The Stories!

[Gypsy]

The Beginning

In the beginning, there was nothing, but from somewhere, by whatever means, there came life. It flourished on the newborn planet of Earth, freshly cooled from ugly fires that had ravaged its surface for so long. From the deep coldness of space it had captured a silver stone, the Moon. As life developed, one sort became dominant, the human, and they began their reign
.
At first, all was well, but the humans continued on in their reign, and technology advanced, and the air began to thicken with their ugly smog. Their chemicals dumped into the sea, running off from their factories, altering it, lowering the boiling point as their gases trapped the heat, and the mercury began to rise the world over. The oceans got hotter and hotter, until they began to boil, and the humans were oblivious.

The animals, though, knew better, and fled to the few hidden places of the world, unless restrained by humans, so the domesticated cats and dogs, the contained horses and equines wiped out. By what? The heat of the oceans reached the sea floor, and in thin places, the crust couldn’t handle it. Massive earthquakes shattered parts of the seafloor, causing titanic tsunamis that reached all the way inland. The oceans ripped over all earth, quickly, just deftly running across the continents, pulling away most humans. They were never able to recover, those remaining few, and thus died out. A few domestic dogs can cats survived, but contained in such a small area where the remaining waters had not drained, the cats were eaten by the dogs, in attempt to survive. Most plants lived, and the Earth seemed, suddenly, much cleaner, cleansed by the ocean’s uproar..

And so there was left only the canines, who were mostly wild, felines, who were all wild, the birds, and the fish and the reptiles and amphibians, not to mention the bugs. The mosquitoes were horrendous, fed by the stagnant water, and began to infect their prey with a newly developed virus. This killed off most felines, but the other species pulled through, stronger than before.

As they grew stronger, the canine family began to realize that they might become dominant. They could rule. The wolves mostly ran on North America (What had been North America, that is), but several other breeds had come to their land, Ethiopian wolves and such, so that they were the main predators. With their dominant edge came a unique strain, (explained in another story) that could control different aspects. Some disappeared, some changed themselves, some controlled the ground itself, and other welded elements of the mighty Earth, fire, water, air. They leaked into each other, and soon, with the coming of litters of pups, every one would have a power. The entire population of wolves controlled a power, and they were powerful indeed.

It was then that a plague struck that land. Many wolves died, many animals died. This was worse than the sickness carried by the insects, this was an epidemic never seen in any time. It was sort of like rabies, a little like malaria. The animal inflicted went mad, frothed at the mouth, had flashes of hot and cold, and premonitions often involving fire, always fire. It became known as the Inferno, and wolves locked themselves away, hidden in caves and high atop mountains.

After years, the wolves emerged to find the Inferno had been put out, and they congregated somewhere on a coast, where diversity was key. Climates clashed here, and they began to populate this area, creating an empire. They bred there for generations, giant nomadic packs roaming and pairs and trios and loners just as free to wander. Slowly, they found old instincts emerging again. They needed to divide up the land, appoint alphas, and go on with their lives. The sicknesses were over. Life was going to flourish once again.

[Gypsy]

The Legend of Pandora

Powers came to wolves in a way that makes a good story. One has to start at the beginning, though. You see, Powers came about because of one wolf. Actually, because of two.

Once, in the deep darkness of a den, in the days before the Inferno, a wolfess lay, giving birth. She’d had a son, and his name was Aquila, which means eagle, and he was beautiful. He was a very deep shade of blue, and his side was marked in lighter blue, with the shape of an eagle. She had a daughter, a pale pink wolfess whom she’d named Vegrandis Vigeo, which means Little Flower. The wolfess lay back, and waited.

As she lay, a wizened old wolf came into her den. It was impossible to tell his color in the darkness, but his eyes were a clear, even shade of gray and glowed. He looked down at her, and she stared at him and prepared to speak.

‘Speak not.’ he had said, lowering his ancient head. ‘I only wish to tell you of the future of your daughter, before I depart for the other side.’ The wolfess looked down upon her sweet Little Flower, and then upon the old wolf again.

‘No, no, the other daughter,’ His voice cracked, and in he darkness, he seemed a little hesitant to speak. Finally, with great feeling, he spoke. ‘Pandora.’ There was a long silence, and in that time, a stab of pain struck the wolfess. She gave a slight gasp. ‘Aye, the pup that is not yet born. She’ll go by Pandora.’ He told her. ‘Gray as the storm clouds, Pandora. Gray as the storm clouds, nondescript, but no, destined, destined. Rapture, you’ll say. Rapture. She’ll be the Boxkeeper, yes. The Boxkeeper.’ The old wolf looked around. A beam of moonlight fell into the deep den. He was gray, a deep, cindery gray that spoke of primordial stone. His back was too arched, his face marred by the years, his ribs prominent, but his eyes were clear and wise. ‘Speak to them now, and tell them the names of the children.’ He said. ‘You and me are destined for the other side tonight.’

The wolfess was afraid, but the old wolf was gone, like a wraith. She called for her mate, feeling more pain, worse than the birth of her other two children. She looked down on her new daughter. The tiny wolf was gray, as gray as storm clouds. Her mate came down, and she told him the names, Aquila, Vegrandis Vigeo. She had intended to give her next child a Latin name, and had meant to speak it, but the only thing that would come out was ‘Pandora’, and so the tiny pup was named.

She begged her mate to leave, for she needed answers that only the old wolf could give her. He granted her request, and the old wolf was there again.

‘They’ll call her Rapture. I could tell you everything, now, dearest.’ He told the wolfess. ‘Since you’ll not see another face…’ Sorrow took him, and he bowed his head. And there, in the darkness, they both breathed, and then, suddenly, they breathed no more.

When the sun dawned silver, the mate of the wolfess descended into the deep den, to find his dead mate, and his three pups, nothing else. The body of the strange old wolf was gone, and there was no scent or trace of him. The pups were quickly taken in by another wolfess, whose pups had died. She raised the three as her own, and was a sad as a true mother when Little Flower died, to small and delicate yet for the outside world. She was at ill ease, though, with Pandora, as she grew. The young wolfess was gray, and her eyes were unremarkable, a muddy brown-gray. She might have been pretty, but no one could tell, for her coat was thick, and the fur of it was coarse and hid her like a lumpy cloak. Aquila grew strong and noble, his coat shimmered in its deep regal hues, and the eagle on his side was majestic and beautiful and signaled the freedom that always soared within him. His eyes were a shade of gold that seemed deeper than the sun, brighter, and he saw farther than many, his eyes as swift and keen as those of his namesake. Often times he’d stand on the crest of a hill or cliff while the wind blew wildly into his face, he’d narrow his eyes and look out at the land below, watching hunting parties and groups of friends as they milled beneath his feet. He was well loved, and he was always kind to his sister, though he seemed to look down on her, looking down on her from his perch near the sun.

Pandora took to taking walks alone, wandering the hills where few wolves roamed. They were lonely places, often bordering forests that no one went to, or simply scattered with trees or rocks, or just empty and open. She would shuffle along, head down, and try to forget her troubles in the lonely plains. She saw the beauty of them, when no one else did, and the hills began to bear paths that she had made in her passings. Every day she wandered, treading the dusty roads her paws alone had made, until the midsummer of her fifth year.

It was on that day that she was walking up a hill. The path beneath her was faint, just a little dusty stretch where little grass grew. And there, atop the hill, stood an old male wolf. His coat was an ancient, stony gray, and his eyes were grey as well, but they were clear and cool. His back was arched too much, his face marked by the years, and his ribs prominent, but his eyes remained youthful.

‘Hello, Pandora.’ He said softly, his voice wise and calloused by the years. ‘I have heard much about you.’

“Doubtless it was not good, grandfather.” She said, speaking how they spoke those days, the elderly were grandfathers and grandmothers, the adults fathers and mothers, the friends and younger wolves were brothers and sisters.

‘Do not judge that, Pandora.’ He said. ‘But my son, he is in need. Will you come with me, so that he might have a witness?’ Pandora did not understand, but she followed the old wolf, and walked behind him.

Presently, they came to a hollow, and in it lay a magnificent young wolf, his coat luminous with various colors and hues. He seemed to be fading, though, his graceful shape fading in and out. Beam of light came from his, and she ran to him, overtaking the old wolf, who stood back and watched.

“Surely you are a prince.” She breathed, looking over him.

‘I am far more, Pandora, than a prince, but I will soon depart from your world.’ He said, his voce strong, but distant. ‘I can give you much, but as it was, and as it must be, I cannot change the color of your coat. My father would be most displeased, if I were to change that.’ He told her. Pandora drew her breath. This magnificent, young, dying, wolf could giver her a future.

“Please, then, give me a better texture to my coat.” She begged him, avoiding his eyes. She knew they would be beautiful, and wanted only to look at them when she had very little time left, lest she forget her wishes.

‘As you wish.’ He said, and her coat became shorter, glossy and silky in texture, just like his had been. Had been, because now it was rough and ugly like hers.
‘Go on, for I’ll have no need for myself soon enough.” The striking wolf said.

“What about the head shape?” She asked softly. “Surely no finer head has ever been.”

‘As you wish.’ Said the wolf, and his head became the shape of hers, and hers the shape of his. And her head was long and elegant and beautiful, and his was short and ordinary.

“Your legs are long and strong, as I have always wanted mine to be. Would you be willing to trade?” She asked politely, trying not to be greedy.

‘As you wish.’ And his legs were normal, perhaps a little rounder than they ought to be, and hers were long and supple.

“Your ribcage and chest are not too slim, but deep enough, and I envy them greatly.” She hinted, knowing he’d pick up.

‘As you wish.’ He said, and he began to look like her, only with a coat, which seemed white, but also seemed to have many different colors, a beam of white light, and also a beam of white light through a prism, opalescent.

It was then that his body began to fade, and she glanced to his tail.

“The tail!” She said, gazing upon it. “The most beautiful tail there shall ever be, may I have it?” She asked him, her face frantic.

‘As you wish.’ He announced, and her tail became magnificent and plumed, and his ratty and ordinary. He was almost gone, and she looked right into his eyes.

In each eyes lay the spectrum, red on the outer corners, then cascading along the colors of the rainbow to rest violet in the inner corners. They were beautiful. The most amazing part of him.

“I plead that you make my eyes as yours are now.” She whispered. There was a sound of silver bells, and the scent of blue roses.

‘Take the box, and they are yours.’ He said to her, gazing deep into the depths of Pandora’s eyes. ‘Will you take the box, Pandora?’ She nodded swiftly, and his eyes changed from luminous, beautiful, breathtaking rainbows to utterly ordinary brown, hinted with gray. And Pandora’s eyes were rainbows, sure and true and beautiful, and around her neck hung a silver chain, and on it was a small box, intricate and beautiful with spiraling designs, gossamer thin and ethereal in the male’s fading light, gold with silver detailing, hinged with bronze, clasped with platinum.

‘Do not open the box, Pandora.’ He said, his voice quiet and far away. ‘Whatever you do, do not open the box, for if you do, the world will surely be…’ But he was gone, and she heard his voice no more. His form shimmered there for a moment, and she saw his face, his eyes, his tail, his coat, ugly and stubby and ordinary, but she still saw his beauty, and with a brilliant flash, he became more amazing than any wolf she’d ever dreamed of. The light was pure white, and blinding, and exploding from beneath him, but she could not look away. His mouth moved, but his beautiful voice was lost, and with the final brilliance of and exploding star, he was gone, and never in her life did Pandora see his face again - save in the water, as she glanced at her own luminous reflection.

She turned, looking for the old wolf to tell him that his son was gone, departed from this world and gone, magnificently, into another, but he was not there. No scent but hers remained in the hollow.

She crested the hill, and saw that the dens of her family and friends were many miles off, so she broke into a run. Her new, long legs covered her old trails quickly, and her bright, prismatic eyes saw her brother standing on his ridge, looking around. Her coat was smooth and shimmering, like silken clouds, and the chain that held her box sang like a bell, one clear note that made it glorious to run.

She came into the main place, where many dens were and wolves spent most of their time.

“Who are you?” A voice called, and the Alpha emerged from his den. He had never liked Pandora, and she watched him eye her box. He wanted the precious thing, and she didn’t intend for him to have it. He’d have taken it from plain old Pandora, but she had to reinvent herself. She was totally new. New, new Pandora, or rather…

“They call me Rapture.” She said, the word placed on her tongue by some unknown force. Rapture, she liked that.

“Then welcome to my pack, Rapture.” The Alpha said. “What’s that bauble you’ve got there?”

“My box, given to me by the one who gave me my eyes, my face, my legs, my chest, my tail…” She said, her voice smooth and noble. She hoped he would assume it meant her parents.

“Then you parents gifted you well.” He said, still eyeing the necklace.

“They surely did.” She said, and looked around. “Where might I dig myself a den?”
“I could help you with that.” A deep, smooth voice said from behind her. She turned to see her brother standing in a beam or sunlight, looking at her. “There’s an open space near my family’s den, I live there with my father, and my sister, Pandora.” He said. “I could help you dig there.”

And so she let her brother help her dig, and they worked for many days, and had many conversations. She grew much closer to him in this time, and in these few days she almost forgot herself. They finished the den and were lounging within it when he said his sister, Pandora, was missing.

“Pandora, really?” She said softly. “I once knew a Pandora.” She looked at him. “What is she like?” Aquila searched for words before speaking.

“My sister’s quite nice, really. A little ordinary, I suppose, but nice all the same. It’s just that, well, she’s not very pretty. She’s worn paths in the Lonely Hills, just walking. I suppose she’s just bitter because no one loves her. My mother died giving birth to her. I know I should love her, but it just doesn’t feel right to look at her, and think she’s my sister…”

“Fool!” She cried, her eyes wild She stood. She was both beautiful and terrible and she seemed to burn. “Fool, Aquila! I am Pandora, for I stumbled upon a dying prince in the hills, and he gifted me, and gave me the box!” The box’s chain glinted coldly in the dim light. “I am Pandora, and you never loved me! You only love me now because I am beautiful, and the young wolf prince…” She burst into tears and collapsed on the floor of the den. The box seemed to grow, until it was about a foot long, and half a foot wide, beautiful and intricate and full of deep mystery.

“What’s in the box?” Aquila had asked in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know.” She said, fighting tears. “But we’ll soon find out.” And she nosed the platinum clasp, and the bronze hinges opened, and the gold box with silver detailing opened.

The chain sang and the box sang and the lid lay back. The box seemed empty - lined with crimson-maroon velvet, but when Pandora’s prismatic eyes fell inside the box, a wild wind rushed from it, and passed over the two wolves, and smoked out of the den in a visible, thick snake of air. And it began to bounce from wolf to wolf, and when every wolf in the pack had been touched, the wind spun away, still snaking from the box in Rapture’s den. The great and beautiful figure of Rapture began to quiver and she lay down, looking at the open box.

“He told me not to open it, Aquila. He told me not to. What evil fate will befall the world for my ignorance?” She moaned, and then, quickly, decisively, she tried to nose the box closed.

The lid would not shut against the current of air, and was thrown back violently. She looked at it, hard, trying to decipher the meaning of her mistake.

It was then that a voice came from the back of her den, along with a faint light that she recognized. The prince spoke to her softly, and Aquila heard too, his noble voice from behind them.

‘I warned you, Pandora.’ He said softly. ‘But, there is a second chance.’ He added. Aquila’s eyes widened, and Pandora looked intently at the slight glow.

“Tell me.” She breathed. She did not know what ill fate awaited her, but she gladly accepted it, to rid the world of her blunder.

‘There is a knife on the bottom of the box, Pandora. Go to the valley where you found me, and only your blood will repair the world.’ His voice said, laced with pain.

“What will the wind of the box do?” She asked him, not knowing if it was worth it.
‘The wind shall touch every wolf, and every wolf it touches will soon go blind, and the wolves will die in great pain.’ He told her. ‘Go now, before your vision fails.’ And so she went to the box and nudged it sideways. There lay a knife, shimmering silver and real and glinting with long kept evil. And she watched it fall away from the bottom of the box. She took it in her mouth and ran, her now-long legs carrying her out in search of the familiar valley. The box dragged alongside her, and the chain sang, but its notes now seemed cruel and bitter. The wind still flew from the open box as she ran across the land.

She ran for miles, but came across the faint path that had led her into the valley where it had all begun. She ran up it, then down, and she stood in the sweet grass and looked at the ancient wolf, who claimed to be the prince’s father.

‘I had wondered when the box would be opened.’ He said in his old voice. ‘And I know what you must do. As I speak, the wind has touched the last untouched wolf, and now you must act, before your vision is gone, and it is too late.’ The aged wolf stared at her with his clear gray eyes. ‘You must be finished before the wind returns to it’s box.’

“As you wish.” She whispered. And with that, she dropped the knife and dropped on top of it, and her blood began to spill, and her vision began to go, far before it should have, and she knew she was dying. And the wind sucked up all her blood and turned red as it rushed back into the box, and every wolf that had been touched by the wind sang mournfully for the death of Rapture and of Pandora. And in her last breaths, she swore she heard the sound of silver bells and smelled the scent of blue roses, and she asked in a fading voice:
“What happens next?”
‘The wolves share in the great gift that you have given them.’ The old wolf said, and then he was gone. Pandora shut her beautiful rainbow eyes, and saw no more as a living wolf.

- - - - -

It must be noted that Pandora does appear from time to time, as a ghost, the only solid part of her being her beautiful rainbow eyes. From this she has told us that she is now on the other side. She will not speak much of it, but she assures the good wolves that they will make it there, and begs the bad ones to change their ways so that they might be there. She’s also told certain individuals that the prince that gave her the box, and her beauty, is there with her. It is possible that you may get a visit from her.

The box of Pandora was never found or recovered, nor was the knife that killed her. It is said that the old gray wolf took them both, and he is said to appear at midnight in the Lonely Hills, but no one could ever prove it. Doubtless this is only the tales of fools, for the old wolf is in magic deeper than that of any imagined.

As for the gift that Pandora brought, it is simple. Her blood also touched each wolf, and it saw their heart’s desire, and gave them each a power, suited to them. This was not always inherited, and it actually didn’t matter what power a parent had, any could be passed down to a child. They did not always get powers, but after a few generations, all litters were full of powerful wolf pups, and magic became part of the land.
And such is the tale of Pandora and of Rapture - and the tale of the power brought to Shatterglass.