He had a good life, and a happy home. He had dreams and plans. He was in love and hoped to tell the one how he felt. Then came the war...
The neighboring feline kingdom decided that they needed more space. More hunting grounds. They decided that the Canid lands would suit their needs and amassed their armies to take it. Shadowspawn was barely eighteen when the first troops invaded Wolvenshire. They were driven back by the Dire Wolf militia but not before many townsfolk were killed. Shadowspawn's family included. He swore that day that he would avenge his parents and siblings and so he took up his grandfather's sword, and his father's bow and went off to the nearest military academy.
A few months later he was on the front lines fighting the fiercest battles anyone had ever seen. The lions and tigers were much bigger and stronger than he was, but they shunned the sword. They either used their natural weapons, tooth and claw, or they used long claw-like blades strapped to the backs of their hand paws. Four blades per hand. Some even wore blades on their feet. Leather armor was almost useless against these warriors. It was designed to protect from hack and slash attacks, not thrusting with wickedly sharp little blades.
They were always in motion, leaping and rolling, kicking and slashing. Even the mighty dire wolf had his paws full with these cats... On and on went the war and the balance of power shifted back and forth many times.
Shadowspawn was already showing signs of grey on his muzzle when at last the feline armies began retreating. A year later, the war was over. He was a battered and scarred old soldier. He was weary beyond words and all he wanted was to return home to Wolvenshire, find love, and spend the rest of his days doing anything but fighting.
When he got to his home town though, his eyes were filled with tears. There was hardly anything standing. All the outlying farms were burned out. The shires walls were down and all the homes, shops and warehouses were looted and destroyed.
There would be no homecoming celebration. No welcoming comity. No parade down main street. His home was utterly gone.
As he passed the ruins of the church he sees that the church yard has many new graves. On an impulse, he enters the yard and scans the names on the markers. At first, the markers are well made and highly polished marble. As he gets closer to the newer graves, the markers become simpler and the lettering not as deeply carved. He doesn't recognize any of the names so he keeps walking. Finally he gets to the far side of the church yard where some of the graves still have not been reclaimed by grass. The markers are crude crosses. Some are actually made of wood. They were hastily made, as if the one who made them was in a great hurry. Others were of marble, but roughly cut and the names barely scratched into them. It was on one of these that he spotted a name he recognized. It was that of the one he loved.
He suddenly felt very heavy. As if the weight of emotions he was carrying increased many times over. He dropped to one knee and drove the point of his sword into the sod. Great tears flowed from his golden eyes and ran down his cheeks. “It was all for nothing. Years of fighting, bleeding, killing and dying. All that I have loved has turned to ashes.”
As he knelt there, the sky darkened and a wind picked up. Rain began to fall but he barely noticed it. He had been out in the elements since he left with his sword and bow to fight the war. He began to think about taking his own life. He had little reason to live now, and his scars were very deep after so many years of fighting. He looked down at his blood stained sword. He never wiped the blood from the blade. Every enemy that fell to it left it's mark upon the steel. It would be so easy to add his own to it.
Then his ears picked up a sound coming from the church ruins. The sound of a child crying. He thought his ears were playing tricks on him, or the wind was making the sound somehow. He got back to his hindpaws and walked toward the sound. As he peered in through a shattered window, he saw for a moment a pair of glowing eyes in the gloom of the ruin. There was a shriek of terror and the eyes vanished. He lept through the wind and pursued the sound, and scent trail. It was one he knew well. Feline...
With his teeth bare, ears back and sword raised he went in for the kill. One last cat to send to hell before he fell on his own sword and joined it there. Just then however, lightning lit the sky and the inside of the ruined church. The cat he was about to kill was a cub that would barely reach his knee. In the dim light he could see that it was filthy and its face was soaked from hours or days of crying. He dropped the sword to the floor and knelt down in front of the cub.
It was no longer crying, just shaking and staring up at the horror before it. He showed it his empty hand paws and spoke softly to it. “I will not harm you cub. I promise.”
He gathered up some scatted bits of wood furniture and paper, took out his flint and struck sparks onto the pile. He soon had a fire going. The cub watched the whole time, not moving or saying anything.
Then Shadowspawn set a small pot on the fire and filled it with water from his canteen along with some dried meat and rice. As the smell of cooking food reached the cub his ears raised and he sniffed the air. Shadowspawn smiled. “Come over and join me. The fire is warm and the food will soon be ready.”
The cub hesitated for a moment, the slowly edged his way closer, ready the flee at the first sign of treachery. Eventually he was on the far sided of the small fire, looking intently at the simmering soup. Shadowspawn smiled again, hoping to ease the cub's fears. “That's it. Have a seat and warm yourself.
What is your name small one?” The cub sat facing the flames and warming his paws. “I gots no name. My daddy di'n't give me one. Said I di'n't earn it yet. My mommy called me Sabreklaw because I had real long claws when I was borned. She said I scratched her a lot...”
Shadowspawn just nodded as he stirred the pot. He had heard about the naming tradition of the leopards. A son was given his true name only after he became an adult and took on adult responsibilities. Usually when they attained the rank of warrior... “Well, Sabreklaw sounds like a fine name to me. Where are your mother and father now?”
The cub looked like he was about to cry again... “My daddy went to heaven. My mommy was a healer. She was looking after the hurts of all the fighters. She said daddy was very brave and that he earned his place in heaven. We were all going home, but I sneaked away to look at this town. I thought it would be cool to look around... I got lost and couldn't find my mommy... She will be so mad at me...”
Shadowspawn remembered full well the column of retreating cats he passed a week earlier. They were all wounded to some degree, some horribly so. He remembered them clearly because they were almost all black leopards like this cub. They fought using stealth, under the cover of night, and regularly made it well beyond enemy lines. He also remembered something else different about them. They had female healers and support staff with them. He just couldn't imagine any of them bringing a cub along. He must have been born here in the midst of the battle...
He thought briefly about taking the cub and trying to return him to his mother, but they would be over the border now, and no wolf would be safe there. No leopard cub would be safe here neither... Too much blood had been shed. Too much hate generated on both sides...
“Your mother will forgive you. You were just doing what any young boy would do. I will try to get you home to her, but for now, it would be best if you stay with me a while. I will look after you until you can get home.”
He poured some of the soup into a cup and set it aside to cool. As he does so, his mind races... He no longer feels like dying. He has a purpose again. The war with the cats might be over, but there is no peace between the two kingdoms. That would take a long time to come about. Here though, in the ruins of this church, a wolf is about to share a meal with a species he has fought to the death for half his life. Peace had to start somewhere. It might as well be here in this place of worship. He makes up his mind right then. He will raise this cub. He will teach him that canids are not his natural enemy... Then when he is ready, he can journey home on his own and tell his mother about the wolf who saved him.
He smiles and pushes the now cooled soup toward the cub who takes it in his paws and slurps at the broth hungrily.
He knows it is a foolish plan. He knows that others of his kind will hate him for sheltering the enemy, but something good must come out of all that death and suffering. Something has to give his life back some meaning, and looking after this cub seems to be just the thing.
Perhaps by morning he will think of something else, but for now, it is the only plan he has. It's better than death he decides, and once more a smile crosses his lips.
He spreads a blanket on the floor next to the fire, tosses on a few more pieces of broken furniture, then sips his own soup. When it is finished he lays down. The cub just watches from where he is sitting and wishes he had thought to bring a blanket, or food, or anything useful when he left for his adventure. Maybe this wolf would let him share his...
“Mr... I'm cold...and it's scary in here at night. Would it be alright if I use a bit of your blanket? I promise I wont kick or snore...”
The old wolf chuckles. “Cub, I doubt anyone snores louder than me, but you are welcome to share my blanket.” He raises the top corner invitingly, and the dirty matted cub crawls in beside him. As he lowers the blanket again he hears a soft purring. He grins and puts a protective arm around Sabreklaw.
“I never thought I would be a father,” he thinks to himself. “I think I would have enjoyed it...” He closes his eyes and sleeps the first truly restful sleep he has had in a very long time.
