Short Story The Moon Wolf English Literature Essay

Short tarradiddle The Moon Wolf English Literature EssayThe moon was travel slowly tipping its rays across the surface of the land. The white thread like runnels spun coin cords blanketing the fields. Unusual for this time of year a chilly hustle had begun to blow across from the marshlands. It wafted up from the deep, ebbing pits wallowing with the scents of seaweed, fish and the pungent mephitis of tepid water.This aint right John thought to himself as he stood unspoken sentry to his familys farm. He was alone. Not a nonher human soul lived on Drumna hill, just John and his dad and his brother both of whom had gone to the village. His give had passed away when John was twelve.Even to this day he could still mean it. The moon had been full that night too. The wind had been strangely chilly and the being had been eerily quiet, on that night almost eight years ago.He had woken up, unusual for him since he was such a sound sleeper, he had woken up with an uneasy feeling in his heart. It had been pounding, each pulse resounding, ricocheting against the inner house of his heart.He had been thirsty, parched in fact like he hadnt rum in days, even though he had followed his routine exactly. He had washed up straight after dinner, he had kissed his parents goodnight, and his brother had ruffled his pilus in the fond way only Declan could. Then he had sit beside his bed and said his nightly prayers. His father had brought his glass of water, and he one-half emptied it before he climbed into bed.Goodnight John his dad had said.Then for no undercoat at all he had woken up. He sat up in bed, blinking away his sleep in the darkness. He stretched out his throw to feel his bed cloths, the rough and comforting familiarities, he gently pushed them aside. tingle he extracted himself from bed. Why did he suddenly feel so cold, had it not been the middle of spring just this morning?It is a wonder he had thought, how the dark transforms the world. All around him his old bedroom looked like a strangers cavern. The deep grained wood that formed the walls looked like tiny dry streams forming map-like patterns on his walls. He ran his hand along them, feeling his way to the door.Suddenly he had stopped he remembered why he had woken up. He had heard the funny call of a wolf. His blood had run cold in his be and had already drained from his face. He was being watched. With a sudden flush of energy he turned around. No one was at that place. He pivoted on the spot checking e very crevice of his room with frantic eyes.The fear welling up in him lent him the feral instincts of an animal. Suddenly the swirling darkness parted and he could make out each shape clear and minute. Something in him convey him to the window. He did not know what but some how he had an cryptical urge to look outside.He cautiously stepped closer to the curtains, gently part the only shroud hiding him from that which lay outside.For a moment there was nothing, just the fie lds stretching to the edges of the wood. The forest acted like a internal fence, separating the world of man from the world of beasts.Then, it caught his eyes. Standing at the very band directly across from his window, was the wolf.The majestic creature stood half in shadow half bathing in the moonlight. The one Cy light bounced of his coat, gleaming, like the very light radiated from him. All around it the world looked like it was bathed in snow, snow in the spring.Despite this the one thing that fixated Johns attention were the wolfs eyes. Those eyes burn down and flickered like flames in a face as pure as snow. They were not bestial, on the contrary they were solemn, with the far away gaze of a philosopher lining the deep embers. But now, now they gazed into Johns eyes. There was no dubiousness about it. The wolf was there only to tell John something.