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Post new topic   Reply to topic The Canidae Barrier: CRITIQUES WANTED
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 PostPosted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 4:05 pm Reply with quote        
(Working on a short story.)
Chapter One: The Human Threat:


The barrier remained strong. As it ever had. Low checked it again anyway, testing the flow of mental lanes with a passive challenge tuned for slipstreams. Should even the smallest breek form in the great barrier, the powerful and deadly minds of mankind could slip through, and all canine species - no… - all the world would be in jeopardy.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" came the bored whine of the jackal beside Low, where they perched on a favored boulder.

He tried to ignore her, but a glance from the corner of his eye showed her flexed forward, haunches raised in the air and her forepaws covering her twitching ears, more attuned to the waves of mental sound than any of their kind. The girl had never had any respect for her elders, not even for the Elders, even before everyone had discovered her dexterity at preserving, or, as she had done, transcending the barrier. Properly provoked at her insipid complaint, after so many occasions of explaining to his fellow Watcher the tale they had both been weaned on, he gave a grim snarl, and controlled his annoyance. Provoked, but not yet riled, he vindictively took breath to repeat a lesson intended to indulge puppies.

"The barrier has stood for eons against The Human Threat, the savage nature of humanity," he intoned, "The first of the Elders came together, one to represent the bark of each canine species. The Eldest, the old greyed wolf, knew best the naked treachery of these seemingly helpless primates. It was their blood which had pointlessly and damnably flowed, their line which had most suffered. The humans were social creatures with great fault: all who man could communicate with was seen as a potential enemy; in battle or in the competition for resources. In their cowardly fear of betrayal, man betrayed all allies."

Low paused, staring out over the dawn savannah from his vantage on the towering, sand worn precipice. His eyes narrowed in resigned antipathy at his warded enemy, and in sorrow, for the fates of those proud ancients who had been murdered or left to die by the hairless ones they had befriended. His heart ached for the tragedy, and for the sad truth that his young companion leaned toward criminal tendencies. She had been known to consort with humans. More than that horror, he cringed at his personal knowledge that she had slipped the barrier.

For, though the shield had always been strong, today's age bred an even stronger generation to rival their predecessors' powers, and the sage intent of the Eldest. The girl behind him was proof of that. Even at a mere two generations younger, her skills far exceeded his own, and that of all the Elders for that matter. Her power was unprecedented, and a small part of him flamed with shameful jealousy that she, who would never make use of herself, was gift born with the most powerful mind of them all. He himself was uncommonly strong, and, though he was yet a young Watcher with barely two hundred years to his current life, his talent and dedication had ensured him an honored place among his kind, with a great responsibility in upholding tradition with the meticulous upkeep of the barrier. For that reason, he had grown into an exactingly particular and cautious spirit.

Meanwhile, the upstart at his side had never changed. She was just as inquisitive and rebellious as the misfortunate day when, as a young pup, she had broken code, trespassed morality, and spoken with a human. The jackal warden had been so innocent and blameless in her transgression, that he had forgiven her and not told their betters then. He, too, had been very young, weak hearted in his hope that she would mature with age. He still hoped, but he saw now that perhaps his friend's spirit was too innately carefree. Yet the surely girl was indeed actually listening to his reprimanding recount of history. He could tell by the sad lilt of her ears. Low sighed with relief that his friend was not beyond redemption.

His pleading lecture pick up, fueled by old heartache, "The Eldest offered us our saving hope: should man no longer share our tongue, we would have the safety of anonymity. Humans would look upon us as outside their realm. They would not strike open war if they could not fathom our place in relation to them. The first Elders gave their lives as sacrifice that the Barrier would cut off the minds of humans and-"

"And cut off all merciful understanding!" she barked, silencing his fervor. Tears slid down her muzzle and she whimpered, quiet, "It didn't have to be this way."

Despite being worried and perplexed by her behavior and sentiment, he still would have turned and comforted her, had she not been a span taller than him. He was born a desert fox, the smallest of all the Watchers, and he constantly felt that cleft in stature. There was no one his own size. Watchers lived a thousand years, and even with salt and pepper beginning to color his fur, he had many centuries left to endure mateless. Mortal fennecs honored him, but kept respectful distance. Had not a newly born jackal Watcher taken to his heels in his youth, he may have become as miserly as his fellows, or as cold as the Elders. As it was she nagged and accused him of being grumpy. Even with her energetic, seemingly tireless presence, he felt the grief and wear of his years. He almost envied those Canidae without great minds.

"I see them, you know," whispered the jackal, "In the town. They don't know me. They can not understand, these dogs…"

Low's lip curled on impulse at the mention of those sick and pitiful creatures, their minds eternally twisted to the naiveté of puppies. He felt the pain radiating off his companion, but for no comfort could he hide his bitterness.

"They forsook us!" he howled. "There are no Watchers from their kind, or power amongst any of their minds!" It was the compounded tragedy that many of those of the wolf kind, who had most suffered, gave up their very beings for the fickle humans they had sworn to protect.

"For love, against all reason, they gave up freedom and understanding. They begged to be stranded outside the barrier, High! Just think of the consequences of standing at a human's side. They were stricken willingly for this mindless endearment, and will eternally, for all defended generations, feel the ache of something missing."

He curled his bristling tail around her leg, a gesture to console her, yet she looked away with a strange expression he could not read, silent even in the growing heat. Cicadas filled the break of his dictation with their thrill at life.

"They damned themselves, High. Feel for them, but do not relate to them. They made a choice, and you chose in the vows of your birth to uphold and protect the world…" He gasped and whined possessively, "With me, my kit, stay with me…"

Gold light spilled over the rock strewn terrain, giving sage brush long, dappled shadows on the warming sand. He stood against the outcropping, head raised with righteousness, fur crisply lined by light in the burning halo of the sun. At her silence, he twice condemned the dogs.

"Don't be like them. Humanity never deserved 'man's best friend'."

At the glowing horizon, he could see the town below, now, nestled against its canal and aqueducts. Smoke rose from the white stone walls into the morning, rippled by heat haze, which warned him that soon would be the time to retreat to his burrowed den. Rock cascaded behind him in minute falls. He jolted at her covert leave-taking.

"High?" he inquired, his voice shaken with trepidation, regardless of an attempt to sound as cool and controlled as he was when not in her vicinity, "Where are you going?"

He worried for her. He worried that danger would befall her, especially at her own making. He worried her unrivaled strength of mind could miscarry and cause some malalignment to the barrier, or that in her rebellious throes she would break contract. He worried he would have to report her to the Elders. He truly did care for her. However, he would do what was right, whatever the cost, for the sake of the balance.

His gaze shifted to meet hers, but just as quickly she turned away and trotted off down the slope of slate and rubble, her tail sweeping behind her with each swing of her hips. He snorted at her audacity.

"Low, I'll be in town for the day. Find me if you will," she called back at him, before shifting into a run at the base of the rock, each leap covering more distance than he could in five, with his legs half as long as hers.

Watchers were never born of the same species, and it made relationships difficult enough when the female interested in you was three times your body mass, without being completely incompatible as canines. Their companionship was stranger in that jackals and fennec foxes, the species High and he represented, had long been rivals. Instinct had not stopped the insufferable, unruly jackal pup from following him around since her birth. The cretin even named herself after him, calling herself 'High', a complete mockery to his traditional name 'Low'. It did not help that their names matched their statures in an absurd and comedic plight of irony.

And now she was heading back into town, so soon after her ban from surveillance of humanity of humanity had been lifted. The Elders were suspicious, and it shrank Low's insides with guilt that he abetted her indulgences, even if all he could be blamed for was turning his cheek. Cities were no place for foxes, yet a jackal rolled in drying mud and grime could pass for a small stray dog. High was a brave fool to take such risks, whatever her curiosity. He did not understand her desire for adventure. He could not follow her to keep her safe and mindful of threats. Perhaps a deep part of his resentment for his dear friend was that deeply buried jealousy that, in so many ways, she did what he could not. Where he scampered, she dove, so to speak.

His hot, uncommon anger of the morning cooled while the day heated. 'Find me if you will' she had called, as she always did when venturing where he refused to follow. A misplaced pride in her insistent antics made him lay down into the shaded hollow of his preferred boulder in calming rest, and he closed his eyes to take a deep, chest swelling breath. Teasingly, he thought, so cruelly, she invited him to join her each time she left, each time she delved further into outlawing herself. She should have chosen the name 'Trouble'.

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