The Bear with the Silver Claws… Amy Hodges-Laurenzo
Stumbling
I was cast out a long time ago, so long that I can’t remember their faces, only their voices. The words were lost over time, but their intent stabbed at me, over and over. I felt it in every step I took, in every ragged breath. They took from me, something important, something vital. If only I could remember…
I had fallen so many times. The mud and muck covered me. Debris and detritus of my journey stuck and sprouted. I was one with my surroundings, with nature herself. I did not pray to this goddess, yet she rained pity upon me.
I know not the purpose of my journey, away from the voices, toward, I don’t know. Onward was the only choice. So I walked, and gathered, and listened.
The wild jackdaws watched, from every branch their eyes followed. I was of little interest, a mild distraction. I did not shine. Just a shuffling curiosity, gathering grasses and twigs. Pieces fall off, pieces stick.
I grew into my suit, as it grew over me. There was a joy in our embrace, an elation of feeling so subtle, and yet so profound, that it affected my cadence. My steps seemed to stagger, building into a pattern. Soon, I was dancing, in my own unique way. Another perspective might mistake my meanderings as something rather uncanny, perhaps obscene. I cared not for the mundane thoughts of the creatures I came upon. They could kiss my grass-covered ass.
I kept all the essential holes uncovered, mostly. Things needed to flow. Eating became effortless. My mouth, warm and moist, seemed an open invitation to various vermin. They crawled in one hole, and eventually exited another, although transformed in the process. Somehow, within that whim of transformation, I gained something of myself, something lost was found, in fits and spasms.
Much of the muck was indigestible, yet it flowed through me. In one hole, out another, there being multiple, I never knew from whence. It became the oddest of feelings, each moment a unique snapshot of sensation, like taking a shit became an ascendant experience. I was not ascending, in any way. But it felt… nice.
I gasped, then shuddered, over and over, plopping morsels along the way. The bits and bobs bounced and rolled, then sprouted legs and ran off into the brush, sometimes with a tiny screeching giggle. Occasionally I catch a frozen glance, locking eyes with it, as it were, having no discernable eyes. Then I blink. Bubbling laughter disappears. I can’t remember their faces, only their voices. The words get lost over time, but their intent stabbed at me, over and over. I felt it in every step I took, in every ragged giggle. They took from me, something important, something vital. If only I could remember…
Dawn was quickly approaching. I felt a twinge claw its way up my spine as the first light broke over the impossible horizon. The claws slowly sank into my skull, freezing me in place. And then, nothing. Like being born again? Hardly. I am simply wiped clean. A curse in my head resetting its boundaries. All that was previous dissolved away. I know not the purpose of my journey, away from the voices, toward, I don’t know. Onward was the only choice. So I walked, and gathered, and listened.
Every new step begot a deeper frustration, followed by a sigh, perhaps a grunt. The sounds just seemed to create themselves. I had no choice in the matter. And it wasn’t only my mouth that felt compelled to utter. Every orifice had a voice, and a temperament. At times, I perceived them to be talking to each other, despite my incredulous inquisitions. A rumble from one hole would be answered by a sputter from another. In fits and spasms my body communed. If only I understood the language. I was an outcast, an all too familiar realization.
Twisting
I couldn’t know how much time had passed, how many days I had been wandering. The muck was getting heavy, inhibiting, even oppressive. Insects of varying mutations skittered across my body. It felt oddly whole, like I was meant to be this harbinger of… something.
I didn’t feel hunger or thirst. I was simply a vessel for rot and decay. The bits I acquired were absorbed, broken down, mingled with the accumulations of the endless forest. My forest. This notion took root amid the twisting tentacles that grew and blossomed, fortifying my structure, giving me strength and resolve. I breathed it in, through every orifice, then expelled it with a glee I had no right to feel. I smiled, for a brief moment, before that hole was covered over by growth.
I still had my eyes, and they seemed to be working, but the sight I saw was something I could not fathom. The ever-present clouds in the sky had darkened and gathered. A great twisting of the elements, far off in the distance, funneled its way down to some unknown place. Large bits of debris accompanied this arcane storm, slamming down with a joyous impact that rattled the forest in waves of power. And then it was gone. The sky cleared. I walked on.
Roars of great beasts rumbled in the distance, perhaps acknowledging the power. Something new was in our land. The flora that surrounded me felt it, too. The greenery seemed to brighten, breathing in, pulsing in ripples of arcane anticipation. Yes, power had come, and with it, an unrequited hope.
As I ventured ever onward, I swear I heard singing. It bounced around deceptively, not knowing from whence it originated. It was a joyous sound, a song of triumph, more of that enticing hope that was spreading and gathering. A notion of gathering came into my thoughts. My compulsion to move took on a purpose. I followed the energy.
Dreaming
I think I slept. I think I dreamed. Fragments and tangents, whispers on a breeze, overwhelming agony.
Eyes shut. Eyes sewn shut. Shouts. Anger. A curse. All becomes blank, a fog misting away with a breath. Breathing is cold. So cold. I can’t move.
I am stripped to nothing, without and within. I am pushed to wandering. Banished. Cast out. They could not kill me, so they erased me. And then they set me on fire.
I walked down a path, engulfed in flame. My hair vaporized. My skin melted. My thoughts drowned out by my screams.
Wet with pain. Sticky. Smoldering. The forest dampens the past, extinguishing the pain. It covers me with itself, inviting me deeper, promising potentials. I am drawn in.
I blink, once, twice. A maggot dangles from my eyelid. I catch it with my tongue. It is mine. It is all mine. The hunger persists, not forgotten, suppressed, on the fringe of remembrance.
I am nourished by all I ingest, yet I seek more. The last of the dreamscape bubbles out of a lower orifice. The dream is no more. It rests three paces back in a mound of pink foam.
Transforming
At some point, the forest abruptly stopped. What lay before me were fields, or one big field. Endless stalks wove across the undulating landscape.
At this point, I was so covered in muck and mud and every manner of flora that the sun no longer caused me discomfort. I was free to wander. I was free to wonder.
I just wish there was a point, a purpose to my wandering. But it smelled enticing. And the sound of crinkling husks as I glommed my way through the endless rows was a music so profound that I became lost, figuratively and physically.
Something pushed me onward. I seemed to hear voices behind me, always behind me.
I became one with my surroundings, the feel of a new goddess beckoning me. So I walked, and gathered, and listened.
The fruited crispy stalks whispered to me. I could almost understand. It was so maddening, just on the brink. What was it trying to say? What message did it have for me? Damn all the gods and wizards!. Damn them all.
The flavor of this place somehow tasted… domestic. I knew the wilds, from a previous day, a previous life. It was starting to come back, in reverse, these memories, these entities, these screams. My screams. I was screaming, scattering several murders, black blots scurrying across the sky, their caws I cause. They were scared of me. That was a thing, to be feared, and then shunned. I remember, something.
Every minute became an hour that rumbled into eternity. Every haggard step carried the weight of my history, a past known only in sporadic flashes. I shut my eyes and allowed the growth to cover my last primal sensation. The muck and mud became me.
© 2025 – Dom Sabasti
The Bear with the Silver Claws…
Killian’s mind shot back to that day…
Samhain of last year…eight months ago…
***
Samhain, Halloween, and the Alpha’s Birthday.
Since the Pack’s inception and all the cubs started popping up, all three have been intertwined. Traditions make for a moment’s peace in our world and they will always be observed.
Festivals kick off and will not stop for two days after. Rounds are made by Rowen and I throughout the morning.
By noon, we are back with the boys who are getting ready to ‘Trick or Treat’.
In a conjured children’s size version of what I am wearing is Aiden. Black long sleeve shirt that is v-necked, black pants, and boots in the same style I wear.
“Now just who are you trying to be, boy?”
“You, dad.”
I find myself blushing. Aiden idolizes me that much. I hope he always does too. Despite his destiny, he looks up to me as a role model. I give him a hug. “Love you, son.”
“Love you too, dad.” Aiden is four now, just changed age last month, and can carry on a conversation better than most adults.
Nicholas is a little young at two years, but I started taking Aiden out at two.
I’ll be fair.
By three P.M., Mom is with us on the yearly ‘Trick or Treat’ walk this year.
Always, ‘Trick or Treat’ is between three and six, then traditions of the fair until nine, then the Samhain side of things.
We don’t get that far….
In the Utah residential side of the city, screams rise up.
“Boys, Stay With Mom!” I rush to the source of the commotion and see it.
It is a bear…
…specifically a Kodiak Bear.
He has to be at least ten feet tall as he is standing up and has massive bulk too.
Two enforcers slide up beside me.
*“Big Bear Problem, I need back up! He isn’t native here! Extreme force is needed!”*
I know my message will be heard and they will hone in on my position. In the meantime, the three of us present need to get this thing away from the cubs.
Like the two enforcers, I shift.
Working in tandem, we get him away from the homes and into a field.
It is then when the shriek shake us three. All three of us are stunned a moment.
I look up to see something, but then I am struck hard. I tumble ‘ass over tea kettle’ for about a hundred feet.
I see red.
Anger gets the better of me and all I see is the damn bear.
His claws gleam and as he is distracted with others, he doesn’t see me.
As he turns toward me, I am slamming into his chest.
He topples back as my fangs tear his throat to pieces. My claws turn his chest into ground pork.
I am still seeing red and move to tear off a limb.
“KILLIAN!”
I freeze…her voice has that affect on me when I am severely pissed off.
Suddenly she is there.
Rowen’s touch pulls me back. *“Killian, you need to shift. To man, to wolf, and the man again or you will die.”*
I growl.
*“Please Killian, the boys and I need you.”*
Her plea triggers my first shift.
My face hurts…but I power through it back to my Dire Wolf form. As I revert back to human, Dr. Myles arrives in my vision of my beautiful mate and I pass out.
I wake up in the middle of the night to Rowen cuddled tight to me on one side and my boys on the other. My family doing what they can to try and help me heal.
By the time daylight hits, my socket is healed as well as the eyeball, lid, and optic nerve. The bear’s claw mark over my right eye remained…silver claws.
Someone marked the bear with some symbol and dipped both front claws in silver before unleashing him in my town. If I ever find out what the symbol is…there will be hell to pay…
***
Killian looked down on the paper that the Kit drew the symbol on. It was the identical same mark that was branded on the shoulder of the Kodiak bear, it’s time for retribution.
© 2025 – Sworn in Blood
