The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby by H L Grandin

Tes Qua’,” he said with firm conviction. “There’s more.”
    The forest became deathly quiet. Not a sound. No breeze. No movement at all.
    “Quiet now,” Tyoga whispered. “Here they come.”
    A magnificent beast appeared beyond the glow of the firelight. Head down. Burning yellow eyes pierced the darkness while looking beyond and through Tyoga. They burned deep into his soul.
    He approached slowly, cautiously. He was stalking the boys as if they were unable to see him even though the wolf was completely vulnerable out in the open. As if following the command of hidden generals—there by order not by choice—he slowly picked up his left forepaw and allowed it to hover in mid-air before floating it silently into the dusky loam of the forest floor. He froze for an instant before doing the same with his right. His rear legs and haunches were slightly bent as if approaching a buffalo through the tall prairie grass. Fearful. Tentative. Resolute.
    Tyoga clutched his newly fashioned weapon in both hands and prepared to plunge it deep into the wolf’s back. He fought the urge to throw the spear at the wolf and stop him in his tracks before he was close enough to pierce with hand-held lunge. He couldn’t risk throwing the spear. To miss would mean certain death.

    The wolf’s approach became more deliberate and determined. Tyoga could see the fleshy ribbon-like black lips framing the deep blood red of his gums and tongue. The three-inch incisors were bared by the demonic snarl. A pasty thick saliva drooled from his mouth and dripped to the ground. The rumble resonating from deep within the cavity of the wolf’s barrel chest grew in intensity and pitch.
    The stalk was over.
    Tyoga had to do something to take control of the impending attack. If he couldn’t regulate the ferocity of the charge, perhaps he could control the timing. With a stomp of his foot and a scream like an eagle, he triggered the charge.
    The wolf took two lightening quick steps and leaped for Tyoga’s throat. Tyoga and Tes Qua responded with horrifying screams when the beast’s massive body left the ground. The treacherous jaws were open wide and the wolf’s aim was true. Tyoga’s throat was but inches away when he stepped backwards, planted the shaft of the spear against the ground, and heard the woosh of air as the knife blade plunged deep into the wolf’s heaving chest. Caught at the apex of his six-foot leap, the wolf’s one-hundred-and-fifty pounds slithered along the shaft of Tyoga’s spear until the blade reappeared through the muscle and flesh of his back. With a pathetic cry, the deed was done. The magnificent hulk lay lifeless at Tyoga’s feet. He grasped the handle of the old trapper’s knife, its pitted blade dripping red with the blood of the beast. He placed his foot on the warm, lifeless body, and pulled the shaft of the spear free with a forceful tug.
    Tyoga and TesQua’s eyes met briefly before a second wolf appeared from the shadows. This one was smaller than the first. Quicker. Less tentative. Less fearful. Dispensing with the stalk, the wolf took two bold lunging strides and catapulted himself into the air towards Tyoga’s chest. The wolf was fast, but Tyoga was faster. With a lightening quick juke to the left, the wolf missed his mark and flew past Tyoga. Pivoting to his right, and bringing all his weight to bear on the shaft of the spear, he thrust the weapon through the wolf’s shoulder blade even before he landed on the ground. Keeping a firm grip on the lance he followed through with all of his body weight until he felt the knife blade pierce the wolf’s chest wall and sink into the soft ground.
    Before he could remove the lance and turn, the next warriors were creeping from the shadows. This time there were two.
    Tyoga faced the beasts with no weapon in hand. Surveying the ground at his feet, he picked up a rock and plucked a partially burning pine bough from the dying fire. The two wolves extended their muscular