Dog Hour With every strum the vibrations intensified and coursed through the body of the guitar and into his own. He compiled his emotions and channeled them into the strings, the sounds were alien to the wilderness yet seemed to agree with the landscape unfolded before him. Upon the hillside encampment he observed it all. The sun burning its last rays behind the goliath mountains, spilling a marmalade blanket over the vast plain. The withering structure of the fireplace crackled and collapsed in a heap of burning ashes. Frowning, he replaced a fresh log on top of the old and heard a strange sound. It was a yelp or a bark, unsure until he heard it again. He lay the guitar softly on the grass and crept up the hill to its peak. On the other side was a plain similar to the one behind him with a small creek knifing through it. On the bank of it was a pack of wolves surrounding a small carcass partially submerged in water. He walked down the hill and through the knee-high grass until he was at the creek and close to the pack. All of the wolves, seven total, looked up and observed the man with caution and curiosity. Clearly they had not seen a human before. He waded into the shallow creek, out of mere curiosity instead of recognizing the present danger through the carnage. On particularly large black wolf stepped forward, baring its canines and ready to defend the kill. He kept expecting the animal to break eye contact, move or brush some imaginary dust away, do anything to break the connection and move on with life like so many of his fellow man seemed to do. But it never came, he stared and the wolf stared right back. The only sound being the soft rustle of dry grass and the gurgling of the creek until there was a faint buzzing. All of the wolves perked up their ears and sniffed the air, ready to be alerted of any danger. The buzzing increased and got closer when he saw a plane break the horizon. It was a small, single-engine bush plane, probably resupplying cabins up north of heading to one of the outlying villages. It veered right and roared over the plains, interrupting the natural soundtrack of the wild. It was then that he noticed all the wolves had disappeared except for the same large, black one that had been sizing him up. It sniffed the air once more, picked up the soggy carcass in its teeth and trotted into the brush. He thought about following them but decided against it. The creek continued to tug at his boots and he was alone with his thoughts once again.
interesting, . ive been thinking hardcore about writing a story tonight. lol, a short one of course.. well see how that goes.
The imagery of the first paragraph was really good...but the rest of the story seemed a little more bland as far as description goes...Great story though.
