The Little People

Silver or grey you mean? If so, it would be bi-curious.   

Could be both.

{{{ erm, sorry to be a drag but, a white cat is tabby ??}}} Great story tho ! Im getting the tension !.......... & a few goose bumps !

Thanks Azriel. All fixed. (Well, that bit anyhow - the rest will have to wait! }}}

ELEVEN


The pony clip-clopped along the road for an hour or so with Annabel sitting in a half dazed half tranced state on the back. She no longer took any notice of the burning suburb they passed through, though now and then low curling smoke made her sneeze and it hurt her eyes. A fixed vision of a dead tabby cat was occupying her mind. Not that any actual coherent thoughts intruded. What thoughts could? A void is not a thought.

The Little Ones - four of them walking near the cart with one leading the pony - made for a low hill. It rose on the edge of the suburb before the suburb was split in two by a major highway without traffic. The hill had been turned into a park with small lakes and flora allowed to grow a little but not too wild, with gravel paths and outdoor bench seats for the resting of walkers. A majestic oak tree had stood near the crest surrounded by a ring of rocks neatly spaced by long council workers was it's centrepiece. Smaller trees and bushes grew close up to the circle, shading parts of it in the mid-morning sunshine.

At last, Annabel awoke from her waking slumber and turned around to see where they were going. She knew the hill ahead. Her Father had taken her there many times so she could run about in the trees and on the grassy stretches and paddle in the shallows of the lakes. Because it was familiar to her, she felt no upset. Indeed, it woke something calm in her, what with so many happy memories.

Then suddenly the cart drew to a stop and the excited voices of the Little Ones alerted Annabel that something was wrong. She looked to where they were looking and pointing in obvious consternation.

It was a large dog of some kind. The animal was sitting on the pavement beyond the curb about fifty yards away; a big grey dog that stared at them with intelligent eyes.

The four Little Ones pulled out knives from their brightly coloured smocks. One of them - Flix in fact who had accompanied them - put his little flute to his lips and though no sound discernible to Annabel was emitted she could tell the blowing was urgent.  

Out of nowhere it seemed more Little People came at the run bearing knives of their own. The big grey dog cast them a casual gaze, stood up, and loped away from them. As the Little People took up chase, he broke into an easy run that they could not match. Before long the big grey dog had disappeared into a great pall of smoke between two burning houses.

As they came back to the cart, perhaps thirty in all, the Little People were talking excitedly among themselves.

“Why did they chase that dog away?” Annabel asked Flix who had remained to guard her.            

“Dog!” Flix grated irritably. “That was no dog, it was a wolf!”

“A wolf, but...?”

“Yes, a wolf, stupid - and in your neighbourhood too,” Flix continued in angry bemusement. “Strange business it is...” More softly. “Yes, a strange business...”

“The wild things have begun to invade already,” one of the returning Little Ones said, not perturbed at all. “The wild things already know the humans are gone.”

“How far would a wolf have to come to get here?” Flix asked dubiously. “There can’t be a wolf for a hundred miles.”

“It could be from the zoo,” Annabel suggested helpfully.  

“She’s right,” said the other Little One to Flix. “It can’t be more than two miles away on the other side of the highway.”

“That’s it,” Flix grinned, looking suddenly relieved. “Of course it is!” He slapped his forehead and laughed.

“Are you afraid of wolves?” Annabel asked innocently.

“Not any more than I’m afraid of the Horned Ones,” Flix retorted angrily. “And I’m far less afraid of the Horned Ones than you should be, girlie! Now shut up, I hate the sound of your hideous voice!”  

Shaking his frowning head in disgust - perhaps more at himself than at Annabel - Flix grabbed up the pony’s reins and tugged. The pony stumbled skittishly forward and they were on their way again. At the end of the road the hill loomed.

TWELVE

It was good to leave all the fire and smoke behind and as the little cart wound up the park path on the hill, winding in great curves through garden beds and shrubberies, ornamental lakes and fountains, Annabel could almost forget her burning suburb; if she did not lift her gaze too high, the terrible view was blocked by greenery. But when the pony clip-clopped finally into the open area beneath the old oak tree, Annabel could not fail to see below a suburb quite unrecognisable and falling in flame. Her eyes looked, but without comprehension.

“Come with me,” Flix caught her attention. And Annabel dropped to the ground and allowed herself to be lead across to a park seat.

“Sit,” she was told and she obeyed.

With her hands folded neatly in her lap, she fixated on a small statue sprouting water in a small fountain. The statue was of a figure with two horns on an angular head with a straggly beard, a humanoid body, and goat legs below. Her Father had once told her it was a Faun from Greek Mythology, whatever that was.

The open area was a hive of activity. Little people hastened here and there in number, carrying all sorts of things. Annabel barely noticed them. She continued to stare at the Faun – without noticing it anymore. Images tumbled through her mind, once seen, forgotten again when the next image tumbled in. She may as well have been a statute herself as she did not move for a long time.  

At last, Flix tugged at her hand. “Come.”

Annabel obeyed.

The Little People had hammered a long crowbar into a grassy spot between some cobblestones. A funny looking chain was fixed to it. Flix clasped the other end around Annabel’s thin wrist. Annabel looked at the funny chain in confusion, then caught sight of Flix grinning up at her.

“Handcuffs,” he said grinning.  “A chain of linked handcuffs. Call it a gift from your local police, my dear.”

Annabel had no idea what he meant. She had never seen handcuffs before. She looked at the crowbar rising out of the ground, too tall to lift the linked handcuffs above the top as she stood.

“You may as well sit,” Flix told her without kindness. “You’ll be here awhile.”

So Annabel sat down with her back against the crowbar, and she soon slipped into a coma.  

When she opened her eyes again it was evening and she was gnawingly hungry, her mouth dry. Around her little shadow-figures bustled about. A campfire blazed not more than ten feet away from her. And by the fire was a strange apparition. On first seeing it she thought it was the statute of the fountain. But the Faun still stood there sprouting water when she looked over at it.

“We look quite alike, don’t we, girl,” said the figure by the fire. “Except one of us is of stone and one is of flesh. Can you guess which is which?”

“I don’t know what you mean...”

“You are young and stupid then, which I can forgive,” the figure grinned. “Let me introduce myself, human. I am Lord Botis. I am Master in these parts. I have come into my inheritance, you see. You are the last human hereabouts, did you know that?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t, I guess, but never mind, you don’t need to. Did you know that I am goint to sacrifice you to the Dark God tonight? Unfortunately, it will entail me drinking your blood as it leaks out of you. Not nice, is it? Not for you. But the Dark God demands innocent blood. You being the innocent in this case.”

“I don’t know...”

‘No! You don’t know what I mean,” Lord Botis said, suddenly angry. “You wouldn’t! You’re too young, you see, too young to see, but not too young to bleed so that I might feed!”

Annabel decided she did not like Lord Botis. She was frightened of him. He did not seem nice at all.

“Ah!” Lord Botis said sibilantly and he turned his craggy bearded face toward the sky eastward. “The Dark God will be well pleased just now. How glad to see the humans defeated...”

Annabel looked at the sky. She wondered who the Dark God was. She wondered if the Dark God – whoever he was - would be coming down out of the sky.

Lord Botis saw her scrutinizing the sky. “Do you expect the eagles to save you?” he asked lightly.

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t read ‘The Hobbit’, girl? It’s a story about a little man called Bilbo Baggins who has lots of adventures in an imaginary land. The eagles come swooping in to save him at one point; quite unexpectedly, of course, as happens in those kinds of stories. It was all very exciting. But, sadly, it was just a story...”

“I don’t...”  

“You don’t need to know. Just know that there will be no miraculous rescues tonight.” Lord Botis now gave Annabel such a grin that cannot be described in words but which terrified her. In a softly triumphant voice, he added, “No, my dear, there is no hope for you I'm afraid, and tonight your story ends.”

 
((I LOVE this story! I am so glad you started writing again, even if it is scary and horrible and Annabel is far too believable and there's a demonic Shettie for crying out loud!!      ))

Thanks Amarie.

{{{I find I am very insecure about this tale. I guess mainly because writing things like The Secretive Seven or Thuglyffe, (even my own fave Little Kindergarden on the Forum) are kind of easy because I can do what I like to keep things moving. The Little People has to be written in a more toilet trained manner - no laziness or cheating, damn! I feel I put myself at a risk of being discovered as a fraud or something... eeek... You know, not a 'proper' writer. Don't tell anyone I have such stupendous doubts about myself, though. I have my reputation as a veritable superman to protect! }}}

so far your "super-Oz-man" reputation is still intact, I really like this story no end ! ( just a bit of pressure for ya !) Its creepy enough in all the right places & its jogging along nicely. I can feel the lead up to the penultimate ending & I can hardly wait !   

THIRTEEN

Bats flapped through the night hunting. Frogs croaked romantically to prospective brides. Some stars were blurred with smoky traceries while others twinkled brightly and unencumbered. A gentle breeze had risen. The night was pleasant all round and but for the voices of the excited Little People gathered, quite serene. The Little Ones were silhouettes moving about like stiff limbed puppets, the bright colours of their smocks now satin shadows. They had been busy all evening; though some were quiet for long periods, standing in mesmerized trances, looking out over the smouldering embers of Annabel’s suburb, their eyes glinting happily in the orange flamed light of the campfire. Lord Botis had been found a huge Chippendale chair and he sat upon it near the trunk of the oak tree; his eyes glowed red.

Darkness had drawn in tightly around the tips of the fire and Annabel was enamoured of it. The fire sparked and glowed and licked high into the air, seeming to grow larger and more orange with every minute. She had forgotten she was hungry. She knew no thirst. She stared and stared not even aware that that was all she was capable of.

“My friends!” a soft voice was raised suddenly. “Be at peace a moment. Shush you!”

Annabel blinked and looked over at Lord Botis who was speaking. The Faun got to his feet and signalled with his hands for silence. A hush fell.

“We have had a good day today, the Dark Gods be praised. The Horned One has sent word: all goes well everywhere.”

The little shadow-folk gave a hearty cheer.

“Yes, his plans have come almost to fruition. Some humans survive, but they shall be rooted out. All goes well.”

More cheers.

“And in thanks we are gathered here on this hill. My old hill returned. Just as you shall take back your homes once the Man-filth has been removed.”

Even heartier cheers resounded in the night.

“Of course, the Dark Gods demand their sacrifice.”

A riot of cheering ensued.

“Release the little human girl. Bring her to me.”

Annabel found herself surrounded by many happy shadowy faces. A key was produced and in seconds many hands were pulling at her dress and she lurched in the direction of Lord Botis.

“I have a gift for you, young lady,” Lord Botis smiled, his teeth pure and white and clean in the firelight, his eyes a mordant red.

Annabel peered at his hand as he held it up.

“I don’t want a knife,” Annabel said politely. “My Mummy says I shouldn’t play with knives.”

Lord Botis guffawed. “What a wise Mummy you have dear. And she’s right. In the wrong hands they might do all sorts of harm.”

And the Faun tossed the knife spinning in the air above him. As it fell, he caught it deftly.

“Careful! Careful!” he laughed.

“You shouldn’t play with knives...” Annabel said meekly.

She did not like that knife. It had along glinting blade and it looked very sharp.

“Oh fiddlesticks! I know what I’m doing’” Lord Botis said in a jolly tone. With equally good humour, he added, “Hold her down, friends! I really don’t want to hear her foul voice again, and I’m thirsty... very thirsty.”

Hands again were upon Annabel and she was pulled rudely to the ground where she lay on her back restrained and unable to move even though she tried instinctively to do so. She still had no idea what was planned for her. Yet, she felt horribly afraid.

Lord Botis came and stood above her. His legs looked crooked and hairy. His shaggy beard seemed to sway. The two horns on his head had turned a flickering orange.  

“Oh Dark Ones!” Lord Botis began to chant. “We are your servants. We are your slaves. We are your beasts! We are your worms! We are nothing while you are great! Take this life as your sacrifice. I shall drink the blood as your Priest!”

And without further ado, Lord Botis held the knife high, his fist tight around the haft, the blade pointing down toward her.

Annabel thought he was about to stab her with it. Her eyes were wide. Her stomach clenched in shock.

“Don’t,” she squealed. “You’ll hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” Lord Botis cried joyfully with eyes as hard as rubies. “Why, my dear, you’ll barely know your throat’s been cut!”

*bite nails*

{{{Your secret is safe with me. Nobody will suspect a thing. Only Azzie, but I think she had picked up some witch craft from Figgy. And I think your superman rep will only grow from this. Perhaps it is good you have an outlet here for the more darker ideas, they seemed to have popped up in you other stories more often than before. }}}

dont worry Amarië ! Im certain the "great one" (small snigger, but never mind !) Will provide a suitable conclusion    I feel it in my witchy fingers that he is not as you suspect ?? The "Great One" (more sniggers !) Will surprise us all ! Hurrah !

Err... umm.. yes, of course, Azriel... whatever you say....  (I certainly don't think of you as the Great One of this tale --- but then again... I am naive about certain things...   )




[{{{Amazing, Amarie!   I suspect Azriel can read encrypted messages and doesn't even know she's doing it! I have added the Extra Special Blocking-Bracket to this private message, you'll notice. Hope it works! --- Oh yes, and you are probably right about the witch bit. I imagine you, of all ladies, would know!   }}}]  

[{{{Oh yes, that was Amazing comma Amarie, but it would work as well as Amazing no-comma Amarie...   }}}]

FOURTEEN

A dog started howling. Or what sounded like a dog.

Lord Botis let his knife drop to his side and turned an ear to listen, and even as he did so another dog howled back but from a different direction altogether.

Lord Botis frowned in the firelight.

Then more howling began.

And then another one raised its voice.  

It was like the hill was surrounded by them.      

The Little People began a bustling activity which seemed without purpose. They ran around, little frantic shadow puppets, speaking quickly and excitedly.

Lord Botis’s red eyes narrowed.

“Wolves!” he exclaimed. “What are wolves doing here?”

“We saw one earlier,” Flix said shrilly as he ran up to his Master. “Escaped from the zoo, we think.”

“Wolves?” Lord Botis frowned. “Escaped from the zoo? I’ve scavenged food from the zoo a thousand times. There were never wolves there. Queer business...” His voice fell away, his demonic face lost in contemplation.

Then the wolves stopped howling.

The Little People stopped their nervous running about. They became statues on which firelight danced.

Annabel sat up because they had let go of her. “I want to go home,” she said softly and began to cry. “I want my Mummy.”

“You want your Mummy, do you?” Flix hissed and stood over her with a knife in his tiny hands, not as big as Lord Botis’s but just as sharp. “Well, your Mummy’s dead, girl; just like you will be... just like you.”

“What’s the matter?”Annabel asked through her tears, detecting something about Flix. “Why are you frightened?”

Flix’s nostrils flared. “I’m not frightened, stupid girl... You stupid, stupid girl!”

“Beatrice! Poppin! Sigmund! Jolly Tom!” Lord Botis called out suddenly. “Sneak out to the four quarters and investigate. Something strange is going on. Wolves here? It can’t be happening. You four – go!”

“It is Wolverhampton,” said Cowslip with nervous irony as he came to stand by Flix.

“Shut up, fool,” Lord Botis barked.    

Annabel climbed to her feet. “I’m going home. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

Lord Botis looked at her incredulously. He was her height and he stepped forward and stared her eye to eye. He had horrible eyes dancing with firelight. “I am not finished with you yet.” He turned away. “Chain the beast up, Flix. The sacrifice will have to wait until we’ve sorted this wolf business out.”  

And Annabel was dragged unceremoniously back to the crowbar where her wrist was cuffed again, so tightly the metal cut into her.

The minutes passed and Lord Botis and his Little Ones stood around in creepy silence. Except for the croaking frogs, the world was still. Even the breeze that had blown up earlier had died.

The night grew older.

“Where are they?” Lord Botis asked nervously after what might have been a good half hour, during which Annabel half dozed in exhausted stupor. “Why have none of them come back yet?”

Woken by his words, Annabel asked, “Do wolves eat Little People?”

She received no answer, but the Little People began to fidget and whisper urgently amongst themselves.

Lord Botis spoke again. “Cowslip! Blackberry! Rosehip! Bonny! Go and find out what your brethren are doing.”

“Can’t we wait a bit longer, Lord Botis?” Cowslip asked nervously. “They might just need more time...”

“Coward!” Lord Botis snarled.

Then Annabel heard what she thought was a dog yelp nearby. Followed quickly by another from a different place, but also close by. Then there was a thrashing of leaves and at least ten grey dog-shapes bounded from all directions into the midst of the Little People, sending them scurrying – at least, those that the wolves did not set upon with savage rending teeth. The snarling and scrabbling, and the hideous cries of the set-upon, made Annabel freeze in terror.  

Lord Botis lifted his knife in self-defence as a grey wolf launched itself on him.  But he reacted too late. The wolf had caught him by the throat and instantly proceeded to rip it open.

There was chaos on the hilltop, but not for long. The Little Ones either fled or lay dead. It was all quite shocking for Annabel. She stared and stared as the wolf that had killed Lord Botis savaged his body with angry violence. It was the most terrifying thing she had seen since all this horrible business had begun; such terrible savagery.

Then quiet fell.

After awhile, the wolf stopped its fierce work on the carcass of Lord Botis. Perhaps the wolf sensed he was being watched. He turned his great grey head toward Annabel, his great jaw saturated in blood. The great mouth seemed to grin. Peculiarly, the grin seemed somewhat abashed.

“Annabel Green,” the wolf said. “I know who you are, and you mustn’t be afraid. Sorry about this. I forgot you were here once the lust was upon me, you see. Fauns and wolves have a long history and I lost control a little. But never mind. It’s all over --- at least for the moment anyway.”

Perhaps it was the most perplexing thing she had encountered so far. For not only could the wolf talk, he sounded exactly like her Second Grade Teacher, Mister Howlett.

Ooooo OOO ooooh !

Yesss, the wolfies! Thee hee, Howlet..

[{{{ Orwell, the brackets dont work, sorry ! My cosmic runes told me how to break incryptions... & it worked   }}}]

azriel wrote:Ooooo OOO ooooh !

Probably for the nonce.... maybe....  

Amarië wrote:Yesss, the wolfies! Thee hee, Howlet..

Nothing to laugh about I would have thought...   

azriel wrote:[{{{???}}]

[{{{You play a dangerous game, Azriel, because if Lord Eldorion finds out, you'll come to a bad... ... ... Actually, we're talking about Eldo!    Where the hell is he anyway, when people are going about breaking encryptions willy-nilly?   }}}]

FIFTEEN

“Are you the Big Bad Wolf?” Annabel asked as the wolf with Mister Howlett’s voice lowered his rear end to sit on his haunches and appraise her.

“No,” the wolf laughed not sounding the least bit like a wolf. “Wait a moment. I can see I’m scaring you. Let me change into something a little less comfortable.”  

The wolf was grinning, and then he was changing, going blurry at the edges. From somewhere in the middle of the blurring figure, Mister Howlett’s was speaking.

“It’s called metamorphosis, I guess, but one that’s reversible if you know how. You’d have learned about butterflies and metamorphosis in Grade Three, Annabel; unfortunately, Mrs Crabbe won’t be teaching it now. You can look away if this is disturbing you...”

Annabel was fascinated, not disturbed.

Very shortly after, Mister Howlett appeared, kneeling on all fours, stark naked.

He stood up. “You’ll have to excuse the nudity, Annabel. Difficult to wear clothes when you’re a wolf, you know; yes, very inconvenient and restricting.”

“Are you a werewolf?” Annabel asked, not afraid at all.

She could not imagine Mister Howlett as a frightening being. He was always so nice. All the children at her school adored him. If he was a werewolf he must be a good werewolf, not a bad werewolf. And while it was odd to see him naked, it did not perturb her at all, for her Mother and Father had often sauntered around naked within the confines of their house, and she could now see that Mister Howlett was normal like them – except in that he could change into a wolf, of course.

Mister Howlett came over, having caught sight of her handcuffed wrist.

“Do you know where the key is?”

“Flix has it, Mister Howlett,” Annabel told him.

“And which one is Flix?”

Annabel looked about and soon picked out the bloodied form of her former gaoler lying near the fire. The sight made her stomach go all tight again. She pointed.

Miser Howlett rifled through the pockets of the Little One’s smock. He soon held up a tiny key in triumph, and Annabel was freed.  

“The devils have cut you,” Mister Howlett said compassionately as he examined her wrist in a big gentle hand. “We’ll clean it for you a bit later.”

A wolf loped out of the darkness beyond the firelight, soon to be followed others. They had clearly been off hunting Little Ones, for the first wolf said, “Some have escaped, John. We best get away from here as soon as possible. The sooner we’re back at the kombi the better.”

Mister Howlett nodded his head. “We’ve got our van hidden along the highway,” he told Annabel. “But it’s quite a walk and you’re very tired I’m sure. I’ll change back into a wolf and you can ride on my back.”

Mister Howlett grinned encouragingly. Then the funny blurry thing happened all over again and Mister Howlett was presently a wolf again.

“Climb up on my back,” Mister Howlett instructed her once it was done. “I’ll go slowly at first until you’ve got the idea. Once you’ve got the idea, we’ll move faster. Is that alright?”

“I’ve never ridden a wolf before,” Annabel said brightly in spite of her hunger and fatigue. How exciting it would be to ride a wolf! How surprised her Mother and Father would be when they found out!

SIXTEEN


The journey to Mister Howlett’s kombi took a little over half an hour, and in that time Annabel became quite the wolf rider. She had ridden ponies before and wolves were different, but once she had learned to clasp his hair tightly – but not too tightly! – and became balanced to his loping gait, it was easy for her. Mister Howlett told her even as they descended the back of the hill that she was born to it, which pleased her greatly for all her fatigue.
 
At the base of the hill they came to a council plantation and moved across its grass to the wall that lined the highway. The wall had been built to suppress traffic noise. Annabel had to dismount so they could crawl through a culvert.

Once on the other side of the wall, they kept to the verge of the roadway, among trees and shrubs as much as they could. There was no moon out and no vehicles on the road to reveal them with their headlights, so the grey forms moved without much fear of detection.

Not much was said. Annabel was tired. She was beginning to nod as they approached a highway overpass. Coming out of the last clump of bushes before the overpass, Annabel saw the van parked high up the overpass embankment. It was parked at such an angle it looked like it might have toppled over on its side in a breath of wind. There was a tall figure at the driver’s side door.

“What’s going on here?” Mister Howlett got out in surprise and loped more quickly forward.

Instinctively, Annabel clutched on tighter to his hair when she felt the sudden jolt forward, waking her fully.      

The figure at the door turned toward them abruptly; then began to back away.

“Another human,” one of the wolves behind Mister Howlett cried and hurried past him.

The human-like figure was a woman; an old woman perhaps, but one who moved like someone younger. It was too dark for Annabel to make out much about her, but Mister Howlett’s eyes were better use in the dark.

“Mrs McNaughton,” he cried in relief. “Fancy me seeing you here.”

“I don’t know that I know you, wolf,” Mrs McNaughton replied in surprise, though she stopped backing away. “I haven’t spoken to a wolf in a long long time. Who are you?”

“You know me as John Howlett. We buy our meat at the same butcher’s in Peddle Road... But what do you mean by ‘I haven’t spoken to a wolf in a long long time?’ You’re clearly not shocked that a wolf can talk then?”

“You’re obviously a Changer,” Mrs McNaughton laughed drily. “I’m only shocked to find any left in Wolverhampton. Well, at least, nowadays. Perhaps a few hundred years ago it might a have seemed possible but not in recent times. Not now.”

Mister Howlett laughed too. “You’re a witch I gather. I would never have guessed before.”

“And I would never have guessed that John Howlett the school teacher was a Changer. Amazing, really, when one thinks about it. And I see you have rescued young Annabel.”

“You know her?”

“I do. I helped her at first but then had to leave her behind when things got too tight.”

“You deserted her?” Mister Howlett quizzed, and Annabel noticed a slight change in his tone, though she did not know what it meant. “That doesn’t sound terribly good.”

“No. No, it doesn’t. I regret it, of course. And I’m certainly glad you found her. You wolf Changers have always had a particular affinity with humans, haven’t you. I’m not surprised you’d risk saving one.”

“I guess that goes without saying,” Mister Howlett answered, and there was that tone again. Annabel wondered if it might not be crossness. She could not be sure because she had never known him to be cross before.

“Anyway, I suppose we should get down to business,” Mister Howlett continued. “What were you going to do with my kombi, if that’s not too rude a question?”

“Not in the least. It’s a quite proper question to ask in the circumstances,” Mrs McNaughton laughed. “The short answer is, I was about to steal it if I could. Sadly, you seem to have returned just in the nick to stop me doing so.”

!!!WOLVES!!!

 Why... yes...

[{[{[{ Note to self: At last! The secret to writing a story that truly excites people... mention wolves...   }]}]}

Yay David ! wolves ! Yes Orwell, we like wolves !    

We like wolves now. Wolves are cool.