Luneshale Pass sion

Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Guadalupe coming from wadi al-lupus, a chimera of Arabic and Latin meaning the valley of the wolf, our lady of the valley of the wolf.

Here she comes, with her corona pulsing gold and mulberry in turns, a winking dark star. Moises lies slack on the silica floor, his pupils blown out like the finger holes of a bowling ball

Everything is so horizontal. The horizon. The stunted trees. The air itself, which settles in layers above him like the haloclines of underwater caves, as sinister as they are beautiful. He is sure that if he stands up now he will be disobeying a natural order. If he stands up now he will not only die, but he will also take the rest of the world with him.

So he remains still, barely breathing, every muscle rigid, convinced he is keeping at bay total Armageddon.

Wulfwynn wasn't sure what to do when her journey lead her here to the lowlands of the wilderness and even less so when her eyes picked out the shape of a canid just sprawled across the ground. She knew she needed to try something at least, just to see if this stranger was okay. 

She scampered quickly towards the wolf, moving more carefully the closer she got to avoid spooking the guy too badly. Though being slow killed her, as hasty as she usually liked being since her escape. 

"Um... are you okay there, fella?" Wulfwynn asked, cocking her fluffy head to the side with big, moon-like eyes. "Are you like... alive?"

To his addled mind, the fact that this creature can cheerfully shirk the horizontal is proof that it is a demon sent to torment him. It bucks against the Logos, its eyes as big as minor moons, it babbles a string of words backwards or forwards, it does not matter.

Vete, demonio!

The demand breaks from his mouth, taking with it a part of him. He presses himself closer to the ground, recoiling, trembling.

No puedes tocarme. No puedes, no puedes, no puedes...

He clings to the prayer, trisyllabic, and gracias a Dios for that.

Well, that was definitely in a dialect she didn't know. Though, did he just call a little fluff ball like her a demon? That word she at least caught. Wulfwynn stared down at the frantic pooch, shifting a paw awkwardly. 

"Hey, I'm not um... a demonio. I'm a wolf, like you!" Wulfwynn told him but kept a safe distance still since he was clearly in some sort of trance and very against being touched. "Do you need any help? It's not safe to be in the open like this. And don't worry, I won't hurt you! See?"

As if to make a point how harmless she was, she sunk herself low on the ground, paws tucked under in a loaf-like position.

He knows that demons are drawn towards the extremes—either the damned, or divine. They suffer no illusions; they recognize the savior and alight upon him like flies, even in the desert they can find him, where everything smells like glass and the black of night is total.

No entiendo...

Moisés, this great big manchild, starts to weep.

He forgets about the horizontal world, now sitting and collapsed into himself with his paws over his face.

In between ragged breaths: por que estás aquí?

Cielos, qué he hecho?

This last question, an incomprehensible whimper, every syllable thick with snot.

Well, at least the guy was sitting up now. So, that was some progress but distressing him hadn't been her agenda. Especially when she was snack sized compared to this weeping fella.

The language barrier was making it complicated to try comforting the crying stranger. Wulfwynn stared in bewilderment and sadness, wanting to make things better for him. If only they could communicate...

Maybe actions could speak just as loudly. After all, wolves were blessed with emotive forms for a reason.

Wulfwynn gently drew closer, flat on her belly with her ears flat to show she was of no threat. She nudged his elbow with a soft nose, drawing back in hopes of getting his attention between his sobbing. She gave him a concerned little whimper and whine. 

She pointed at herself repeatedly as she woofed, fluffy tail wagging in a show of friendship and play. "Wulfwynn!" The wildling tried giving a friendly smile before pointing at him in hopes of getting a name. 

Names always made things less spooky.

Out of the corner of his eye, Moisés expects the worst.

He is calmer now, if only because he has accepted what fate has wrought for him. If he is to be possessed, let it happen. His body is useless and damaged, a golem without a shem which crumbles into the dust of its origins.

So when it touches him with its nose (he is surprised that it is cold and wet, like his), he does not pull away.

And when it offers its name, he only stares. Is this a test? Where is the outer darkness, the gnashing of teeth?

He has stopped crying but he still shakes. He twitches and hiccups and licks the snot off of his nose.

Ulf-win, he repeats, not daring to meet its eyes.

Okay so progress was progress, he didn't have another meltdown at her drawing too close and touching him. Relief washed over her like a wave from the big water, however, she knew it was short lived since she needed to progress gently with this else risk ending back in square one.

When he repeated her name back, she beamed him a smile. The start of a connection, that was good. Maybe she would seem less scary now. 

"Wulfwynn!" She affirmed once more, nodding her fluffy head merrily." Wulfwynn gently touched him with her nose again before she began pointing at him repeatedly after gesturing at herself in hopes he'd understand she was asking for a name.

What would el jefe do?

The odds are that he would laugh—yes, he can hear it now, that feline, guttering laugh—because nothing can hurt him, because he is the steward of his world, because he has mastered his body. And he laughs easily. And Moisés longs for that sound. He can envision the fold of fat on the back of the jaguar's neck which flattens when he turns, over his shoulder, to look at you. The brilliantine shine of his hair.

Moisés, he responds, calmer still. It keeps smiling at him, each one of its teeth as small as his toenails.

No hablo tu lengua.

Wulfwynn wished she could tell him it was a nice name but since their conversation methods were limited he wouldn't be able to understand the compliment anyway. So, instead she settled on smiling, nodding her head in approval once she heard Moisés introduce himself at last. 

Well... now that she was at this point, she needed to get creative on how to continue conversing with the wolf. She tried to think of a way to ask if he was okay, maybe he was injured or something, and that was why Moisés had been sprawled out on the ground.

After mulling it over for a long moment, she put the idea into action. 

Giving a concerned look and whine, she pointed at the v shaped scar on her face before pointing at him. Are you hurt? She tried asking with the gesture.

Wulfwynn's valiant attempts at communication couldn't have found a more illiterate recipient. The pointing is bewildering, and so are the inquisitive noises. To him it is the same as the chattering of gorriónes—an esoteric language a phylum's distance apart.

He wishes that it would touch him again with its nose, which is so much like his despite everything.

Quién te hizo eso, Ulf-win? Y por qué?

Then he reaches out towards her nose, eyes half-shut in consternation.

Wulfwynn felt deflated when her attempts at conversation hit yet another wall, the little wildling drooping visibly but a quitter she wasn't. She'd just need to think of something else...

When he spoke and this time looking pointedly at the scar on her face, she had some idea what he might be asking. 

But how to reply, she wasn't sure. 

She soon was distracted as Moises leaned towards her, she blinked owlishly at him but didn't move away. Wulfwynn held still, containing her wiggling out of curiosity of what he was trying to do.

Well, at least he seems more comfortable now! Wulfwynn thought.

She does not move away when he goes to touch her nose with his calloused palm. This strikes him as hard as a physical blow. No one tolerated being touched by him. Sometimes they let it be known that they thought him a leper. He lived with the tenuous awareness of being an aberrant thing, a soiled vector of degeneration, illness, and decline—but she only smiled at him, staring, each eye blue with reflected sky.

Yes, her nose is cold and wet—he had not imagined it. The nostrils flare softly against his calloused palm; they are so small he wonders how she can even breathe with them. And then the confirmation is over. He wipes his hand on the side of his neck.

Volition coalesces within the turgid channels of his brain. He stands up, looming over her now. It all sickens him. Why should he be treated with anything but disgust? Why shouldn't she flinch at his touch? Didn't she know? Didn't she see him?

When he lunges forward with a scream, rage is writ plainly across his face in all the languages of Earth, and more besides.

Wulfwynn didn't tense up as his paw came into contact with her nose, the little pooch going cross eyed to look at the massive structure of sinew and flesh. It practically enveloped her snout, little did the strange wolf know that soft touch was foreign to her as well, having lived at the mill there was no such thing as tenderness. There was only screaming, pain and isolation. 

She is confused when he suddenly looms over her, looking feral. It reminded her of the mill, of the mean dogs there and the humans who encouraged the cycle of violence. Wulfwynn scrambled back to avoid being attacked, as she wasn't sure if this was just a display of aggression or Moises wanting to do some serious damage. 

"Moises!" Wulfwynn barked out his name as if it would be a wake up call, not in anger but in shock of his mood. If only they could communicate!

She doesn't fight him or run, but focused on trying to evade any possible gnashing teeth if it was coming. It was probably stupidity she didn't call it quits but Wulfwynn knew what darkness looked like and something told her Moises was just hurt and misunderstood.

Exit for him, unless stopped!

debes hacerlo en serio

She does not move, only shouts his name. A name is a symbol. A name is not a word. A name is a demon.

cuando muerdes

Jesus spoke to the man who called himself Legion, and cast the demons from his body. And the demons fled into the bodies of pigs—unclean animals that they are—and on that morning their bloated corpses lined the shores of the Galilee.

hacerlo en serio cuando muerdes

In a past life, Moises must have been one of those pigs.

His graceless jump misses her by inches, and so do his bared teeth. Humiliation floods through him like a fever. His useless body! An arrow without fletchings!

He garbles some mangled word, stuttering, his face twisted. He runs.

As much as Wulfwynn had hoped to make a new friend, she also needed to think of her own safety she began to realize. The situation quickly became out of paw and Wulfwynn backed further away to save her own skin at last once Moises planned a real attack at her but thankfully missed his strike. She pinned her ears down, watching him turn tail and run off into the forest. 

[end?]