Wolfwalkers Artwork Novels & Stories

Sometimes curveballs turn into homeruns. I found a painting in the attic of Brookstone and promptly hung it over the fireplace. It’s the portrait of a woman wearing a long red cloak with several wolves behind her in the forest. The woman looks a lot like me. Call her what you want, Little Red Riding Hood, Scarlet Nightingale, or Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma. She was a lot of things, but just like me, she was, most of all, a Mage of Wolves, and there’s nothing else I’d rather be.

Michael Whitlock POV; Spirit walkers are powerful among other wolf packs. This is one of the first things that they learn at a young age, and as they grow older it becomes more common. They could destroy entire armies in the blink of an eye and still stand proudly, as if they were never even in the field to begin with. They are not only strong but also smart; they are very well trained and have excellent senses. They can sense a person' location from miles away. There is something else they can do which is much more dangerous to humanoids.

' I tore a strip of paper from my notebook and used it as a bookmark. I read the next few stories, then closed the book. I walked over to sit on the couch. I leaned my head back and I dozed off. I dreamed about Astra, the wolf in Child of Stars. The story didn't describe how she looked, but I envisioned her being a beautiful golden sable with bright blue eyes. In my dream, her colors began to lighten and shift until she was the white silver of my wolf with my bright blue eyes and the three jet black scratch marks across her right eye.

Noah glanced towards the forest and shrugged, wandering off. *** Pascal's wolf form leapt, stretching his long arms and baring his claws. The Wizard of Owls shot thunderbolts at him, but Pascal teleported behind him and attacked him savagely. Boom! He crashed onto the ground, raising a cloud of dust and forming a crater. Pascal's wolf form teleported before him, panting heavily from his pointed snout. "This isn't the end," the Wizard of Owls grunted in Saxon. Pascal's wolf form moved at an extraordinary pace, standing over him menacingly.

They knew of Arcana Hills students' excellence, and I was certain they obviously argued about asking for the help of the daughter of a rogue. I went on with my presentation. The projector displayed visual images that had been captured during my research. It revealed sick wolves, with bloodshot eyes, hinting at their aggressive nature. "Over here," I started, "the first image is what everyone already knows, wolfsbane and silver, but here, the second image." Everyone looked closely to see a moving worm.

We went by a couple of rooms, then the living room, the fireplace, treasure room and yes, he even showed me just how many bathrooms can fit an entire house packed with werewolves can possibly have, which was thoughtful enough for him. And then we found ourselves standing in a large room surrounded by an abundance of paintings. For a moment I was astonished at how these art pieces were crafted exquisitely and with finesse. I couldn't quite take my eyes off one of the paintings of a partially naked woman, and a nightshade black wolf both covered with blood lying lifeless on the ground. Everything about it somehow brought out the sorrow in me, allowing me to symphatize with whoever the painter

My wolf savored seeing the number of wolves it had to kill, it was already craving the sweet smell of death but I stopped him and now they just walked towards him. The full moon cast an eerie glow over the woods, the air still. It was like the woods had realized the death that was going to descend on its abode. I prowled the shadows, senses on high alert. Suddenly, snarls echoed through the woods. They were trying to scare me or what? Bunch of fools! The rogue pack emerged, eyes glowing in the dark. The air was stained from their bad blood. The rogues attacked, a flurry of teeth and claws.

I could feel it, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against my skin. We stepped into a clearing, and my breath hitched. A vast wall, half-swallowed by creeping ivy, loomed before us. Murals. I moved closer, brushing away the leaves with trembling fingers. Time had chipped away at the paint, but the images remained hauntingly clear. A witch, her arms outstretched, her hair billowing like wildfire. A werewolf, his golden eyes alight with hunger. He knelt before her, hands clasped, devotion etched into his face.

My phone vibrated in my purse and I did not bother since I knew it would be Liam. Evangeline managed to get me interested in a conversation and it was about the art works. How her husband got them for her during an auction. She added that he liked art and I did not know when I rose to my feet to stare at a particular one. It was a Lycan Wolf. The eyes were of different colors; one was gold, the other looked red or blue. I narrowed my eyes on the image as I felt oddly attracted to the painting. The hairs around its neck appear to be totally different from that of the soft fur of a wolf. Even for a Lycan. There was a crescent moon attached to it forehead and a ring with ancient lycan writing a

Sophia rose from the squat position and walked to the bed and sat down. " Come on. " She stretched her hand , gesturing that Derek should come. After a while of delay, the wolf walked to her and climbed the bed. Then, he lay on the bed with his head on Sophia's laps . " Is he not going to return to his normal form?" Vieira asked with curiosity in his tone. The healer smiled. " This too is a part of his normal form. But let's see what will happen. "