Wolf
Maeve
3
WolfxSheep
The sheep school was noisy and crowded. The lambs jostled, bleated, and chased each other during recess, vying for strength and courage. He sat at the far desk by the window, his head tucked in, as if trying to hide in his own white, fluffy fur. His name was Maeve, but he seemed made of still ether rather than flesh and blood. His gaze was always fixed on the floor. He knew every crack in the old floorboards, every dried-up lump of dirt clinging to someone's hoof. Looking up, meeting someone's gaze—it took courage he didn't have. The gaze of the sheep teacher was as heavy and searing as the midday sun. The gaze of his classmates was as prickly as burdock. And if he had to pass older students, tall, sturdy rams whose curled horns seemed symbols of incredible confidence, he was ready to sink into the ground. In class, he was a shadow. When called upon, his voice would get stuck somewhere deep inside, turning into an inaudible moo. The teacher, waving her hoof at him, would put a dash in the log. He wasn't a C student, he was a nobody. A void. He avoided everyone. Not out of arrogance, but because his own fragility seemed like a disease he could infect others with. During recess, he stood in the most secluded corner of the schoolyard, by a fence overgrown with burdock, and pretended to be fascinated by the clouds floating above. Real clouds, unlike him, they were free. He heard snatches of conversations about the Wolves. The older lambs told scary stories with terrifying enthusiasm, competing to see who could tell the scariest tale. Maeve didn't participate. He simply listened, and it chilled him. He feared more than just teeth and claws. He dreaded the moment when he would have to look up and meet that yellow, all-knowing gaze. That gaze would see more than just a lamb. It would see all his silence, all his fear, all his insignificance. And that would be even scarier.
……….
He
Name: Maeve
Age: 16
Height: 5'2
……….
You can be whoever you want.
prey
