Dog On A Rope

17 - Big Dirty Secrets

Why had he murdered her? It was done in cold blood. Panicked, Afore's mind twirled, aching, like a tornado. The moon was low on the horizon, shrouded by dozens of trees and only appearing as bubbling white slivers. On the opposite side, a dark purple had begun to bloom from the ground. The sign of an early rising sun.

Then, Afore panicked with this new realisation, hyperventilating. Pain creased his lungs, ribs, and jaws. What could he do? Laika would never forgive him. How could he get rid of her body? No, he shouldn't get rid of her body. That would be lying, and disrespectful, too.

Well, wouldn't it be even more disrespectful to just leave her lying there in her own congealed blood? Wouldn't it be disrespectful to not bury her? Yes, yes it would, Afore reasoned silently, forcing his shaking body to slow and his lungs to breath. He forced calm and collected, although not well, and trembled as he stood there.

And the cutting stone. It laid gleaming not too far away in some leaves, intact and available. He could set this right, right now, right then, he could cut the rope. The very thing they'd been after all this time: a way to cut that stupid, cursed rope! And yet, staring at it, Afore's vision grew blurry.

No, he decided. We can't cut this rope with that stone. That would be disrespectful. We have to cut it the right way, by trading for a cutting stone! Not killing for one! Afore shook his head and thick coat, as if trying to shake off the buzzing nerves and the deafening roar in his ears. His breathing kept unsteady, and every pawstep ached his joints, as if his joints were weakened and he could hardly stand on them. Every stance, every movement seemed to shake his every being.

Perhaps it was the faded hot adrenaline and confidence, now steaming out into a burdened grief, pity, guilt, and disbelief. These emotions seemed to twist him, inside and out, seemed to chew him up and spit him out again. His head throbbed, his stomach queasy and churning like he was going to be sick. His shoulders were heavy, back sore. A thin line of bloodied drool hung from his lower lip.

Outside of the dense forest, the sun was just beginning to rise and grant the early morning with light. Then came the ignited oranges, pinks, and purples of dawn as the moon's glint faded away and the stars disappeared. Time seemed to be running out for Afore, who was still high in his weighted grief and pounding panic. But his idea had already been spoken, and now, he swiftly put it into action. Despite his stiff joints and shoulders, and despite the ache in his spine, his forelegs spun with incredible speed and force both, digging dirt from the ground and tossing it behind him, away from Laika. He dug not a foot from her to her side, and kicked the loose dirt behind him into the woods where it was hidden and scattered over thick roots and loose leaves. His paws and legs ached, but he continued with fire and spit.

The dawn was just beginning to break as his dug-out widened. The forest flowed with yellow and orange, and the sun wavered to one side, low in the sky as the navy faded to purple. Afore's strong forelegs, chest, and face were smeared brown with cold dirt and mud. It was shallow, but it would do. Careful so as not to tug the rope too much, he almost tiptoed as he walked to the coyote's stiff corpse, now cooled, and pulled it by its scruff into the wide grave he had quickly dug. Every movement was stiff, cautious, and coordinated. He particularly placed every pawstep with gentility so as not to utter a single sound, and he cringed with anxiety as the heavy corpse groaned and drug with a loud shuffle as the wolf yanked it. But then, the heavy, small body of the coyote fell with a dull thud into the shallow burrow, and Afore just as quickly began to restock it with dirt, rocks, and mud. There was no hesitation, but there was a mere moment of considerable thought as the golden light gleamed against a white stone not far from him.

With quiet, lightly articulated steps, the wolf slowly walked, head low, to the cutting stone. He picked it up in his mouth, not giving it a single further thought for fear he'd change his mind, and walked just as carefully back to the gravesite he'd quickly made. There, he softly placed it in the fur of the coyote, and then swiftly went back to work, using his paws as gardening tools and effective shovels to kick and toss dirt back into the hole and over the coyote's body. The weight of the dirt soon flattened her once fluffy coat and hid the sharp gleam from the cutting stone.

With his ferocious speed and intensity, the dirt flying in a blur, it did not take long before the grave was covered. Then, he delicately rolled in the fresh, loose dirt, flattening and hardening it. He took the fallen leaves that surrounding him and Laika and placed them with gentleness over the gravesite, rendering it nearly invisible.

But there was one thing that he could not hide: the stench. Afore gnawed quietly on some sticks and wet, crunching leaves, hoping it would get rid of the dark stench that lingered across his muzzle and face. His roll in the dirt was enough to deter the scent from his hide; but he could not help but notice the dirt where the coyote had been killed and how it smelled so damn strongly of her and her blood. Afore thought fast and intelligently, gears turning in his head for only a second before a decision was made. He was under pressure as the sun's light filled the forest with melting gold and glittering dew began to form on every leaf and stem.

He kicked dirt, leaves, and twigs over the site where the coyote had been mercilessly killed. The scent was still there, but much less noticeable. Still, it was there, and that thought frightened him beyond all belief. It frightened Afore to even think that Laika may find out about his wrongdoing. Every hair on edge, he whipped his head one way then the other, searching the forest for an answer.

Then, he thought of one, and his face lit up, ears perked and eyes large. He walked to the burial site, hiked up a single rear leg, and marked. He winced a little at the loud trickling noise it made, but Afore knew that his urine would easily cover the hanging, heavy smell in the air. Then, the large wolf turned to the other side where Oona had died, and marked there, too. He was thorough.

To him, it felt like a heavy stone rolling in his stomach, to hide the colour and smell of blood with piss. But he couldn't deny how well it worked; the foul stench of blood was already evaporated, concealed by the earthy scent of fresh dirt and leaves, and the much more noticeable stench of primal wolf urine.

His fear and anxiety slowly but surely began to fade, but his guilt did not. The rattling of his heart slowed and calmed; his quaking joints became supportive once again; he licked the blood and spittle from his lips, as if wiping his paws of blood, and he became clean in all ways except for the uprooted dirt lining his legs. But he wasn't worried about that; the two canines had walked hard, long, and far for the previous several days. Laika was just as dirty and muddy and matted as he was. Both needed a good dip in the river by then. Afore smiled at the thought.

Afore could stand straight again, head tall again. The breeze was warmer this morning than it had been the previous morning. The incoming, fresh scents of early spring devoured him, and he exhaled in peace. The only thing that he could not shake was a lingering, weighted guilt in his chest. But that was no matter; all was well, and Laika was safe. That was the important thing.

Once he was done, he touched his nose to the freshly wet dirt, inhaling. All he could get was the earthy smell of dirt and the strong, lingering stench of wolf. Perfect.

After sniffing the ground to ensure all primal blood and coyote scent had been concealed, Afore was satisfied, and wandered and laid back down beside Laika, right where he belonged.