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arrow00Title: Running With the Wolf
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: G
Wordcount: 634
Disclaimer: I am very poor.
Categories: pre-slash
Summary: Title says it.
Running With the Wolf
By Arrow
He could never keep up in the snow, of course, Diefenbaker's light-paw tread dancing always ahead. But Dief was kind and would slow to let Fraser catch up before he'd burst out again, obviously relishing the sheer joy of cold wind rifling through his fur as he ate up the ground.
At those times, with Fraser's breath an icy burn in his chest, he would experience a deep envy of his four-footed companion and his inherent, wild freedom. Fraser was ever bound, flat-footed, hard-thinking and all too human.
Instinct was always a better guide.
But by virtue of higher thought, Fraser controlled his own pacing, and on thin ground-layer snow (katiksunik) over long distances, he would draw near and they'd settle into their standard lope, one just behind the other.
At the end of their path, Fraser would look back and see one trail of commingled prints and think: I am alone but for Dief. He is alone, but for me.
Not entirely true, of course. Diefenbaker had many friends, of both the canine and human variety, especially since they'd moved to Chicago. Fraser, on the other hand, had but one human friend at a time. One human he could claim in his heart, if not out loud.
He never dared, out loud.
There were fewer places to run great distances in Chicago, and Fraser mourned the loss of their runs, of the wave of calm that lifted him and pushed him forward, of the way it dampened his thoughts until they were but dim undercurrents, and there was nothing in him but breath and blood and pounding rhythm.
So he sought out places for them to go—Camp Pines Woods Forest was best, when he had time. In deep winter, there were long stretches of trail for them to break, for Fraser to labor over in his snowshoes while Dief circled and leapt, mocking him with his open-mouthed grin.
If Fraser's face was grim, if his heart was raw from lashes of longing, from thoughts that circled and mocked just as Dief did, well, there was no one else there to see.
Dief saw too much already.
But today there was no snow at all. It was spring, those few weeks of blissfully good weather before the humid heat covered the city like a musty blanket, and Fraser was running with the wolf, feeling almost fleet today in the park he had chosen for their sprint.
To his left, four miles south-southwest, was a blackened lot where his last idea of home had burned to the ground a year previous. Two miles to the east was the small apartment he'd recently taken to thinking of as his way station against solitude.
It was where Ray was waiting.
Fraser's feet moved away faster, and Dief spared the breath for a disapproving whuff as he sped to pace him. In his head, Fraser heard the echo of his stammered entreaty—clumsy, incoherent words that had put a puzzled frown on Ray's face.
Unable to bear the fallout from Ray's dawning understanding, Fraser had fled.
The woods darkened here at the shadow of a small hill, and Fraser's feet stumbled momentarily, Dief giving a warning bark. Then Fraser was level again and ducking through the trees, the leaf-crunch of his footsteps dry and distant. He ran and ran, his heart thundering, sweat coating his face and dampening his shirt, his hair heavy on his forehead.
He looked up in surprise when the trees thinned unexpectedly. Somehow he had turned back east. When had his path turned east? His feet slowed. His pulse hammered against his throat. He panted in the dry air.
Diefenbaker turned and barked, urging him on, urging him not to think.
Fraser followed.
Instinct was always the better guide.
.....................
2007.06.17
Author:
arrow00Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: G
Wordcount: 634
Disclaimer: I am very poor.
Categories: pre-slash
Summary: Title says it.
Running With the Wolf
By Arrow
He could never keep up in the snow, of course, Diefenbaker's light-paw tread dancing always ahead. But Dief was kind and would slow to let Fraser catch up before he'd burst out again, obviously relishing the sheer joy of cold wind rifling through his fur as he ate up the ground.
At those times, with Fraser's breath an icy burn in his chest, he would experience a deep envy of his four-footed companion and his inherent, wild freedom. Fraser was ever bound, flat-footed, hard-thinking and all too human.
Instinct was always a better guide.
But by virtue of higher thought, Fraser controlled his own pacing, and on thin ground-layer snow (katiksunik) over long distances, he would draw near and they'd settle into their standard lope, one just behind the other.
At the end of their path, Fraser would look back and see one trail of commingled prints and think: I am alone but for Dief. He is alone, but for me.
Not entirely true, of course. Diefenbaker had many friends, of both the canine and human variety, especially since they'd moved to Chicago. Fraser, on the other hand, had but one human friend at a time. One human he could claim in his heart, if not out loud.
He never dared, out loud.
There were fewer places to run great distances in Chicago, and Fraser mourned the loss of their runs, of the wave of calm that lifted him and pushed him forward, of the way it dampened his thoughts until they were but dim undercurrents, and there was nothing in him but breath and blood and pounding rhythm.
So he sought out places for them to go—Camp Pines Woods Forest was best, when he had time. In deep winter, there were long stretches of trail for them to break, for Fraser to labor over in his snowshoes while Dief circled and leapt, mocking him with his open-mouthed grin.
If Fraser's face was grim, if his heart was raw from lashes of longing, from thoughts that circled and mocked just as Dief did, well, there was no one else there to see.
Dief saw too much already.
But today there was no snow at all. It was spring, those few weeks of blissfully good weather before the humid heat covered the city like a musty blanket, and Fraser was running with the wolf, feeling almost fleet today in the park he had chosen for their sprint.
To his left, four miles south-southwest, was a blackened lot where his last idea of home had burned to the ground a year previous. Two miles to the east was the small apartment he'd recently taken to thinking of as his way station against solitude.
It was where Ray was waiting.
Fraser's feet moved away faster, and Dief spared the breath for a disapproving whuff as he sped to pace him. In his head, Fraser heard the echo of his stammered entreaty—clumsy, incoherent words that had put a puzzled frown on Ray's face.
Unable to bear the fallout from Ray's dawning understanding, Fraser had fled.
The woods darkened here at the shadow of a small hill, and Fraser's feet stumbled momentarily, Dief giving a warning bark. Then Fraser was level again and ducking through the trees, the leaf-crunch of his footsteps dry and distant. He ran and ran, his heart thundering, sweat coating his face and dampening his shirt, his hair heavy on his forehead.
He looked up in surprise when the trees thinned unexpectedly. Somehow he had turned back east. When had his path turned east? His feet slowed. His pulse hammered against his throat. He panted in the dry air.
Diefenbaker turned and barked, urging him on, urging him not to think.
Fraser followed.
Instinct was always the better guide.
.....................
2007.06.17
