Waerwulfas, Rae and Roland

I am in a truck stop in Alliance, Nebraska, using a trucker's laptop. He did not agree when I first asked him if I could use his computer. But, when I said I need to check my porn site, he gave a knowing sneer and agreed. It is hard getting computer access when  you are a dog on the road.

I just spent the last nearly 3 weeks in the badlands of South Dakota and in the hills just to the northwest of Ft. Robinson and Crawford, Nebraska, with 2 different werods. A "werod" is a troop or pack or werefolk which has some sort of mission or purpose.

Been sleeping outside a lot lately. Been chilly. I was amongst wolves and dogs, werefolk and non. How I got here is a bit of a long story. I'll try to be brief.

I said goodbye to Dionna. It gets harder each time. We had several real good days together. 

At a rest stop outside of Byers, Colorado, off I-70. I stopped to drain the crank. I was on my way back home, to KC. Had I known I was being tracked by waelwulfas I might have chosen a different route. 

I heard the door open of the restroom, and sensed the group of them come in, one after another, the file of them. The door was a long spell open. I was in human form. I had rented a car. My hackles went up. 

They came in and surrounded me.

"Who are you?" I said. "What do you want?"

They all snarled with their mouths closed, that snarl from the back of the throat that few dogs and men can do. "We have been sent for you," said the largest.

Waerwulfas. Shit. I'm screwed, I thought. 

I woke up in a trunk. It was black, no light. I was sore from the fight. I hoped I at least got some licks in of my own.

It was not that long after that the vehicle stopped and I heard fighting outside, weapons fire, snarling, howls, claw and tooth slashing through air and skin. Yes, my hearing is acute enough to hear claws through wind. 

There was an enormous blast. Then it was quiet. Then the trunk came open and a female weredog was telling me, "Come on! Hurry!"

They were Rae, a dog, and Roland, a wolf. I rode with them in a '98 beat-up Bronco all the way to Cheyene. They played a lot of Warren Zevon and Johnny Cash. They let me drive, but would not tell me where we were going. "Just drive," Roland told me. Rae could only sleep if she changed to her dog form. She slept on her back, in the backseat, wrapped up in jackets and wool blankets.  

In  Cheyenne I was passed off to Willa and Gart. We continued east.

"Will you tell me when we get there?" I asked Roland when we were somewhere between Cheyenne and Casper. He smiled. "Sure."

I was taken to the Badlands, in the southwest corner of South Dakota, to a werod of werewolves or weredogs readying for war. I spent my time there talking and discussing, everything.

"You need to find your hildelayoth," one weredog told me one morning. I asked him what that is. He only said that having your hildelayoth is the only way to stave off the morgancollon, the morning terror.

I left the Badlands and was led to the werod northwest of Ft. Robinson. More talks, discussions, questions.  

I may never get home, back to Jack, Sherry, and the boys. To think that I passed right through KC 3 weeks ago, less than fifteen miles away from home.

But, right now I am on my way home. No telling if I will get there. 

Did I mention that it is hard staying connected as a dog on the road?  I have not even seen this blog since Denver.