Roxanne Wolf Drawing Novels & Stories

Sally's POV Ryan sketched out what he envisioned on B5-sized sketch paper. To use a cliché, he drew a large, menacing wolf on all fours standing before a helpless girl, who he depicted as looking scared. I admit he's not bad at drawing. Funny enough, though, I had the same idea, except the wolf looked like he was protecting the girl from all the world's harm. The wolf in my vision had a gentle look in its eyes as if it was trying to tell her that it would always be there for her and that the wolf belonged to her.

I gestured to my office. What he showed me was raw genius—charcoal drawings of pack life that captured something essential and true. Wolves mid-shift, the exact moment between human and animal. Ceremonies rendered in intricate detail. Portraits of pack members that somehow showed both their human faces and the wolf beneath. "Daniel, these are incredible," I breathed, examining a drawing of a pack run—dozens of wolves rendered so precisely I could identify individuals. "How long have you been drawing?" "Since I was a kid. It's the only thing that helps when my wolf gets restless." He shifted uncomfortably. "I know they're probably not good enough for a real gallery—"

In the end, I think they turned out great. Not that I knew what the others were for but there was also a frog on a log, a humming bird and a fat Cardinal. The very last one I was drawing was for Arlo. He got those picture for us, or more for me. It was of a wolf. It’s head was downward with his teeth showing. The hair was standing straight up with a human skull under it’s paw. There wasn’t any flesh on it, just the bones. Originally, I was going to make it a dead rabbit or something but this seemed appropriate. Keeping this one black and white, kept some of the mystery alive. “Charlotte??” Waylon yelled as he was coming in.

Then she walked to the chair across from my desk and climbed into it and settled. I waited. “Peri said you know things.” She said. “What kind of things.” “Wolf things.” She opened the sketchbook on her lap. “I have questions.” I set my pen down. “Okay.” She looked at her drawings, flipping through pages with the seriousness of someone consulting notes. The drawings were rough the way children’s drawings were rough but there was something in them, a quality of observation, she’d drawn the wolves from specific angles that suggested she’d looked at them carefully rather than just looking.

It had never been as unbearable as it was right now. "Alpha Krause," the doctor greeted us happily. He was an old wolf who had been around long enough he delivered me from my mother. His hair was salt and pepper looking. He stood with a slight hunch from years of service. The kind hazel eyes he had were slightly faded with age and reflected off his lightly tanned skin. He gave me a small head bow in respect. It wasn't uncommon for an Alpha to not like his Luna speaking to other male wolves no matter their pack position. The gesture showing his age even more.

Even his mannerisms sometimes shocked me, seeing her in the things he did. “Dad! Look!” I leaned over, both of them putting their drawings on the desk. Smiling, I saw what clearly was a 4 year old’s drawing. Though Zain’s was far more understandable than Xander’s. “Is that a grey wolf?” They both nodded furiously. “The one that plays with us in the clearing.” “Sometimes he comes and lets us climb on him.” My eyes narrowed. We didn’t have any white or grey wolves in the territory. Not even my father showed his age in his wolf, still being his rust brown with maybe a sprinkling of grey around the muzzle and ears. I wondered where they got the idea for a grey wolf.

A dusty cloth covered one of the canvases, drawing my curiosity. I pulled the cloth and the image of a crimson wolf stared back at me. It was life-like. Its crimson eyes burned with a fierce fire and it was as if I could feel the heat from where I was. “An original crimson,” I muttered, my brows furrowing. My mom’s imagination was wide and vast, but they all had a source and purpose. Why would she draw an original crimson? I shifted the painting aside, checking others behind it and the painting of Pyra stared back at me. Her fiery hair blew against an imaginary wind, exposing her delicate features and giving her a fierce look. One almost similar to the crimson wolf painting I just saw.

He knew what she was doing and he wouldn’t fall for it. As he continued fighting seeing he was winning, Veyra injured sent another signal. A massive rogue wolf approached not long after with blood drooling all over his fur, The Rocue was as Big as an Alpha wolf but hoi sfur was black with spots of rot but strangely it looked health.

I squint at the bright orange crayon lines. ”Is this… a wolf? Or is it a giant, terrifying squirrel with a severe underbite?” ”It’s an alpha werewolf protecting his territory, Aiden, thank you very much!” Julie huffs, jumping up on her tiptoes, trying to swat the drawing out of my hand. ”I was eight years old! And look, I even gave him a little crown because he was the king of the woods!” She tries to explain. ”He looks like he’s having a profound existential crisis…” I howl with laughter, staring at the drawing of the wolf running on all fours with jagged teeth and giant, buggy eyes.

The werewolf came, its feet hitting the ground mercilessly as its hands joined in its movement. It broke out from the woods, tearing off the leaves of the trees with less effort, and growling at the sight of the man. “You can't take anyone from my family.!” Mark grinned as he shifted under the bright moonlight. His bones cracked, and his skin stretched beyond its limits, tearing to become as tough as that of a wolf. He growled at the phantom, just as the phantom growled at him. Like two behemoths, they collided, and the green grasses on the ground fell victim to their battle.