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They cannot hold me.
They cannot tame me.
I am the spirit of the wolf, the child of the wild things, the single living embodiment of the Gods' greatest fears.
Ever so slowly, the enraged snarl curling back my lips, revealing scarlet gums and bone-crunching fangs each the length of a man's hand, turns into an even more terrible smile.
They say that I am a feral, non-sentient creature - in that respect, at least, they are wrong. My father's voice has laughed in my ear since the very moment of my birth - he told me what I was to do, who I would grow into. He did not warn me of what they would do to me, but no matter. I do not fear them. They fear me.
No chain strong enough to hold me; no hand large enough to clamp my jaws; no armour thick enough to stay my fangs. Once, I began to doubt; the warrior, Tyr, the only of the mighty Gods bold enough to risk my wrath, made me doubt - just for a moment. Then my father's happy laughter turned to a vicious hiss, and I believed again. They call him Loki the Trickster, but even this name is a lie - he is the true God of Gods.
And I shall win him his throne.
They think that they can tame me, bind me, hold me back.
They are wrong.
I can see the fear hidden behind their eyes; can taste the terror exuded in waves from their pathetic, pale pelts.
My own body is relaxed, confident, unafraid. Rough, charcoal guard hairs prickle under the softer multi-layered winter coat as a breeze promising ice and snow shudders through their ranks from the open doors beyond. Oh, with what ease I could be free! Bound to my paws; be in their midst in a single earth-covering leap; watch them scatter like frightened little birds from my gaping jaws. But no. That would be... Counter-productive. I need to be here to fulfil my purpose, it is as simple as that. Pretending to be enslaved here is simply a charade; little does the foolish pantheon of children know that be keeping me ensconced in Asgard, they keep me within a single bite's distance of my eventual goal. The thought makes me smile even wider. My smile makes the gathered Gods cringe.
Finally, someone seems inclined to take action; my ears prick in interest as a quiet murmuring breaks out. Twitching the very tip of my nose, I catch their scent just before two men step forward into the ring.
Odin and Tyr.
One who sees some shred of good in me; the other who sees only vile abhorrence; and both who wish to see me bound.
Quietly, the two converse for a moment, with much nodding and murmuring and discussion. Slowly, lazily, at my own leisure, I begin to rise. This should be... Fun.
As if sensing my interest, the giggling echoing around my head trails off; even my father is listening now. If he has had any warning of what's to come, he gives no sign - it cannot be of vital importance, then, else he would have sent some signal. No, I am not worried: I do not fear the Gods.
After some moments more, Tyr begins to come forward. His pace is measured, his hands steady; this warrior hides his fear well. But it is there. He is wary of me - as he should be. In one leisurely arc, I twist my neck sideways; from under several layers of thick, dark fur comes a gentle tink. The last chain they bound me with, forged by the greatest dwarven goldsmiths from the strongest of metals over the course of ten years, dangles, broken, from my neck.
Look, I smile to Tyr. Look what I can do.
His face impassive, he kneels down a few feet in front of me on the bloodied, bone-scattered floor of the hall.
If we both stood on our hind legs, I could easily place one of my paws on the top of his head - paws the size of a warrior's helm, with wicked yellowed claws. With I seated and he kneeling, the God of Man and God of Beasts are of equal height.
Very slowly, almost as if hoping I won't notice, the man begins to lift one hand toward what remains of the chain at my throat. There is a single, sharp hiss in my inner ear, and in a second's breath I snap my neck forward and grasp his left wrist in my powerful jaws.
There is a collective gasp and a few quiet moans from our watchers, but Tyr silences them with a single, brusque twitch of the head. Then his gaze locks with mine, silver human eyes boring into golden animal ones.
Understanding is reflected there, as he glimpses my father's twisted smile in the depths of my soul. At the moment, my grip is only so firm as to leave faint marks in the leathery skin of his wrist - one wrong move, though, and his hand is mine.
Behind him, Odin whispers something. My ears flick up - and in that moment, he strikes.
Tyr's free hand snaps up, flicking something long and glittering over my head, to tighten around my throat. In the same heartbeat, my impossibly powerful jaws snap shut.
There is a muffled scream as the God of War's blood spurts thick and free into my mouth, and he pulls away, clutching at the stump of his wrist. But I was a second too late. Suddenly, a vicious jerk wrenches my head back as a silken thread closes around my throat.
Leaping to my paws, I twist and pull frantically, fighting to wrench free of this new, impossible bond.
No.
NO!
I am Fenris! The doom of the Gods!
I cannot be caged!
Ragnarok, that poison voice whispers. I snarl all the more for the loathing of it.
Wait until Ragnarok, my son. Your time will come...
They cannot tame me.
I am the spirit of the wolf, the child of the wild things, the single living embodiment of the Gods' greatest fears.
Ever so slowly, the enraged snarl curling back my lips, revealing scarlet gums and bone-crunching fangs each the length of a man's hand, turns into an even more terrible smile.
They say that I am a feral, non-sentient creature - in that respect, at least, they are wrong. My father's voice has laughed in my ear since the very moment of my birth - he told me what I was to do, who I would grow into. He did not warn me of what they would do to me, but no matter. I do not fear them. They fear me.
No chain strong enough to hold me; no hand large enough to clamp my jaws; no armour thick enough to stay my fangs. Once, I began to doubt; the warrior, Tyr, the only of the mighty Gods bold enough to risk my wrath, made me doubt - just for a moment. Then my father's happy laughter turned to a vicious hiss, and I believed again. They call him Loki the Trickster, but even this name is a lie - he is the true God of Gods.
And I shall win him his throne.
They think that they can tame me, bind me, hold me back.
They are wrong.
I can see the fear hidden behind their eyes; can taste the terror exuded in waves from their pathetic, pale pelts.
My own body is relaxed, confident, unafraid. Rough, charcoal guard hairs prickle under the softer multi-layered winter coat as a breeze promising ice and snow shudders through their ranks from the open doors beyond. Oh, with what ease I could be free! Bound to my paws; be in their midst in a single earth-covering leap; watch them scatter like frightened little birds from my gaping jaws. But no. That would be... Counter-productive. I need to be here to fulfil my purpose, it is as simple as that. Pretending to be enslaved here is simply a charade; little does the foolish pantheon of children know that be keeping me ensconced in Asgard, they keep me within a single bite's distance of my eventual goal. The thought makes me smile even wider. My smile makes the gathered Gods cringe.
Finally, someone seems inclined to take action; my ears prick in interest as a quiet murmuring breaks out. Twitching the very tip of my nose, I catch their scent just before two men step forward into the ring.
Odin and Tyr.
One who sees some shred of good in me; the other who sees only vile abhorrence; and both who wish to see me bound.
Quietly, the two converse for a moment, with much nodding and murmuring and discussion. Slowly, lazily, at my own leisure, I begin to rise. This should be... Fun.
As if sensing my interest, the giggling echoing around my head trails off; even my father is listening now. If he has had any warning of what's to come, he gives no sign - it cannot be of vital importance, then, else he would have sent some signal. No, I am not worried: I do not fear the Gods.
After some moments more, Tyr begins to come forward. His pace is measured, his hands steady; this warrior hides his fear well. But it is there. He is wary of me - as he should be. In one leisurely arc, I twist my neck sideways; from under several layers of thick, dark fur comes a gentle tink. The last chain they bound me with, forged by the greatest dwarven goldsmiths from the strongest of metals over the course of ten years, dangles, broken, from my neck.
Look, I smile to Tyr. Look what I can do.
His face impassive, he kneels down a few feet in front of me on the bloodied, bone-scattered floor of the hall.
If we both stood on our hind legs, I could easily place one of my paws on the top of his head - paws the size of a warrior's helm, with wicked yellowed claws. With I seated and he kneeling, the God of Man and God of Beasts are of equal height.
Very slowly, almost as if hoping I won't notice, the man begins to lift one hand toward what remains of the chain at my throat. There is a single, sharp hiss in my inner ear, and in a second's breath I snap my neck forward and grasp his left wrist in my powerful jaws.
There is a collective gasp and a few quiet moans from our watchers, but Tyr silences them with a single, brusque twitch of the head. Then his gaze locks with mine, silver human eyes boring into golden animal ones.
Understanding is reflected there, as he glimpses my father's twisted smile in the depths of my soul. At the moment, my grip is only so firm as to leave faint marks in the leathery skin of his wrist - one wrong move, though, and his hand is mine.
Behind him, Odin whispers something. My ears flick up - and in that moment, he strikes.
Tyr's free hand snaps up, flicking something long and glittering over my head, to tighten around my throat. In the same heartbeat, my impossibly powerful jaws snap shut.
There is a muffled scream as the God of War's blood spurts thick and free into my mouth, and he pulls away, clutching at the stump of his wrist. But I was a second too late. Suddenly, a vicious jerk wrenches my head back as a silken thread closes around my throat.
Leaping to my paws, I twist and pull frantically, fighting to wrench free of this new, impossible bond.
No.
NO!
I am Fenris! The doom of the Gods!
I cannot be caged!
Ragnarok, that poison voice whispers. I snarl all the more for the loathing of it.
Wait until Ragnarok, my son. Your time will come...
This month's book club assignment was to read any one of a number of books based around ancient legends which have been re-written by a modern author, and then to write our own 1000-word adaptation of a myth or story from a certain culture. I was given Norse Mythology to focus on, and was immediately captured by the story of the binding of Fenris, the son of Loki the Trickster by a frost giant; after it was prophesied he would kill Odin at Ragnarok, the doom of the Gods, Fenris was taken away from his mother to live with them in Asgard, where they could keep tabs on him. As he grew, however, the giant wolf became so ferocious that he had to be bound in a great hall below the walls of Asgard. He repeatedly broke free of his chains, no matter how great and powerful, until finally he was bound by the brave God of War, Tyr, using an impossible binding made from a cat's footsteps, the roots of a rock, and the spittle of a bird. I wanted to include something on how Fenris could have scented these impossible things when the chain was cast about him, but couldn't fit any more within the 1000 word limit without compromising detail earlier on.
Although I was initially taken in simply by the whole wolf-bound-God-of-wild-things idea, as I started to write I found that Fenris' point of view came to me easier than third-person did. Likewise, many more details about the psych of the character began to develop - I find the link between Fenris and his father Loki interesting, especially given how at some points he is described as a sentient being, and at others simply a mindless beast. In the text, I hoped to convey the feelings there, as well as give some insight into how the Trickster controls his son.
Also, although Tyr(or sometimes Thor, depending on which interpretation you read) is generally portrayed as a very manly, classical-viking-style character, all muscle and strength and being manly, I didn't really think this fit the story, so I changed him a little. As I wrote, I could not help but think of ~shewolf51's character Tyr, who I guess is kind of reflected in this. I wanted him to be more sympathetic of Fenris; somehow, I felt that just being brave enough wasn't the only reason he volunteered to sacrifice his hand in order to bind the wolf, but something... More. Like he wanted to prove to the others that Fenris could be trusted - or even make himself feel better about tricking him.
The story, as with all tales of mythology and legends, is certainly a very interesting one - indeed, re-writing an ancient tale of heroism, Gods and heroes, be it in a modern take(such as Scorpio Races), or simply an interpretation set in that era(like Gods and Warriors), is a project to consider if you're looking for something to do.
Original title followed that of the legend itself, The Binding of Fenris, however after some consideration I decided that I didn't want to give away the actual storyline immediately, as especially if people already have some idea of the legends it would be revealed slowlier, with more mystery.
EDIT/ Fixed some typos in time to print this off for the competition tomorrow. Wish me luck~
EDIT2/ Never mind my original illustration for this - the amazing ~MaiaCarlson has done a truly beautiful interpretation of her own, which can be found here. She captures the story perfectly, I feel, so you should definitely check it - and her - out
Original legend The Binding of Fenris/Fenrir; alternative interpretations note that it was Thor, not Tyr, who bound him, or that Fenris/Fenrir was destined to kill Thor instead of Odin. Basically it's just not a good day for Thor.
Writing and interpretation (c) ~Raowolf-bushtail;
Illustration (c) ~Raowolf-bushtail.
I counted the words myself as I wrote this, and it came back as 999; three different online word counting tools brought it back as 1000, 1003, and 1010, so I'm going to stick to my own intuition on this count, hah-hah.
Just because I can't afford a Premium Membership, doesn't mean I can't request a critique!
Although I was initially taken in simply by the whole wolf-bound-God-of-wild-things idea, as I started to write I found that Fenris' point of view came to me easier than third-person did. Likewise, many more details about the psych of the character began to develop - I find the link between Fenris and his father Loki interesting, especially given how at some points he is described as a sentient being, and at others simply a mindless beast. In the text, I hoped to convey the feelings there, as well as give some insight into how the Trickster controls his son.
Also, although Tyr(or sometimes Thor, depending on which interpretation you read) is generally portrayed as a very manly, classical-viking-style character, all muscle and strength and being manly, I didn't really think this fit the story, so I changed him a little. As I wrote, I could not help but think of ~shewolf51's character Tyr, who I guess is kind of reflected in this. I wanted him to be more sympathetic of Fenris; somehow, I felt that just being brave enough wasn't the only reason he volunteered to sacrifice his hand in order to bind the wolf, but something... More. Like he wanted to prove to the others that Fenris could be trusted - or even make himself feel better about tricking him.
The story, as with all tales of mythology and legends, is certainly a very interesting one - indeed, re-writing an ancient tale of heroism, Gods and heroes, be it in a modern take(such as Scorpio Races), or simply an interpretation set in that era(like Gods and Warriors), is a project to consider if you're looking for something to do.
Original title followed that of the legend itself, The Binding of Fenris, however after some consideration I decided that I didn't want to give away the actual storyline immediately, as especially if people already have some idea of the legends it would be revealed slowlier, with more mystery.
EDIT/ Fixed some typos in time to print this off for the competition tomorrow. Wish me luck~
EDIT2/ Never mind my original illustration for this - the amazing ~MaiaCarlson has done a truly beautiful interpretation of her own, which can be found here. She captures the story perfectly, I feel, so you should definitely check it - and her - out
Original legend The Binding of Fenris/Fenrir; alternative interpretations note that it was Thor, not Tyr, who bound him, or that Fenris/Fenrir was destined to kill Thor instead of Odin. Basically it's just not a good day for Thor.
Writing and interpretation (c) ~Raowolf-bushtail;
Illustration (c) ~Raowolf-bushtail.
I counted the words myself as I wrote this, and it came back as 999; three different online word counting tools brought it back as 1000, 1003, and 1010, so I'm going to stick to my own intuition on this count, hah-hah.
Just because I can't afford a Premium Membership, doesn't mean I can't request a critique!
© 2013 - 2024 Just-Raowolf
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wow!
you've got me wanting to write now
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