White Fang

Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway.  The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean toward each other, black and ominous, in the fading light.  A vast silence faded over the land.  The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness... It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.  Page 1.  Chapter 1.

An hour went by, and a second hour.  The pale light of the short sunless day was beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the still air.  It soared upward with a swift rush, till it reaches its topmost note, where it persisted, palpitant and tense, and then slowly died away.  It might have been a lost soul wailing, had it not been invested with a certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness.  The front man turned his head until his eyes met the eyes of the man behind.  And then, across the narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other.  Page 3.  Chapter 1.

The wolves were now more open in their pursuit, trotting sedately behind and ranging along on either side, their red tongues lolling out, their lean sides showing their undulating ribs with every movement.  They were very lean, mere skin-bags stretched over bony frames, with strings for muscles--so lean that Henry found it in his mind to marvel that they still kept their feet and did not collapse forthright in the snow.  Page 22.  Chapter 3.

They were running along a narrow alley flanked on either side by a growth of young spruce.  Through the trees the mouth of the alley could be seen, opening out on a moonlight glade.  Old One Eye was rapidly over hauling the fleeing shape of white.  Bound by bound he gained.  Now he was upon it.  One leap more and his teeth would be sinking into it.  But that leap was never made.  High in the air, and straight up, soared the shape of white, now a struggling snowshoe rabbit that leaped and bounded, executing a fantastic dance there above him in the air and never once returning to earth.  Page 36.  Chapter 4.

And then she found the thing for which she sought.  It was a few miles up a small stream that in the summer time flowed into the Mackenzie, but that then was frozen over and frozen down to its rocky bottom-- a dead stream of solid white from source to mouth.  The she-wolf was trotting wearily along, her mate well in advance, when she came upon the overhanging, high claybank.  She turned aside and trotted over to it.  The wear and tear of spring storms and melting snows  had underwashed the bank and in one place had made a small cave out of a narrow fissure.   Page 38.  Chapter 5.

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2 years ago
0

😘😘😘😘😘

2 years ago
0

Jack I'm loving the imagery!!! "Dark spruce forests frowned on either side of the frozen waterways" was my favorite! haha

2 years ago
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nice homie

2 years ago
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Nice pics dawg

2 years ago
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I really enjoy the second paragraph.

2 years ago
0

The pictures work well, especially the first and last.

2 years ago
0

really good job j-cenci brown

2 years ago
0

very good job. well done. good imagery paragraphs. goodpics

2 years ago
0

LUV IT

2 years ago
0

👌