Thoughts On: Fallen Legacy Part III


Fallen Legacy Part III

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Clara walks along the fringe of the grasslands, looking out onto the plains to see the gigantic bunnies again.

She comes across an opening, a pathway through the grasslands. The grass around it isn't too tall but the path meanders, she can't see far down it.

She peers back over her shoulder, seeing the bones of another leopard out in the field. Circling vultures still linger above.

In she goes.

All is calm with her first few steps, the ground underfoot squelches and her shoes turn brown but other than that all that can be heard is the swish of sweeping wind.

She keeps walking further in, hands held out, caressing the blades of grass as she goes.


Clara's deep in the grasslands when she comes to an intersection of two paths. She looks left and right, unsure.

Quick, light footsteps faintly grow toward her.

She looks forward, backwards, left then right. Nothing but footsteps coming ever closer.

Clara to backs into the tall grass.

She's soaked as she pushes in, but it doesn't register. Stopping in a tangle of blades, she's just able to see the path.

Clara closes her eyes, controlling her breathing...


Clara's broken container is alight with orange flames.


Brown blurs the size of large dogs blaze past the intersection.

The footsteps fade away.

Clara waits a few quiet moments...


The fire intensifies, burning into a blue torrent.


After a sigh of relief in the silence, Clara leaves her hiding place to get back to the intersection.

On the path she looks left and right again, and is about to go forward when the footsteps return.



Clara backs into the grass.

The footsteps slow to a halt on the intersection. Clara peers through the grass...

It's a chihuahua the size of a great dane with a tail longer than its body and eyes that bulge out of its head like they're about to fall out.

It pants as three more join it.

They sniff at each other and whine a little, seemingly cautious, but at the same time pretty dumb.

Clara looks on, half-disgusted, half-amused, but all of that fades away when she hears more rustling.

It comes from the wall of grass behind the chihuahuas. They don't notice it.

There's a momentary and stagnant silence...

The chihuahuas start sniffing the path, following their noses toward the dent in the grass Clara caused.

Her breath catches in her throat.

The dogs come together near the flattened blades, starting to growl when--


--a Wolf pounces out of the grass, landing on one of them.

The rest whine, bark, scatter, leaving the other to be eaten.

Clara crouches, petrified.


A shining beacon atop the container field hill, Clara's ablaze container twinkles against the dark skies.


Clara sits in the grass, still frozen, keeping a slightly obstructed watch on the feeding Wolf.

It looks up, face bloody. It's the Father.

He sits by the chihuahua carcass and looks up at the sky.

Clara sees the two huge gouges in his side that run parallel all the way from his shoulder to hind.

The Wolf starts to lick the wound.

Something catches his eye in the grass. He stares straight at Clara.

She freezes.

Their eyes stay locked.

Something scuttles below Clara, she breaks eye contact to look down.


Clara looks up - the Wolf is gone.

The scuttling returns accompanied by an fast succession of clicks from all around.

The clicking and scuttling stops dead.

Clara stands and starts her way out of the grass.

The Wolf hadn't gone but moved only down the intersection. Clara pushes apart a few blades of grass to see this.

She stops in her tracks.

The Wolf, with its back to her, doesn't notice.

As Clara backs away, there's a scuttle and a--


A huge millipede the size of your arm pounces on Clara's back. She screams, shakes it off and runs blindly, toward the Wolf.

Another jumps, pincers flying straight toward her face. She ducks to dodge, but its body catches her in the head, knocking her to the ground.

There's more scuttling. Clara, now on the edge of the path, throws herself out onto it as to escape.

She lies only metres away from the curious Wolf.

It looks down at Clara and Clara up at him.

Another millipede shoots out from the grass.

It lands on Clara, pincers snapping, threatening to lacerate. She screams, trying to push it off, but it keeps thrashing about on top of her, wildly gnashing at her face.

It's lifted away.

The Wolf throws it into the air, devouring it in one bite.

Clara wipes the thick mud off her face, looking up at the Wolf chewing on the small pieces remaining in its mouth with thanks.

The Wolf finishes, but the clicking starts up again.

He watches Clara in anticipation.

Confused, she sits up, looks into the grass--


--another millipede pounces on her. Before she can start screaming the Wolf snatches it away, swallows it whole.

He appears to be loving this.


Another millipede darts out at Clara but this time it doesn't even touch her. It's caught mid-air, swallowed whole.

The Wolf barks with satisfaction.

Clara gapes in some place between fear and relief. The Wolf watches the grass in wait. A millipede flies out, Clara flinches, but it gets the chomp.


Clara's eyes dart between the Wolf towering above her, the gloom hidden in the depths of the grass and the snaking paths around her.

She runs. The Wolf follows.

Clara can escape neither the clicking or the Wolf meandering through the paths as fast as her legs will take her.

Another millipede jumps out. She throws herself down but, again, the Wolf eats it before it touches her.

Below the Wolf, Clara can do no more than look up, slowly backing off .


Clara haphazardly trudges down the path, back the way she came. The Wolf still follows.

Still, millipedes fly out her. She's rocked with terror each time, taking every step in between in utter dread, but without fail the Wolf catches each and every one.

The plains reveal themselves. An end in sight, Clara runs. The Wolf plods after her, still catching millipedes.

She makes it out onto flat land, sprinting as far from the jumping millipedes as she can.

The Wolf stands between her and the grasslands expecting more millipedes to fly...

... they don't.

The Wolf barks after Clara. She stops.

She looks back at the confused Wolf eager to eat more millipedes.

He continues to bark.

Clara stands in defiance.

The Wolf starts to growl and all Clara's confidence drains away.


Clara sits cross-legged in front of the wall of grass, millipedes clicking within. The Wolf stands above her, watching in wait.

Clara fidgets fearfully, held captive by the Wolf.

A millipede flies out at her--they don't seem to learn.

Every other second Clara flinches, traumatised by angst and the fact that she's bait for giant millipedes.

However, to her relief the clicking within the grass fades away. The Wolf looks up to the sky. The sun is at its highest point and beats down unforgivingly.

The Wolf waits a few moments more for a millipede to fly...

... but none do.

It cocks its head and takes a drink, licking the backs of the blades of grass.

Taking her chance, Clara bolts.

The Wolf trots after her. Clara runs harder, sprints like a mad woman, but with the Wolf taking a stroll next to her.

She stops, emotionally and physically spent. With a dry throat and open mouth she looks up at him.

He looks down at her, head cocked, confused at the sight of this little creature.


Kill me or go away!

Clara waves her arms in dismissal then turns back toward the grasslands. The Wolf follows.


At the edge of the grasslands Clara takes a drink as she did before, but with a seven foot Wolf at her back.


Back to the fallen fruit trees, Clara is trying to yank more over-sized fruit away. The Wolf is still with her, hovering in the distance.


Clara sits in her container as the Wolf sniffs about. She pries open another bloated banana and eats.

As she takes her fill, the Wolf circles a patch of soft grass, laying down.

With dull vacancy, the two look out onto the haze of deep blues and crimsons hung over the horizon.


(to herself)

It wants to eat me... it can have me...


Clara sleeps.

She's curled up, no clothes, a small human figure imbedded in the intense greenery, the viscous mud.

She wakes.

Her hand comes to her face, covering it in mud. She realises where she is. She stumbles to her feet and, as she rises, the grass around her pushes further up, entrapping her in despondent murk.

She circles haphazardly, arms slack, dripping mud. With each step she softens the mud below her feet, allowing blackened water to bubble upward.


Where are you?


Orange flickerings ignite the pitch backdrop. The blades waver, imbued with moving life. They split, each strand of grass cutting into two sharpened pincers, arching and bobbing, all focused on Clara.

She looks down at the black water around her shins. She sinks, slowly, with despondent control.

Her fingertips hit the water, her palms lay flat on the surface, rising as her body sinks until they are all that remains above water level.

Her fingers straighten, point toward the sky.

They dip below the surface.




Where are you?


You project too much, Clara. We're not all like you. We're not all capable--


I love you. Where are you?


I'm waiting for you to take my hand.


I never got to say goodbye.


That's ok.


I can't reach.


I can only wait.


I love you. Where are you?


Clara's hand stands above the water, the black waters reflecting the image - two hands connected at the wrist.

Her hand sinks, fingers dipping below the surface. No reflection.

From the darkness pushes through fingers, a hand that reaches for the surface.

The outstretched fingertips are mirrored on the inky surface, two hands millimetres from contact.


Darkness again.


I can only wait.


I love you. Where are you?


Clara sleeps in her coffin, surrounded by flames.


Clara wakes, hugging the peel to the fruit she had the night before. She sits up to the sun peeking over the green horizon.

Never has she seen anything more beautiful, nonetheless, never has she ever been more hopeless. Clara turns to the foot of her container.

The Wolf snores.

Clara watches him for a moment, eyeing his wounds. She turns toward the grasslands...


... fuck.

Clara stands, watching the Wolf again. She hesitantly fidgets not knowing whether to run from him or if it'd be pointless to do so.


A hand holds a blue ball over the sable waters.


She tries to step out of the container...


The ball is dropped, sunk into obscurity.


... the Wolf wakes. Clara stops, eyes closed, one foot on the grass.

The Wolf stands, stretches its back then yawns. He looks at Clara then strolls away.

She still stands with one foot out of the container, completely dumbstruck.

The Wolf looks over its shoulder and barks. Clara doesn't move. The Wolf barks again, turning around.

Clara still doesn't move. He charges at her, growling.



Stiffened with adrenaline, she stares the Wolf in the eye.

He turns away.

Clara follows him out toward the plains beyond the container field.


Clara holds her hands tight as the Wolf walks next to her. The plains are coming to life.

The sun creeps up behind them, illuminating the yellow flowers at their feet. Clara picks one up and smells it.

The Wolf stops and looks down at her, confused. He sniffs the flower expecting more than he gets.

To double check the Wolf sniffs it again, but simply shakes its head and walks on.

Clara follows, smiling.


The two approach a small herd of the huge bunnies. Clara grows anxious.

The closer they get, the further she veers off to the side, trying to signal the bunnies in some way. The Wolf presses on straight towards them nonetheless.

They come within a few dozen feet of the herd when their ears lift off the ground, but they don't run. Clara stops.

The Wolf continues toward the bunnies, head held high. They just watch him come.

He barks over his shoulder. Clara doesn't move, expecting some kind of an attack.

The bunnies part and the Wolf barks over its shoulder again.

Clara clambers to catch up as the Wolf passes through the pack, indifferent of their presence.

Clara jogs through, her hands raised to her hips, nodding to the bunnies, reassuring:



... it's ok.... it's ok...

They pass through the bunnies peacefully and Clara relaxes a little.

She catches up with the Wolf, looking over her shoulder to the oblivious herd who continue to graze on the grass.

Holding her hands tightly again, she squeezes her fingers until they pop.


The Wolf, tailed by Clara, approaches a large pool of water. The new sunshine glistens off its surface, dying the body orange.

Clara gazes ahead with strange recognition.

With no other animals around, the Wolf takes a drink.

Clara approaches the water timidly, keeping her distance from him as she crouches to wash her face.

As Clara takes off her pyjama-like top, leaving her with a vest on, The Wolf looks around. Clara starts splashing water on her chest and under her arms, the Wolf straying a little from the water.

Whilst washing her face Clara catches a glimpse of her reflection. She freezes. Her hands come up to her changed eyes and she gawps.

She turns to the Wolf.

It looks beyond the water and into the distance. Three slender black cats approach.

The Wolf looks to Clara and then at its own wounds.

He barks. Clara stands, tying her shirt around her waist as the Wolf turns away from the waterhole with haste.


Clara keeps close to the Wolf, now quite a distance from the waterhole.

The Wolf looks over its shoulder.

Three cats still hover about, following them.

He stops, leaving Clara to walk on a moment.

She turns back.


What are you doing?

The Wolf takes no notice, he stares dead ahead with unwavering focus, clear deliberation.

Clara locks onto the approaching Cats, the stabbing fear in her chest visible on her face.

She looks around her...

... nowhere to run to.

The surrounding land is flat and vast, way in the distance she can just make out the hill the container field sits on, and is suddenly hit with comprehension:

A tiny speck in this monumental world, she is helpless.


... please d--

The Wolf starts forward. Clara's left standing alone, breath catching in her throat.

The three cats hunch down into stalking postures and start moving faster.

The Wolf takes one final look over its shoulder at Clara then at its wounds. He powers forward.

About one hundred metres apart, the cats and the Wolf close the distance down fast.

The Wolf growls, paws pounding down, lips stretched back, bared teeth gleaming. The cats run in silence, with total concentration and in complete synchrony.

Feet apart, the cat in the middle pounces. The Wolf leaps a fraction of a second after.

The cat has timed its jump badly. The Wolf comes from below and bites down on its neck.

The two other cats miss the beat and skid to a halt. The Wolf lands on top of the cat, its throat clamped in his jaws, limp.

The Wolf spins around as quick as it can, blood cascading down his snout.

The two other cats are upon him instantly.

One swings for the Wolf's jaw and the other for his throat.

The Wolf catches the first cat's paw in its jaws, but as he swings it away the second cat's claw connects with his shoulder.

He calls out, Clara looking on from the distance, barely able to make sense of the conflict.


With one claw in his shoulder and now one his face the Wolf stands on its hind legs, pulling away.

The cat with its paw in the Wolf's face lets go but the second gets flung.

Both cats recompose, take a step back and circle the Wolf.

The Wolf's not waiting for them to attack. He pounces on the closest one, jaws sinking into the back of the cat's neck.

The second makes its move, leaping onto his back, ripping his ear off. Reflexively and to flip the cat off its back, the Wolf propels itself sideways into the air, rolling.

Spinning, the Wolf throws the cat in its jaws, the cat on his back getting tossed aside.

The Wolf hits the ground, disorientated, not yet aware that its ear has been torn off, but a cat is immediately upon him.

It pounces, the Wolf lunges, goes for the cat's throat and gets it.

He bites down, blood streaming over his face. The cat thrashes violently, but is as good as gone.

The Wolf rolls to his feet with the cat writhing in a futile fade.

From nowhere the last cat ploughs its claws into his already injured side, shredding open the deep lacerations.

He drops the cat in his mouth, veers off to the side, stumbling into a weak slump.

The cat snarls whilst the Wolf whimpers.

It approaches. The Wolf barks fiercely. Unfazed, the cat keeps coming.

It pounces and takes a chunk of fur out of the Wolf's shoulder. Before he can counter the cat jumps back to a safer distance.

Clara watches the Wolf being circled, pleading into her chest.

The Wolf and the cat circle each other, the Wolf staggering, his wounds drenching his coat in a coagulating mire, the cat trying to time a good attack as he catches a breath.

The cat fakes a pounce, the Wolf flinching. It hisses, stalking circles around him with malicious confidence.

The Wolf snaps with a brawn growl, charging.

The cat snarls, accepts the challenge.

It pounces.

The Wolf skids to a halt.

The cat flies toward his head, he leans backward, lifts his snout up, opens his jaws.

The Wolf's teeth sink into the underside of the cat's jaw.

The momentum of the cat tears the Wolf backwards, his neck snapping violently, his teeth slashing down its jugular.

They both hit the floor.

The Wolf lies motionless. The cat's trying to get up.

It stands on all fours, but the blood really starts to pour.

It falls dead.

Clara looks at the scene, still petrified: the three cats unmoving, the Wolf struggling to his feet.

He checks the bodies, finding one cat with its eyes open.

It breathes hard and fast. Blood streams from its neck. The Wolf walks away, meeting Clara.

Stood looking up at the Wolf, Clara is dumbfounded, holding a quivering hand out to touch.

The Wolf locks eyes with her, drops its gaze then turns away.


Lying with his side bathed in the water, the Wolf looks on at Clara who is sat cross-legged not too far from him in the field.

Faraway in suspended emotion, Clara knocks stones together with false hopes of starting a fire.

The Wolf keeps a watch with subtle despondency, flicking his one good ear about before looking up to the stub of what was his other ear.


The Wolf sleeps in the waters. Clara lies nearby on dry land.

Blood still curls away from the Wolf's wounds.

The trickling plumes dance through the dark pearl water, towards the ebbing shores, taking form.

The cloud of blood turns to a small hand. It continues to reach toward the shore, toward Clara.

The crimson hand is engulfed by the black waters, stricken sable, the new hand shooting across land--




This shouldn't be happening. Not to you. I only want to warn you, to keep you from getting hurt. It's not good for you. I know you're afraid. I know--I know--I know--


The Wolf lies asleep with his child close.

From below the ambient click, buzz and whisper of the late night, rises an approaching rustle.


The wolves wake. The child fearful, the father sniffing.

The wall of grass bends to the approaching figure, parting, letting through a female wolf.

The child's fear wanes.


The ball pounds...





The Father and female wolf muzzle a ball of fur.

It slowly breaks apart, wisped away by the wind into speckled sky above, a billowing flock of dancing hairs.

The wolves stand together watching the stars blink as the cloud of hairs swell higher.


The Wolf wakes. He stumbles out of the water, shakes himself dry and lies closer to Clara.


Clara wakes up opposite the Wolf. They both rest in the open field, washed in the warm morning sun.

Clara sits up and looks into the distance. No cats.

The Wolf stands and despite his multiple injuries he stands tall. Clara looks up at the sky then to the shadows she and the Wolf cast.


Any idea what the time is?

The Wolf looks down at her, not sure what the strange noises are for. He returns to the waterhole to take a drink.



Time must've disappeared with nobody keeping it.

Clara watches the Wolf drink alone, the vast backdrop lush and expansive, but devoid of woken life.


She's struck with melancholy realisation:


And here's me thinking that I'm the only lone one around here.

Stretching his wrought figure, the Wolf gazes ahead.


Clara walks next to the Wolf through the vast plains, seemingly without direction.


Where are we going and why are you taking me with you?

The Wolf ignores her: she's making those noises again.


There's such a pointless push, pull between--

A powerful gust of the wind beats at Clara's back.

The Wolf stops, looks up, then around.

The sky is clear.

Just in the distance is a herd of Diplodocid.

Another gust tears over the plains, nearly knocking Clara off her feet. She stares up, fully realising the danger they're in.

The Wolf bolts. Clara tries to keep up.

They make for the herd, but with each stride the Wolf leaves Clara behind a little more.

The Wolf is close to cover in a second. Another surging gust keeps Clara's way out in the open, fighting the current. The Wolf runs back out to her.

In a few breaths he reaches Clara, picks her up by the seat of her trousers and sprints into the oblivious herd. Clara's both thankful and petrified as the Wolf runs with her hanging.

The huge creatures bumble about, grazing on the grass, as the Wolf backs through their ranks.

From above, a piercing screech resounds, followed by another torrent of air.

Heads perk up, bodies move closer together. Along with the Wolf, the Diplodocid search the skies.

Clara peers up, seeing nothing but the azure void. She scans across the sun, seeing a glimmer, but the Wolf lies lower, a creature stepping over them, covering them completely.

Looking through the mammoth legs, Clara sees little.

Another shriek rings down from above and in a flash, eight planted legs are gone.

The Diplodocid flip out, rising up, pounding down, wanting to scarper, but nonetheless stick close to anyone at their side.

The Wolf scrambles out from underneath the juddering undercarriage, past the thunderous legs, just escaping being swiped by a tail, coming out into the open...


... the two huge animals clobber down on the heads of three creatures, killing them instantaneously, exploding when they hit the ground.

The crowd are caked in entrails, blood, bone and flesh, knocked down like bowling pins.

The Wolf is almost struck by a hunk of meat, but presses on with Clara dangling precariously, splattered with blood - some in her mouth - spitting and retching.

The Wolf races further into the clearing. Behind him the herd of a dozen frantic masses quickly turns to five dead bodies on the ground.

The Wolf flees as hard as it can in the deafening silence...


... the ground erupts with throbbing reverberation as twelve monstrous bodies weighing hundreds of tonnes pummel down and explode.

The Wolf, just coming out of the splash zone survives the pelt of body matter, only washed in crimson liquids.

Down come the vultures, seven of them, the underside of their wings asheen with luminosity, about two times bigger than the Diplodocid.

At first there's only the larger few, but soon the flock of little ones descend.


The bunnies graze amongst each other.


The Wolf drops Clara with the feeding frenzy way out in the distance. She falls to her knees.

Looking back on the flock of colossal creatures with a horrified gawp, she can do no more than stare.

The Wolf carries on walking, paying no attention.

Clara checks her waist, it's red raw, almost bleeding. She looks to the Wolf's turned back and not wanting to be left behind gets to her feet and staggers after him.

Not too far ahead lies a forest. It marks the foot of a hill.


Clara lags behind the Wolf a little, she's completely fatigued just able to teeter into the tree line and fall against a tree.

Between shaken breaths she mumbles into her chest:


... I'm going to die...

The Wolf jumps up a nearby tree and disappears into the branches.

A few rustles, a snap and a moment later a shiny black orb the size of Clara's head drops to the ground.

She backs away from the drop zone.

There's more snapping and rustling before three more orbs hit the ground, after them, the Wolf. Using his nose it nudges them out from below the tree, toward Clara.

Like a polar bear pounding through ice, the Wolf gets on his hind legs and smashes down on the black orb...


... liquid leaks from a splinter.

The Wolf begins licking the orb, lapping up the juice. Clara picks up one of the other orbs, holds it to her ear and shakes. Something sloshes about inside.

Relieved, Clara holds the orb way above her head and...


... throws the orb onto the ground as hard as she can. She picks it up and inspects, nothing seems to have changed.

She tries again--


Water drips as she lifts the orb. She takes a drink from the stream, has her fill then lets it splash over her face and back.

The Wolf cracks open another orb and starts drinking. Clara sits down under the tree having finished drinking to watch him.

She can see that the wounds on his side are deep but already healing, even the stub of an ear seems to be growing back hair.

There's shuffling behind them.

Clara freezes. The Wolf snaps to attention.

He sniffs the air then gets low, creeping past Clara as she pushes herself up against the tree, pulling her legs up to her chest.

Clara doesn't watch, but there's a rustle and then a quickly silenced squawk.

The Wolf comes back out with what looks like a turkey - just five feet tall.

He drops it and starts eating. After a few bites he stops, steps back and barks, inviting Clara to eat.

Clara stands, hands help up in polite disagreement, and backs around the tree.


The Wolf licks his paws. Nearby lies the carcass, brightly coloured birds picking at the remains.

Clara sits on a long branch she has snapped off a nearby tree, scratching the bark off with a stone. It peels away easily, like paper.

As she works, she nibbles on a few berries and plants she's collected. With each bite she shakes her head, knowing the danger, but feeling the dragging pain of hunger in her gut.

Soon the bark is gone and she starts digging into the wood with the stone to create a central groove. The Wolf lazily gazes over to her whilst she furiously works.


Clara rubs a smaller stick along the groove she cut out earlier, though nothing seems to be happening. The Wolf sleeps not too far from her.


Clara lies passed out - still with the branch beneath her. The Wolf nudges her to get up.

Clara stretches then rubs her hands together. She goes back to trying to start a fire as the Wolf walks off into the trees.

He barks after her.


Hey, not yet.

He barks again, coming back through the trees. Clara rubs the stick against the branch with the Wolf watching.


It's fire.

He cocks his head to the side then up picks the branch from underneath her, starting toward the trees.

Clara gets up, collecting the stone and stick in silent objection. The Wolf barks, dropping the branch as it does so.

Clara catches up, going for the branch. The Wolf picks it up before she reaches and leads on.


Clara awkwardly drinks from another orb with her one free arm as she walks next the Wolf, chinks of sunlight shining through the high canopy and densely packed trees they meander through.

Clara still holds the stick and stone - the Wolf, the branch.

They reach a clearing, Clara slumping down in the centre with hope the Wolf too will stop. He takes a moment before lying down in the sun.

Tentatively, Clara takes the branch from him and continues to scrape the stick along the groove. He just watches, confused.


Arms aching, Clara takes the last sip from the orb. Curious, she sticks her finger into the crack.

She knocks the orb on the ground and it splinters further, allowing her to pull it apart and inspect the insides: they shine, the surface oily.

The Wolf watches a couple of small monkeys high up in one of the trees. Both have tinted green coats and are playing a game - chasing and tapping each other's heads.

Clara goes back to work, furiously grinding the stick along the blackened grooved.

The branch starts to smoke. Clara jolts with excitement but quickly composes herself.

She starts to rub faster, more smoke seeping from the branch, small embers starting to building up. She gently blows them, but that only hinders the smoking.

In a slight panic, she continues to grind the stick along the groove before grabbing half of the black orb. She rolls the branch, the embers trickling...

Instantly the whole orb lights up in flames, the watery residue spitting, Clara jumping back in shock, dropping it.

The Wolf springs to his feet. Clara laughs maniacally, slapping her legs in celebration.

The Wolf barks at the fire and then at Clara. Meanwhile, the pair of monkeys from the tree tops make their way down to the edge of the clearing.

The pair timidly slink toward the fire. As they get close they start pushing each other as not to be the first to investigate.

Clara stops laughing and the Wolf stops barking. They both watch the monkeys with intrigue.

The larger of the two reaches out to touch the flames.




... calls out and it stops... but only for a moment.

The monkey keeps reaching out with the smaller one jumping up and down behind it.

Clara calls out again but it's too late.

The monkey's fingertip is licked by the flame. It jumps back, wailing, holding its finger in its mouth, rolling across the floor while the smaller monkey playfully hits him.

They both start panting heavily, overly excited. Still with its finger in its mouth the bigger monkey starts pushing the smaller toward the flame.

Bursting out of reluctance, the monkey yells, pushing a hand into the fire. He pulls away, instantly screaming.

The other monkey falls to the ground, pounding the dirt with laughter.

The Wolf looks on unimpressed. Clara's almost as excited as the monkeys - more than impressed.

The pair pick themselves up and start pushing each other back toward the fire.


All right, that's enough.

She steps toward them and they scurry up a nearby tree. Clara watches them climb, reach a branch and start taunting her.

She looks up, dumbstruck as the two monkeys slap their behinds, pull at their faces and make an awful lot of noise.

That is until the Wolf has had enough and scares the two off, growling up at the tree. They tear away across branches, screaming as they go.

The two stand in silence looking at each other...


You wouldn't know it, but we're related.

She points up to where the monkeys ran off. The Wolf stares down at her blankly before following where she points.


Clara walks into the clearing, arms full with a load of sticks. She lays them down by the fire - which has grown larger with the addition of other wood.

The Wolf lies nearby with his wounded side close to the heat. Clara approaches, close by is a couple of dead turkeys he must have killed earlier.


Do you mind if I use one?

The Wolf rolls away, leaving her to them.

She takes it by the foot and tries to drag it. It doesn't budge. Clara pulls harder but its claw digs into her arm--



--she pulls away.

She wipes the spot of blood off her arm then pushes the hair out of her face, thinking.


... fuck...

Bending down with a grimace, she puts her hands on the turkey.

Clara closes her eyes, grips a handful of feathers and, suppressing a scream, yanks hard.

Opening her eyes, she looks to her fistful of feathers, then the bald spot on the turkey.

The Wolf looks over his shoulder at Clara - forever confused.


Clara pulls the last major chunk of feathers from the turkey then looks at her hands, pretty disgusted. The look doesn't fade as she studies the patchy poultry.

The Wolf isn't about and is probably roaming the forest somewhere, there's no doubt that it'll be back for Clara though.

She looks around for a moment, at the fire and the turkey.


Covered in mud, exhausted, Clara digs out a hole half the size of herself and about two foot deep. She does this with a long branch.

Done scraping at the bottom of the ditch Clara picks up a heap of mud with her arms and throws it out into the pile above.

She then jumps out of the hole and over to a pile of about seven black orbs. The Wolf sits behind the orbs licking water from one of them.

Most are empty. Clara starts stomping on a few to crack them open - once done she throws them in the hole.


Clara has wandered away from the clearing.

She kneels down, holding her shirt over her shoulder, picking up stones and placing them in her make-shift bag.

As she searches along the floor, she comes upon a large stone. She digs it out of the ground, revealing a softer material.

INT.igued, Clara presses down on it. It's wood, burnt and decayed. Clara picks away at the mud as to dig it up, in doing so, coming across squiggles - words.

She clears the dirt, reading the imbedded text:

Sorry I broke the original.


Clara falls backwards, looking around her, seeing nothing. Taking no chances, she picks up her bag, the piece of wood and scrambles toward the clearing.


A small snake slithers over the ground Clara was knelt by and into its nearby nest of eggs that rest in small burrow at the foot of a tree.


In the clearing, Clara slows, safe. She checks the piece of wood in her hands.

It's blank.

The Wolf barks.


Yeah, I'm back.

She throws the board away, makes her way over to the hole and empties the stones into it. The base of the ditch is almost filled with stones placed around the orbs that Clara put in earlier.

Lighting a small stick by the fire that still burns heartily, Clara is lost in thought, in a vacant, despaired gaze.

Eased back to the present moment by the climbing warmth of the lit stick, Clara stands, making her way back to the hole.

Using the stick as flint, she lights each orb and starts loading more wood into the ditch.


The base of the hole is a red-hot mulch. Clara looks down at it holding her bottom lip.


Somehow, you're going to have to help me here.

The Wolf perks up as Clara walks over to the turkey. She gestures for him to come over. He does.

Standing below the Wolf, Clara is reminded of his sheer size and strength, how he's capable of snapping her in half any time he wants.


Uh... could you pick this up? Please? Look...

She kneels down to the turkey and bites its pink flesh. The Wolf does the same.

Clara quickly pulls away, wiping her mouth.


Ok, now lift it up.

The Wolf just looks at her.

Clara raises her arms. Still nothing.

Clara gets her arms under the turkey and tries to lift. The Wolf picks it up.


There we go. Ok, now... come.

Clara backs toward the fire with the Wolf following. She then jumps over the ditch and beckons the Wolf over.

They both stand on opposite sides of the hole, the turkey dangling.


All right, now, um... drop it.

She places her hands on the turkey and pushes down.

The Wolf lets go of the turkey...


... hot ashes billow up on impact as they both retreat.

Clara and the Wolf share a brief glance in which Clara tries to express some kind of thanks.

She then watches the turkey, pulling at her lip again.


I hope this works.

She throws some burning sticks onto the bird and then begins to cover it with the mud.


Clara runs her hand on the ground where the turkey is buried. She then stabs at it with the branch.


Clara wipes dirt off the turkey. The Wolf comes over to take a look.

Stick in hand, Clara stabs the flesh of the turkey, steam curling from the charred meat. She scrapes up a chunk and picks it up.

Wincing, she throws it hand to hand, quickly dropping it on the wooden board. She takes the piece of wood and sits down with it on her lap, the Wolf following her every move.

The slab of turkey is covered in dirt, scorched pretty bad, but Clara flips it, the inside a dulled pink, slightly cleaner - hopefully cooked.

Clara blows the meat, wipes a bit of the mud off, then takes a bite.

It's good.

Clara is both pleased with herself and ecstatic at the chance to eat.

The Wolf stares down.


Uh... This is cooking. What humans do so the food we eat doesn't kill us. Hopefully.

Clara takes another bite from the meat, pulls a chunk off and hands some to the Wolf. He gently takes it in his teeth then drops it to the ground to inspect.

He takes a small bite. He doesn't like it. Clara just laughs as he walks away, now disinterested.

As she picks at the meat, Clara watches him circle a soft piece of ground to sleep on.


You know... my name is Clara.

The Wolf slumps down, his back to her, not interested.


I know you don't understand, but... you seem to get me? In part at least... If you could understand, I'd of course say thank you... so much. You know?

The Wolf growls, eyes closed.


Clara looks to the last turkey, left untouched by the Wolf.


You think that could get us in trouble? Both mine and yours? Going to sleep... other... things... around?

No response.


Do you have a name?

The Wolf barks.

Clara sighs, swiveling around, turning her back to the Wolf as he goes to sleep.


Large chunks have been taken out of the turkey, it sits in the ditch steaming.

Clara sleeps curled up next to the Wolf.


From the distance reaches a mighty roar, it rings through the forest, but neither the Wolf or Clara wake.


Sunlight washes the canopy above white. Clara wakes, blinking up at the sheen.


You up?



Clara sits up, looking around.


Where are you?

Just beyond the clearing an arm reaches out past a tree trunk, waving at her with the back of its hand.

Clara yawns, getting to her feet. She saunters toward the tree, taking the wooden hand that extends her way.

The hand leads her around the tree, into a hidden embrace.


Huh?... yeah, it was good. You?


Love you too.

Clara lets out a yawn taut by an early morning stretch.


It's so perfect.


It's so perfect with you. I want this for now until...


I love you too.


I could just...


The tree Clara passed behind.

She's not there. The tree is blank.


Clara's held in an embrace by the wooden arms.


I could just...

The embrace tightens, the texture of the wood curling in around her, the bark softening, Clara sinking into it.

She's immersed in the trunk, pulled in by the wooden arms, plunging into the tree...

... gone.


A dark morning. Cloud sheaths the sky above. Fog sits thick in the air.

Clara and the Wolf have moved on from the clearing, leaving behind the embers of a fire and what's left of the turkeys.

Beyond the tree line something stirs.

The crackling of sticks crumples forward. Deep breaths wade down, colossal volumes of air billowing from way above the canopy.

Below, the orange flickering of the small fire dwindles gently.

The breathing stops.

All is still.

The beast exhales...


... the fire wavers away, a grey mist consuming the void.


The Wolf moves with haste, constantly looking over its shoulder with Clara, bewildered, running next to him.

In the far distance behind them reaches forth another mighty roar that resounds through and around the surrounding maze of hazed tree trunks, simmering into a deep growl.

Clara slows to a standstill, looking back.

The Wolf carries on, not noticing that she stopped, consumed by the fog metres away.

Clara turns to find that the Wolf has gone.



He barks then comes back. Clara runs to him, met with a growl of warning. Sticking close together, they start running.

The Wolf meanders haphazardly, losing Clara the harder he pushes for an escape.

Spent, Clara slows to a stop.


I can't...

The Wolf returns with a sympathetic bark. Clara leans against the tree.


It's pointless. We'll have to hide... dig a--

The Wolf puts his nose between her legs and lifts her over his head.

She slides down his neck and grips onto his back.

The Wolf dashes forward. Up ahead he can see very little, just the trees he needs to dodge, somehow navigate through.

There's another roar, but ahead of them.

The Wolf stops.

He breathes heavily, scanning the surroundings. Clara lifts her leg over the Wolf's back to sit facing the front.

There's another roar from behind.

The Wolf whines as Clara frantically pivots.

They are seemingly trapped.

There's a huge...


... then...


... the sound of a tree thundering down on the forest floor. The Wolf starts circling, trying to peer through the trees and fog.

All at once and from all around at least five roars pulsate through the forest, directed toward one another in communication.



More trees fall somewhere close.

The Wolf spins toward the source. He watches fog wisp and dance toward him with the wind of the fallen trees.





As trees start to fall all around, Clara's continually hit with gusts of fog, petrified, her grip on the Wolf's fur tightening as she hugs his back.

Right above their heads--


The Wolf guns it...


... escaping the falling tree.

The Wolf powers through the fog in silence, Clara clung to his back, but...


... again, directly above.

Something whips through the air--


The Wolf veers, running on, blind to all that's more than a metre or two ahead, until a thick black rope blocks their way.

It's curled around a tree trunk and extends to another.

Stopped before it, The Wolf is frozen in place.

The rope tightens its grip on the trees--


He reels backward, Clara almost falling off.

The trees are lifted into the fog leaving behind nothing but jagged stumps.

Coming down off his back legs, The Wolf looks back, then powers forward.

Clara presses her face against his juddering back, eyes locked shut, shaking her head in disbelief.


The tree just misses the Wolf's tail as it comes crashing down. He barks, only able to push harder as trees continue to fall.

Another mighty roar sounds from way up above.


A tail whips around a tree, cracking the Wolf in the face, propelling him backwards with an agonised howl.

Clara is thrown off his back and into a tree...


... knocked out cold.

The Wolf hits the ground hard, but quickly gets his feet under himself. He licks the blood from his nose and shakes into senses.

Clara is nowhere to be seen.

She lies limp at the base of a tree.


A tail whips around that very tree and off it goes. She's showered in dirt, leaves and small branches.

The approaching barks of the Wolf crawl closer.

The Wolf snuffles and snorts, blowing blood from his nose, sniffing the air. He bolts, having picked up the scent to quickly find Clara lying next to the stump.

The Wolf nudges her but she doesn't move.

He looks up in panicked trepidation before picking Clara up by the seat of her trousers and shooting into the haze.


A tree lands just in front of the Wolf, he turns away and--


--another tree.

The Wolf jumps over the trunk and races on.


A dome of fog covers what was the forest and hill Clara and the Wolf ventured to. Masses of cloud are constantly being shot into the air followed by roars and the storm of trees smashing into the ground.

A massive gust of wind sends shivers across the plains.

A monolithic vulture soars toward the fog.

It circles a few times before diving in, beating plumes of fog clear, revealing the upper torso of a monstrous ground sloth, an ancient Megatherium.

It has a head easily the size of a house, blade-like teeth that jut from its upper jaw like elephant tusks, rolling jowls, a jet black snout and dead eyes the size of marbles.

The vulture plummets toward its head, claws extended.

From the fog flies arms, thick as the sloth's head, as muscular as Schwarzenegger's. They pound against the vulture's talons, its spindly fingers wrapping around its legs.

The vulture panics as it beats its incredible wingspan, trying to escape. The sloth isn't having it, its tail whips up from the fog and wraps around a wing, crippling it instantly.

The vulture's pulled downward, screeching out in anguish as the tail continues to tauten.

Snout-to-beak with the floundered vulture, the sloth roars, fog pouring from its mouth.

The fog eventually stops streaming, the sloth's jaws opening, raining in on the vultures head.

The fog shrouds and the screeching cuts dead.

The sloth roars again, disappearing entirely into the fog.

Silence scours through the air...

Way down on the ground, the Wolf emerges from the haze, carrying Clara away with all he has.


With the dome of fog in the distance and the roars of the beasts muted, the Wolf carefully drops Clara to the ground.

She lies motionless for a moment, the Wolf watching her chest...

She takes a shallow breath.

The Wolf continues to watch her chest rise and fall as he lies by her side.



Subtle movement, a fluid swish.

A speck emerges, a body in this immense ebon ocean, lit from below by an impossible spotlight.

Clara swims without direction, stricken by desperation, drowning in the liquid chasm.

The speck thrashes, a twinkling mite of movement caught by flickering light.

The spotlight dies.

Darkness washes pure, readjusting, revealing monolithic creatures, gargantuan shapes roaming the sable depths.


Luminous white walls enclose Clara, sat in a wooden chair with a box in hand.

She stares straight ahead.


A hole breaks through the wall.

Clara looks down.

Her fingers trace the edge of the box's golden plate, caress the engraved letters:

Sorry I broke the original

Inky water trickles through the hole in the wall.

Clara's gaze lifts, her cerulean iris glimmering melancholy, fixed on the pattering drizzle.


A door opens.

Pale light pushes through, bringing with it a bedroom.

A writhing lump on the bed perturbs the rested peace.


Clara slices and stabs with a knife, violently cutting into the mattress, her wet cheeks wrought with frustration.

She sinks, falling into the depressing mattress through the gouges she carves.


The lump flattens...

... gone.

Silence returns.


Smoke veils, slowly clearing.

Clara stands, engulfed in the thinning fog. Below her breast, under her shirt, develops a lump. It balloons down her abdomen, rounding her midriff.

Hands skim over her ribs, resting on the bump. Clara smiles, running her palms over the arms, caressing the hands.

Something drops from the base of her shirt.

She grips the hands, guiding them off the bump and behind her back.

Clara looks over her shoulder with smiles of reassurance, nods a goodbye.

The smiles fade as she turns back to herself, looking down on the bump then to the floor.

A singular feather touches down.

Anguish sparks into spite...


... Clara begins pounding the bump, a flurry of feathers surging out of her shirt, the buttons ripping open, a cloud of feathers released to obscure.


The hand. It's balled into a fist.



... we won't be able to get up...


... let's hope not.

The hand releases a fist full of blonde hairs.


A nebulous field of blue and white striations - Clara's iris again.

Her gaze is still locked ahead. The inky water continues to dribble, rising up the legs of the wooden stool.

Shook, Clara catches her breath. Digging into her pocket, she panics, eyes darting, realising she is trapped in this cubic white tomb.

She pulls a small key, fumbling with it, trying to press it into the box's lock as it gradually softens, melting, her panic only intensifying.



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