Eye of the Beholder [Sabire]

[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] Bathsheba struggled with her romance of the glory days. Like all other romances, she was blinded to the present and making love to the past. Like a poor-guided lover, she chased what she believed to be some keen need to relive her history until she lived in her history. She saw everything with rose-lenses as she gazed through that tinted light with a faint love, love, love huffed under her breath. What had she unearthed? Nothing but that which always was. And the truth of the matter was that it didn’t matter how long she dug at her memories, all that would come up was some mottled fossil, never a live specimen. Sabire had disappointed the great Empress at the last pack meeting. Even disgusted her with such a blatant disrespect, but Bathsheba already shrugged the thought of it away. Her pack probably saw this as a failure in judgment, but Sheba stood by her gut feeling as if it was the gospel truth. She moved heavily, always a ponderous and plodding gait. She moved with more effort than even a female in labor, as if she was constantly birthing a creature named dread that bit her hocks. The massive frame twisted solidly with each movement, bending like a mountain bends. The lake was froze over, but Sabire had a desire for Sheba that even the Empress couldn’t understand. It was one to look better. More feminine. Sheba snorted. More feminine… There was a definition of that in every female’s mind. Sheba had conjured images of some prissy lithe female with herself surrounded by a herd of males but no pups. Puppies weren’t feminine because when a female had pups, her hips got round, her stomach got sore, and her mind shifted to be all about the little young ones rather than some ill conceived cosmic beauty contest. The female lumbered her way along Trinket Lake. Her head dipped lower and lower as her eyes strayed to the hefty reflection that seemed larger than life. It followed her like some nagging thought. Her reflection brought everything home. Sheba stopped. “I am… Bathsheba.” And she lifted her chin before a rickety howl erupted from her muzzle. It was worn as she was. And she called for her advisor to hurry to Trinket Lake.

[branded]

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[atrb=background,http://i437.photobucket.com/albums/qq94/NuckyGirl/wolfeh-9.png] Sabire had been sulking in a small, dark copse that rested on the lip of the lake’s edge, directly across from where Bathsheba was standing. When she heard the summons, the silver Cael could not help but recognize the note of weariness in the shaky call. It echoed around the lake, bouncing amongst the trees, being thrown back by the mountains. Her ears full of the Empress’s voice, Sabire made her way along the muddy bank, her steps light and delicate. A female had to keep appearances up, after all, whether they truly felt gay or not. “Empress Bathsheba,” she said as soon as she spotted the shapeless hump against the backdrop of blue sky. “Your advisor is here at your command. How may I serve you?” With a flourish, she lowered herself on three knees and bowed her head to the ground. Oh, how she was enjoying this. Then she stood up and sat down on her haunches, curling her long tail over her forepaws. Perhaps she was to get a promotion?

[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] Sheba growled. Sabire was actually going to make her beg for this? The Empress turned away angrily and fought her irritation before she finally just gave up. A sigh escaped her. It was one that floated up and up and mocked the fat wolf with every inch of its ascension. She turned around and said, “God! Do I have to say it! Is this some joke! You are the one who said I was some fat, broken, caterpillar whore!” And Sheba seemed shattered as she let her emotions erupt from her normally lazy attitude. Usually, she just went with the flow. Usually, she just didn’t care what she looked like. But she felt that her Anthony was sickened by her body now, with its multiple rolls of fat and with her broken, crooked horns as well as the fact that her foot wouldn’t heal right thanks to the way she made herself. Sheba then sighed again. “You know what? You know what? Why don’t you just stop standing there all prissy and just tell me what to do. I’m not giving you a promotion and you aren’t higher than me. I need advice.” Sheba let a pause come between them. “That’s it.” And then, she seemed hot as if on fire. She kept tossing her gaze behind her. She kept looking around, as if she believed that Anthony, whom she left at her den, was coming out to watch her fail. She knew that the entire time, he watched her go from a lithe and powerful warrior to some lazy, slothlike cow. And that was what tormented her. And finally, with the advisor Sabire, she had to face the truth. Every female was prettier than she and the Empress knew it. The massive female looked upon the small, dainty one. Her voice was steady now, her mind more steady, though it was starting to fray at the edges. “I’m not a caterpillar. I’m just a worn butterfly.” And she lowered her head as well as her self-esteem.

[branded]

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[atrb=background,http://i437.photobucket.com/albums/qq94/NuckyGirl/wolfeh-9.png] Throughout the whole rant, Sabire had remained silent, which was very unlike her. She stood stonily by as each word cut her like a knife, each wound gaping and fresh with pain. Tears of pity stung her eyes. "My dear Empress, you may be a worn butterfly, but you have at last faced the truth." A silver drop cascaded down her cheek. "So you have finally decided to undergo your metamorphosis. Ah, such a happy day! Now I can add another beauty to this world--make the world all the more beautiful!" She seemed to squirm under Bathsheba's expectant gaze, squirm with joy, that is. "Let's begin." With a dainty paw she swept away the tears, her expression solemn. Her face looked long and drawn in the light of the morning. "We have to do something about all that hair." She turned a critical eye on the mammoth Yagi, her pretty face pinched as she concentrated. Her eyes roamed across the breadth of the Empress, from tail to horn tip, as if stripping her down--somehow sifting through the mess and unearthing the beautiful butterfly that once was. She sagged dramatically. "It can be done. I'll use my claws to cut your hair. We must have someone file your claws and sand your horns. But the most challenging obstacle is your weight." She gestured toward the Empress's jutting potbelly with a lazy paw. "Will you go through with this, Empress? The quest to beauty is a hard one."

[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] Truth. That word. Sheba merely growled quietly as Sabire looked over her. Judging eyes. Oh, how she missed when Anthony didn’t have those judging eyes. She missed when all he had was a loving gaze and kiss her every morning when she got home from the hunt. When he didn’t care how many extra pounds bubbled under her hide until she looked more like a monster than a Yagi. And when he didn’t care, she loved him. But then again, the fact remained that the reason why she saw that Anthony’s eyes accused her was because she could only focus on her faults—a horrible truth… that word again… that Sabire had brought to the relentless light. The reason why Anthony didn’t gaze upon Bathsheba with loving eyes was because she could not do that any longer. When the only thing she could hear about herself was how disgusting she looked, it was hard to call herself beautiful. And so, she did the only thing a lazy wolf could do, she merely shrugged. However, it took every ounce of strength for her to follow up with a definite, “Okay.” And the Empress resigned the responsibility of her appearance to her advisor. Beautify me. And Sheba never thought she’d ever think that. But here she was and there she thought. Such a funny way life can bite you in the rump and run along your flank before filleting you open. Such a funny thing to note that she’d have to feel destroyed before she could feel renewed. And so, beautify me simply meant. Kill me now.

[branded]

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[atrb=background,http://i437.photobucket.com/albums/qq94/NuckyGirl/wolfeh-9.png] ”Okay.” The word dropped from the Empress’s lips like stones. Sabire felt a pang of annoyance. The Empress was submitting to her, turning over her body and placing herself in her hands, but she did not feel any more superior. Rather the opposite: she felt totally inferior. She was beautiful, graceful, feminine, and had a voice that could charm the stars out of the night sky, but she did not dominate—she did not rule. Her thoughts and opinions held no gravity. Her words were nothing, as empty as air and just as easy to dismiss with a simple shrug or the right look, yet the grotesque, green, fat Empress could utter a mere word and change the course of everything. “Okay?” she repeated dumbly. “Okay?” For a second, she seemed about to explode into a rage and run rampant, her face flushed an unsightly red. But eventually, she regained control and shrank back into the snow, staring up at the Empress meekly. She was the picture of innocence once again. “Yes, let’s begin. Be a dear and turn around for me, please. I shall start with that messy tangle of mud and twigs that you call hair.” She raised her claws and struck the frozen ground twice, cutting neatly into the ice to test their sharpness. She grunted her satisfaction and turned towards Bathsheba.

[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] She turned around slowly, with the lumbering laziness she always moved in. Bathsheba gave timid eye as she watched the sharp claws being tested for their sharpness. Gashes were drawn upon the ground and the Empress could just imagine the earth crying and dark blood oozing from the new wound set by Sabire’s claws. Her orangey eyes, rust colored, watched with dire attention. And the blood kept flowing until the land was filled with the blood of nightmares. The Empress shook her head. All things returned to normal. And even the sky went from a foreboding hue to one of purity. Sheba seemed momentarily confused before she raised a steady gaze to Sabire. Her eyes looked menacing as they gleamed from behind her dirty veil of green hair. “Be gentle.” Her command was given in a motherly tone, firm but one could tell it wasn’t in threat. Her blazing eyes were ready to flare at the first touch of claw against skin. And Sheba’s potbelly rolled between her legs. The leader noticed this, and, out of necessity, leaned forward and bowed her head down. Her head was reached out and she was in the perfect position to be killed. Neck outstretched and low and without the balance or agility to defend herself. But she trusted Sabire. She was, after all, an advisor to the Empress. There was just something about this Cael that attracted Sheba to her. And that was all Sheba needed to rank someone… A whim.

[branded]

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[atrb=background,http://i437.photobucket.com/albums/qq94/NuckyGirl/wolfeh-9.png] Without hesitation, she dug her claws into the chaotic mayhem of hair, and debris, and only the Great Spirit knows what else. She grimaced. It was going to be grueling work. She started with the bird’s nest that sat atop the Empress’s great head. The fur seemed to grow like weeds there, mingling green and brown shoots jutting forth from the skin—an overgrown forest choking the very soil that nourished it. She suppressed an involuntary shudder and rolled her eyes. If she were to back down now, what would the Empress say? Scold her, that was what. Reprimand her for her cowardice with that nauseating motherly tone of hers that the Empress seemed keen to adopt when addressing her. Like a spoiled puppy that didn’t know any better. With great effort, she fought down her anger and plunged her small paw into the monstrous mass of fur. In great sweeps of the arm, she valiantly felled the forest. The hair fell away like wood to metal. It felt good to play god for once, stress-relieving. Sabire focused her anger and channeled all her energies into the strokes of her claws. Before long, she had fallen to a quick, evenly paced rhythm. Arc. Sweep. Cut. Arc. Sweep. Cut. Bit by bit, the fur was cropped away, leaving behind fresh fields of pleasant greens and browns. When she was finished with the Empress’s face, she moved on to the neck where the fur ran thickest, and later to the hindquarters and legs. As she shaved, she hummed softly to herself, her lilting voice adding a subtle urgency to the tempo of her strokes.

[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] Sabire wasn’t slow to get to work. Sheba nervously felt the shearing of the furs that she had accumulated over the years. Every cut that Sabire made had Sheba thinking of her old appearance, and, quite naturally her old life. Story flowed from her tongue as easily as breathing. In fact, the way she spoke could have one believe that she didn’t know she was talking aloud. It ran together as smoothly as thought. The fur that hung over her face was quickly cropped and it revealed the face that Anthony had fallen in love with. Intense eyes, rust colored, but oh, so bright. And her profile was wedged shaped muzzle with bright fangs protruding from her mouth like happy twin daggers. Her dark nose was beautifully contrasted with her bright greens—seemingly her colors were renewed as dead hairs were cut to reveal the healthy colors underneath. “I was a mother once.” The statement was dry, almost as if she was still a mother and her pups were grown. Not a hint of emotion carried in her voice. “I’d like to be a mother again…” Her eyes drifted shut and she remembered. She didn’t go any further because she didn’t want to go down that memory lane. “Did I tell you when I met Anthony? He fathered my pups. The first day we met. I can remember him as a pup. My mother and my father were friends with his mother and father. According to my mother, his father was humanely killed. He was found in the battlefield. It was seven days after the battle ended. He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t see. He could only plead that this wasn’t hell. He was broken. And I remember that Anthony was a sad little pup. You know what I said to him? I still regret it. I told him that I was better than he because the Great Spirit favored me. He was angry with me until… we were both of age. We were both in training for the wars and we noticed each other.” Sheba smiled and her expression was lovely. It was easy to see why Anthony fell in love with her when she smiled. “He told me, when we were shoulder to shoulder, ranked in line, ready for orders. He leaned over, whispered. ‘Ha, you were wrong.’ And he planted a lick on my cheek. I remember wobbling where I stood. I almost broke rank. I asked what I was wrong about. He told me, ‘you weren’t the lucky one.’ It took me awhile to know what he was talking about. He must have seen the shame in my eyes before he whispered, ‘I am… to have you.’ I kissed him back.” Sheba’s smile warmed. Sabire finished up the furs and Bathsheba stirred to her feet and ended her story. The effect was certainly slimming, but she still looked overweight and it was a bit easier to see where her bulges were. However, the look of her was brighter. And overall, Sheba looked happy. Her expression was of pure joy and she turned around, looking at all the dull hairs that were on the ground. “I need to see.” And she lumbered to the iced pond. To see herself. She merely caught a small sight of her new face. “How have I stepped backwards?” And she leaned into the water, closer and closer until her nose was pressed against the ice. Her reflection was frosty, but the difference was clear. “Will Anthony love me?” And she saw Anthony by her side, nuzzling her all along her flank, up her neck, then along her muzzle until they matched to a kiss. Sheba licked the ice softly and then lifted her head above the ice, studying the reflections that she saw. And she noticed something as this hallucinated Anthony stared at her. He tilted his head to the extreme right, kept tilting it until he broke his neck and the sky bled out. He melted in her sights and the only thing in the reflection was Bathsheba and the sky. Bathsheba and the sky were the only things in the reflection. Sheba let out a cry and wiped a paw across her eyes. She was crying, but she saw blood. Her eyes were wide and she looked to Sabire. Again, with a sharp clarity, the world jolted back to normalcy, just enough for Sheba to realize she had been dreaming. It’s nothing…

[branded]

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[atrb=background,http://i437.photobucket.com/albums/qq94/NuckyGirl/wolfeh-9.png] When she finished clipping, she had to immediately step aside to let the Empress pass and avoid getting run over. She narrowly evaded being trampled to death by the she-wolf’s gargantuan paws, however, as she had stopped mid-step to admire her handiwork. What she saw made her stare. Bathsheba was a rather good-looking wolf. Her earlier testimonies had been based on truth, and were not the usual ramblings of a middle-aged woman looking fondly upon her past with rose-tinted lenses. The sight hit Sabire particularly hard, and a bittersweet sensation curdled in the pit of her stomach. And this was just the beginning, she thought. Slowly, she was unearthing the butterfly that used to be and would soon be. Stroke by stroke, she had shaved away the tangled fur and grit with the ease of a veteran barber, and had carefully revealed the beautiful wings for the whole world to see. They were moist and young again, but they were still brightly eager to take flight—a mature beauty. She let allowed herself a tiny smile, and blatantly ignored the Empress's lapse of insanity. But then the Empress took up a cry so filled with longing and frustration that her smile faltered. “You hate my haircut that badly?" She was frowning now, entirely disapproving. "Darling, can't you see the fabulous layers that I have sheared into your fur? And how I have erased those nasty, overgrown bangs?" She trembled in place for a moment as rage threatened to overtake her again. "Now... for the nails and horns," she sang out in an icy chill. Her eyes were narrowed into thin slits, but the anger still burned through. "Darling, I shall also use my claws for this one. Did you know that a Cael’s claws are made out of scales? So much more durable, and just the right texture for sanding if I place it just so. Lift your forepaw, dearie. Attagirl.”