By Leslie Porter (Heard It In a Song)
Song: Love Hurts
Artist: Nazareth
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soDZBW-1P04
Love hurts
Love scars
Love wounds and marks
Any heart
Not tough
Or strong enough
To take a lot of pain
Take a lot of pain
Love is like a cloud
That holds a lot of rain.
Melia loved running with Ronin. He was bigger than her, and stronger, but she always kept pace with him as they ran on one or another of their favorite paths – sometimes beside the river, sometimes through the dim pine forest, where the needles were slick and crunchy underfoot, sometimes across open spaces where the wind was like a hand against their faces as they ran. No words passed between them when they ran, but each of them knew the other’s enjoyment, and being shared, it was doubled.
Sometimes it seemed as if they lived for running – for feeling free and strong and alive.
Weather never kept them confined, either – they ran in the short Alaska summer, when clouds of mosquitos rose in front of them and the sun was warm on their backs, and they ran in the winter, when snow nearly obscured their path and their breath was warm and moist in the frigid air. Their friends usually joined them on their runs, and a couple of times a week, they all gathered for a meal at the end – a noisy crowd of diners, who ate as if they thought the meal would be their last.
As much as she enjoyed the exhilaration of the runs, Melia loved the quiet times with Ronin as well, when they lay close and warm, and slept and woke and slept again. These times strengthened the bond between them, and although it was unspoken, both of them understood that their partnership was a permanent one – there would be no other.
In time, Melia knew she was pregnant, and although she still went running, as her time drew nearer she ran slower, and tired sooner, and as her body grew heavier, she often stayed behind. Ronin cared for her in every way he could – he ran without her now, but he returned as soon as he could, and always brought her something good to eat – some little treat that he knew she was particularly fond of. Melia was carrying twins, and always felt hungry, so her happiness at seeing him coming home was partly simple joy in his company, and partly anticipation of the meal she knew he would provide.
The twins were born in early spring – a boy and a girl. Fat and boisterous, they grew quickly, and were soon rolling and playing underfoot. Melia and Ronin were not the only parents among their circle of companions, and the adults tolerated each other’s youngsters with a benign indifference, unless they got too exuberant and bothersome. Eventually, the youngsters would be expected to join their parents when they went running, but for now they enjoyed the comfort of the nursery.
Alaska is a beautiful land –green and fertile in the summer, and equally beautiful in the harshness of winter wind and snow. Its beauty and attraction lies chiefly in its wildness, however. Man has not subdued the landscape yet, and even in places where houses and streets and lights hold back the wilderness, still it lies just beyond the last bit of pavement – unchanged and feral. Melia and Ronin knew this – knew that a predator could lurk around any corner, in any thicket or meadow of head-high grass. A particular danger were the grizzly bears – vicious and aggressive at any time of year, but especially volatile when they had cubs.
It was on a bright fall day when they encountered the grizzly, swatting at salmon as they leapt upstream. Ronin skidded to a stop as soon as he saw the bear, and never taking his eyes off it, he began to back away. Melia was at his heels, and she too backed up – slowly and deliberately, making no sound or movement that could be perceived as threatening. What neither of them saw were the two cubs in the bushes behind them, and as they tried to blend into the landscape and disappear, one of the cubs squealed in surprise when he caught their scent.
Both Melia and Ronin knew that their only hope of survival now lay in running, as far and as fast as they could, away from the bears. The mother bear had swung her huge head in their direction as soon as her cub squealed, and when she identified them as potential dangers to her cubs, she roared and charged, covering the distance between the riverbank and the bushes in seconds. Ronin wheeled and was running at almost top speed immediately, but Melia became entangled in the thorny bushes, and the few seconds that it cost her to tear free were all it took for the bear to seize her. She kicked and clawed and screamed, but the bear was huge with fat and winter fur, and was impervious to any injury Melia could inflict. It was over in less than a minute. Melia lay motionless, her neck snapped by the bear’s jaws.
The bear, satisfied now that her cubs were safe, whoofed to them softly, and they moved off into the bushes, to find a more secluded fishing spot. The only sound was the rushing of the river over the stones, and the faraway shriek of an eagle.
Ronin had turned back towards the river as soon as he realized that Melia was not behind him, and in spite of the danger, he now ran back as fast as he had run away, but by the time he got there, the bears were disappearing into the bushes, and Melia lay quiet and still. He could see the blood flowing where the bear’s claws had raked her, and he saw the angle of her head and neck. He knew before he was even close enough to touch her that she was gone.
He sank down beside her, exploring her body in the last, small hope that he might detect a spark of life, but it was no use. Her bright eyes were dull now, there was no familiar, eager welcome at his approach. For hours, he sat beside her body, until the evening grew dark and chilly, and her body stiffened, and became less and less like the Melia he loved.
It was then that he threw his head back and howled his grief – howled it to the sky, to the stones and the water and the bushes – all the way to the moon, as it cast its cold light on the bloodstained sand. After a time, his friends came – they gathered around him and Melia, and sat for a while in silence. Then, one by one, they added their voices to his in a chorus of howling, and the cold black sky echoed as they grieved for their dead friend.
And in the nearby town, people looked up from their dinner, or their television, or their work, and remarked how close the wolves were tonight, and wondered what made them howl so sadly.
Song: Love Hurts
Artist: Nazareth
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soDZBW-1P04
Love hurts
Love scars
Love wounds and marks
Any heart
Not tough
Or strong enough
To take a lot of pain
Take a lot of pain
Love is like a cloud
That holds a lot of rain.
Melia loved running with Ronin. He was bigger than her, and stronger, but she always kept pace with him as they ran on one or another of their favorite paths – sometimes beside the river, sometimes through the dim pine forest, where the needles were slick and crunchy underfoot, sometimes across open spaces where the wind was like a hand against their faces as they ran. No words passed between them when they ran, but each of them knew the other’s enjoyment, and being shared, it was doubled.
Sometimes it seemed as if they lived for running – for feeling free and strong and alive.
Weather never kept them confined, either – they ran in the short Alaska summer, when clouds of mosquitos rose in front of them and the sun was warm on their backs, and they ran in the winter, when snow nearly obscured their path and their breath was warm and moist in the frigid air. Their friends usually joined them on their runs, and a couple of times a week, they all gathered for a meal at the end – a noisy crowd of diners, who ate as if they thought the meal would be their last.
As much as she enjoyed the exhilaration of the runs, Melia loved the quiet times with Ronin as well, when they lay close and warm, and slept and woke and slept again. These times strengthened the bond between them, and although it was unspoken, both of them understood that their partnership was a permanent one – there would be no other.
In time, Melia knew she was pregnant, and although she still went running, as her time drew nearer she ran slower, and tired sooner, and as her body grew heavier, she often stayed behind. Ronin cared for her in every way he could – he ran without her now, but he returned as soon as he could, and always brought her something good to eat – some little treat that he knew she was particularly fond of. Melia was carrying twins, and always felt hungry, so her happiness at seeing him coming home was partly simple joy in his company, and partly anticipation of the meal she knew he would provide.
The twins were born in early spring – a boy and a girl. Fat and boisterous, they grew quickly, and were soon rolling and playing underfoot. Melia and Ronin were not the only parents among their circle of companions, and the adults tolerated each other’s youngsters with a benign indifference, unless they got too exuberant and bothersome. Eventually, the youngsters would be expected to join their parents when they went running, but for now they enjoyed the comfort of the nursery.
Alaska is a beautiful land –green and fertile in the summer, and equally beautiful in the harshness of winter wind and snow. Its beauty and attraction lies chiefly in its wildness, however. Man has not subdued the landscape yet, and even in places where houses and streets and lights hold back the wilderness, still it lies just beyond the last bit of pavement – unchanged and feral. Melia and Ronin knew this – knew that a predator could lurk around any corner, in any thicket or meadow of head-high grass. A particular danger were the grizzly bears – vicious and aggressive at any time of year, but especially volatile when they had cubs.
It was on a bright fall day when they encountered the grizzly, swatting at salmon as they leapt upstream. Ronin skidded to a stop as soon as he saw the bear, and never taking his eyes off it, he began to back away. Melia was at his heels, and she too backed up – slowly and deliberately, making no sound or movement that could be perceived as threatening. What neither of them saw were the two cubs in the bushes behind them, and as they tried to blend into the landscape and disappear, one of the cubs squealed in surprise when he caught their scent.
Both Melia and Ronin knew that their only hope of survival now lay in running, as far and as fast as they could, away from the bears. The mother bear had swung her huge head in their direction as soon as her cub squealed, and when she identified them as potential dangers to her cubs, she roared and charged, covering the distance between the riverbank and the bushes in seconds. Ronin wheeled and was running at almost top speed immediately, but Melia became entangled in the thorny bushes, and the few seconds that it cost her to tear free were all it took for the bear to seize her. She kicked and clawed and screamed, but the bear was huge with fat and winter fur, and was impervious to any injury Melia could inflict. It was over in less than a minute. Melia lay motionless, her neck snapped by the bear’s jaws.
The bear, satisfied now that her cubs were safe, whoofed to them softly, and they moved off into the bushes, to find a more secluded fishing spot. The only sound was the rushing of the river over the stones, and the faraway shriek of an eagle.
Ronin had turned back towards the river as soon as he realized that Melia was not behind him, and in spite of the danger, he now ran back as fast as he had run away, but by the time he got there, the bears were disappearing into the bushes, and Melia lay quiet and still. He could see the blood flowing where the bear’s claws had raked her, and he saw the angle of her head and neck. He knew before he was even close enough to touch her that she was gone.
He sank down beside her, exploring her body in the last, small hope that he might detect a spark of life, but it was no use. Her bright eyes were dull now, there was no familiar, eager welcome at his approach. For hours, he sat beside her body, until the evening grew dark and chilly, and her body stiffened, and became less and less like the Melia he loved.
It was then that he threw his head back and howled his grief – howled it to the sky, to the stones and the water and the bushes – all the way to the moon, as it cast its cold light on the bloodstained sand. After a time, his friends came – they gathered around him and Melia, and sat for a while in silence. Then, one by one, they added their voices to his in a chorus of howling, and the cold black sky echoed as they grieved for their dead friend.
And in the nearby town, people looked up from their dinner, or their television, or their work, and remarked how close the wolves were tonight, and wondered what made them howl so sadly.