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...And I'll Blow Your House In


humanbean234

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“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” came the pigs’ giggled reply from the other side of the door. Wolf summoned the deepest breath he could, but with all his might, the door held fast against his efforts.

 

Inside, the three pigs giggled, anticipating the trap they had lain for the wolf, the boiling cauldron in the fireplace. They waited, holding their breath, ready to pounce when the wolf would come sliding down the chimney.

 

But no clatter came from the rooftop, no scraping, no billows of soot. Quietly, Practical, the builder of the House of Brick, snuck a glance through the shutters of the front window, and beheld the wolf sitting quietly on the front steps, staring intently at the horizon.

 

“Hey, Wolfie,” he taunted, “Giving up so easily?”

 

Wolf spoke without turning, focusing his eyes on something he could hear, but not yet see.

“I don’t know if it’s enough,” he muttered. “You built it strong enough to hold me out, but I don’t know if it’ll withstand . . . them.”

 

“Who?” asked the pig. “Who are you talking about?”

 

Wolf sighed, leaning forward, and it was only then that Practical, the smartest of the pigs, noticed the signs of the animal’s age, the grey in his fur, the furrows around his eyes and jaw.

 

Wolf caughed, spat, and leaned forward, a dull glow in his eyes. “You pigs have never bothered to really learn about us, or try to understand us, have you?”

 

“What’s to understand?” Practical asked. “You’re the Big, Bad Wolf.”

 

Wolf chuckled slightly. “Big? Well, bigger than you, yes I am,” he said. “Bad . . . well the whole concept of Good and Bad is relative to the situation.” He scratched his jaw. “Wolf, yes I am, and will continue to be, for at least the next few hours.”

 

“Huh?” the pig asked, “You’re not making much sense here.”

 

“Tell me something,” Wolf asked, “What do wolves eat?”

 

“Little Pigs!” Practical replied without hesitating.

 

“Who told you that nonsense?” Wolf asked.

 

“Uhhhh.... I can’t quite remember, but I know it’s true.” said the pig.

 

Wolf shook his head, scratched his jowls again, and muttered something underneath his breath.

 

“What was that?” asked Practical, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

 

“Idiots,” repeated the wolf, “all of you . . . idiots.”

 

“Huh?” asked the pig.

 

Again the wolf raised his head, staring at the horizon. “Mice, mostly. We eat rodents. Rats, voles, squirrels, rabbits, and the sick or elderly of species as large as us or larger. We haven’t taken down a pig in over seven moons; they’re usually too tough, and they’re good for the forest. Help keep the underbrush clear.”

 

“Uh . . . yeah . . . riiiiiiiight.” the pig said, incredulously.

 

“I’m serious,” said the wolf, his voice flat and expressionless. “Everything was going along just fine until a few generations ago, when one of ours went crazy during mating season and took a prime doe . . . trying to impress the Beta Female of his pack, I think.”

 

“What?” said the pig, “I don’t understand?”

 

“Well,” said the wolf, “this young hotshot slew a prime doe, good stock, hadn’t even been mated yet, trying to prove his hunting ability. The Alpha Buck of that herd ‘bout went crazy, and told a few other herds to avoid us - that we’d gone loco. That was how it started.”

 

“How what started?” asked the pig.

 

“The bad reputation,” grumbled the wolf. “The story kept changing, and growing, and getting worse and worse, until finally we were being driven off, and hunted on sight.”

 

“Serves you right,” snipped Practical, with righteous indignation.

 

“Doomed us all,” muttered the wolf, with a haunted look in his eye.

 

The pig paused to think. “Doomed?” he asked, “What do you mean ‘Doomed’?”

 

Wolf rose uneasily to his feet, and turned to face the window that the pig peered out of. He smiled, a wan, regretful smile, and said “Doomed. All of us. Wolves, pigs, swans, otters, everything that walks, swims, crawls, or flies is doomed.”

 

“When they started to hunt us like outlaws, calling us killers, there were very few who could pick up the slack in our hunting duties. Owl and Eagle tried to help, and Cat did a bit here & there, but you fools had already labeled Cats as being bad magic, and their resentment made them grow lazy.”

 

Practical’s eyes focused on the wolf’s, a glimmer of realization coming.

 

“There are too few of us left to fight them,” Wolf sighed. “I am the last of my pack, and I came here to warn you that your dwellings weren’t secure against them. They’ve already decimated Beaver, Swan was forced to retreat. Otter has an uneasy truce with them, since they’re distant cousins of his, but it’s hard to tell how long that will last.”

 

The wolf cast an uneasy glance toward the horizon. “They’re too close already,” said Wolf. “For the last time, I ask, Will You Let Me In?”

 

Practical shook his head. “You’re lying to me. I KNOW it. The moment I open this door, you’ll gobble me up.”

 

Wolf sighed, and bowed his head. “And one foolish murder, and one wild rumor, become enough to destroy an eternity of truth.” He trotted a few steps into the yard. “Very well,” he said, setting his shoulders, “It ends here, for me.”

 

Wolf turned his gaze back to the meadow, where the green was slowly being obscured by a carpet of grey and brown. A writhing mass of small fur, eyes, and tiny sharp teeth. “Your house held against me,” Wolf called, without looking back. “I pray, for your sake, it will hold against the mice and rats for the night.”

 

Practical turned his back to the wall and slowly sank to the floor, staring through the doorway at his two brothers who still watched the kettle over the fire, kneading their hands in anticipation. They never heard Wolf’s final defiant howl, so close to their door. They never saw Practical sitting there, eyes squeezed hard shut against the tears, or noticed the sweat forming on his brow as he sat there, listening to the sounds of a thousand tiny claws and teeth, slowly gnawing at the shutters, the doors, the timbers of the fine brick house he had built to protect them from the wrong enemy.

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