Wolves Don't Cry

© 2000 by Sofía 'Toffee' Francisco

This page was last modified: 2000/11/24

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Author's Note:

Ahem: I have 3 things to say, one: as you will soon notice, I don't remember the name of Fenrir's blue wolf, so in this fic it will appear under the name his pack gave him, in their own language (according to my version of the story).

Two: these wolves are smarter than normal wolves because Asgard IS supernatural, so why not?

And three: since all my other fanfics are linked to the same main 'toffeeuniverse', I'll throw this one in too. Once again.. bear with me! ^_^;

People often say that we are predetermined in our lives. I have seen them lift their heads up as if in holy prayer and whisper resignedly 't'was destined to be so'. But I never knew a person that would so calmly take on his own calamity, not without screaming and crying and cursing the skies above. They are double sided, all humans, as I am. Yes, I am a human, not matter how I try to deny this fact. And there are two sides to me, just like any other of my kind, but only one of them is actually true to my blood. The other is who I am really, who I feel in my heart. The monster these unfeeling parodies of life created, the hunter they gave shape to by the simple act of singling it out as prey. And I live like this, trapped between the truth and 'my' truth, of being and not being at the same time.

I am a paradoxical negation of my nature, for the more I deny it the more it seems to flow in my veins. But there is one thing that can still draw the line between these two sides; both are hunters, both enjoy the kill, but only one of them kills for fun.

If I had a name, I don't remember it now. I have only one name I can answer to, only one side I will obey. The call of the waning moon and the bloodsong of the pack as we shriek our sobbing hymn to nature, and the cold ice-fed rivers that carry the taste of the mountains and the gods... the moon. These are my tethers, what hold me and rein my back, the nameless names I will answer to freely. We all carry this very same name, though I cannot hide my envy of the purity in which they represent it. But they do not shun me for what I am, they open wider doors and soften their bites to me, eyes in peaceful observance.

I am, strangely, the leader. The first to howl and the last to gaze adoringly at the moon; I am also, stranger still, the most inexperienced.

It is this lack of knowledge that leads me to cross ends such as the one I have before me now. It is this lost sense of nature and balance that confuses me. They too are not immune to the call of other than the moon and tradition, or they would not have saved me. They would not have taken me in as one of their own. When I asked them why, or what I am to them, they struggled through the limits of their conceptual semaphore language and tried to explain. A flick of an ear, a brief growl... they always feel upset when I doubt the 'rightness' of my presence here. Moonscar always growls loudest, for it was his idea.


That is the closest they can come to explain it. I should have been the prey, but my kind had already done that, I should have been the hunter, but I was only a child, so I became the cub and was taken in. Moonscar did not have to convince the others, they accepted easily.

:right/liked. moon:

To them it was a sort of omen. I learnt their ways and their life, I became one of them and yet never left truly aside whom I was in origin. The pack left their caves and ledges in the favour of the crumbling house that had once belonged to my family and they took pleasure in tearing the rugs while I forced myself to read and remember the Human language, just in case I might use it someday... and because there were things of my kind I have never understood.

Yet today, all that I am and have been is put to question, as I kneel in the fresh snow and stare ahead. The pack moves as one, circling and staring, but no sound is heard. There is a doe on the ground, her neck twisted too far back for her to be alive, and the scent of blood is in the air. The pack stares at her, hungering yet doubtful.


Blackfoot huffs, but he does not signal 'hunt', the doe is already hunted and dead. But she was not taken, which leads me to easy conclusions, and upsetting ones too. Moonscar shakes his blue fur and makes a strange high pitched sound.

:not bear:

He means, and he should know. The moon shaped scar on his forehead was done by a bear when he was a cub, the pack sometimes howls that song to the moon, for it is her mark he bears. The moon is holy to them, they obey her words. I was found on a full moon day, they sang to me once, so I was to be taken in. It was for me that he got scar, to save me from the bear.

But today is crescent, the day of eating and hunting, even though food is sparse because of the winter. That is why this doe should be eaten.. if only...

Moonscar growls as the small brown deer lurches fearfully in its newborn legs, wide black eyes staring in fear and confusion and the assembly of death before it. The doe had a child, and we do not - if it can be avoided- kill such preys, not yet. I lean close to the corpse and smell the air around it, then prod its neck where the scent of blood comes from.

It was shot.

I growl in anger and pain, ashamed of what I am and what my kind do. That they would kill a mother and then not even pay homage to nature and the moon by eating her. That they would kill and then waste, destroying simply for the fun of it.


I growl low and softly, and the pack reacts in surprise. It is a new sound/word in their language, I invented it for them along with a few others when I thought it might be good. It was because they knew that I was more intelligent that they had made me the leader.

But I was tainted by my blood, though they ignored this fact.

The young deer stares at me fearfully, crouching close to its mother's cooling body, overly large ears drooping in abject terror. I stare at it, scenting its fear and pain, knowing that this scene is all too familiar.

It is my past.

I remember them as I look at the baby, the humans that left my mother when the bear came. I remember my mother and father, fighting for me, dying for me as the rest of their pack turned and fled. That is what humans were, cowards and disloyal monsters. A pack never flees when one is in danger, I learned that early on. The pack is one and a whole, though each has a name we are a single entity. We never betray the pack, for only the whole pack can sing a good song for the moon.

But the humans left me behind, to be eaten, to be killed. And the pack saved me, because there was a full moon and the cubs were on their first Great hunt, where they should kill the big prey. A bear.


Blackfoot asks again, grey eyes shining curiously. He does not like what he sees.

I want to say yes, that we should eat them, so this does not go wasted with further shame to us who dwell in the forest, but... the little deer.

It is like looking at myself, only there is no one to come for him. And it is crescent, the day to kill and eat... even though I search for an answer none comes. I cannot take him with us... a deer in a pack? Ridiculous! Only surpassed by a human in a pack.. but the moon called that day for homage, and today it calls for blood, so it must be done.

And yet...

I was alone and crying back then, and no human came, but the wolves stayed and nuzzled me. They licked my face and tried vainly to speak to me, it was a while before I learnt their language. They would not leave me alone, and they brought me food: the flesh of their hunt, the bear. I cried into Moonscar's matted fur and he curled around me. He would have been the leader, but in the end I was chosen. For the good of the pack.

And I learnt the rules... that we do not kill for fun, that we always eat all we kill for nature is the moon and the moon says so, that we sing the good and bad to the moon, and that we respect the other moonchildren when we are not hungry.

So this thing before us; this dead mother and shivering child.. it is an abomination.

And I should say to end it, to eat it, but I can't. I wonder if they understand what I see here, what this scene represents, but their patient eyes tell me that they do not. They let me do the thinking and they wait, because they trust I will choose right.


Moonscar speaks, suggesting we go and find another prey. But I know we cannot.. this cannot be left here.

I reach out to the little deer and see it shudder, then move closer. His mother is cold and I don't smell like a wolf or a human. Fretfully it comes closer and nuzzles the proffered hand, hopefully. I draw it nearer and feel it lean against me, too young to understand what is going on.

Moonscar took me close to him once... but ...

This is different.

There is no life beyond this for the deer, no one will save him or take him in. So what do I do? The humans killed the mother, and probably left here there when they saw the baby lived. My human side is at odds with the true me. Kill it or let it live.. and what could it live for? But killing this little thing is not right either!

And eating the mother... we did not hunt her.. it is shameful and foul to eat a dejected hunt, but then it is also shameful and foul to deject a hunt. There is dishonour in who and what I am, to belong to a race that could do this.

But the pack seldom bothers itself with theology, they just do what feels right. And what feels right, now?

The little animal nuzzles me seeking comfort and I stroke the small head softly, it leans into me and breathes deeply, feeling safe. But there is no safety for this child. I was lucky.

So by nature law, he must die. I should kill him... just like I should have died had the pack not sought a different choice, because for once they considered the moon before their empty stomachs.. and I know that none regret it. But...

By right I should have died... the should have eaten me. And to eat and kill this child that I hold, is to do what they did not do all those years ago. By killing it I am killing myself. Was it the moon that sought this balance for us, so that the ritual of my death as human was not forgotten, or is it just my human side seeking answers for things that have none?

It has to die... I had to die.

The pack moves closer to me, an occasional questioning whine is heard. I look at them, at their peaceful eyes and simple outlook on nature.. and choose.

With swift fingers I reach out to the small deer and snap its neck. It dies without a sound, not even knowing or understanding what happened. And what side of me chose this? Did the wolf reassert the rules of the pack? Or did the human just show what little mercy there is in my heart?

I killed myself.. I am holding the warm body of a child that, just like me, lost everything to the humans, because they are monsters. And there is nothing holy or destined about it, it is simply death and the pain it brings... it is a strange comfort to me to find that after all this years I still don't enjoy it. We are double sided, but more often than not one side will take the power and do what in our hearts is right.

But I do not know what side of me just did.

I look up at them, at their unblinking gaze. They do not question themselves over this, they just feel and act, as I did now. I should learn this from them too... but my blood gets in the way most of the times. I am cursed with the need to reason things and think them, while they simply run through life and sing what they think is the truth, to the moon. The do not understand why I doubted, they just accept it.

If only humans could accept things so...


I finally concede, and I watch them pounce onto the doe and start tearing at her, eating all they can. They sink their fangs into her flesh and taste the remains of her life because this way... is the right way. Because she died and her child was left alone...


I look down at the small body and I realise I am hugging it, holding it close to my chest as if to give... or take... comfort. But the pack does not understand this either, so as I lay the small creature down and Moonscar bends to tear it open, none notice the warm tears that flow down my cheeks, nor would they understand them if they did.

After all, wolves don't cry.

The End

Author's End Note:

Ahhh! Nothing like a depressing story to fix your day right? ^^; Well, this is for Torque, and her words were (more or less) 'surprise me'. My dear *kiss kiss smooch* friend, have a very happy 23rd of November! *this fanfic will self-destruct in five seconds* 5...4...3...2......1.....


(for crazy Torquemada, from Toffee..... with love)

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