoke doing what others said. He would have a home, in a new town. And he'd now learned about prejudice, and the heartbreak of loss.
Regardless of people's hatred of wolves, which Smoke was certain to face again: two small children, accompanied by a ninety pound wolf, hummed, skipping into the Shiloh community.
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