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sga_flashficTitle: Lone Wolf
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lanna_kitty
Pairing: none
Character: Ronon Dex
Rating: PG
wordcount: 1087
Warnings: AU. uhm Werewolves?
Spoilers: none
Notes: This wouldnt let me go until I wrote it down somehow. This is part of a partially written AU steampunk universe where there are Werewolves, Vampires and Mad Science. All you need to know is that Ronon is a werewolf.
Ronon lifted his head and breathed in the night air. The sweet scents sang to him of life beyond the confines of the Red Rocks village and the sweet Wolf's Blood flowers that kept his more primal side at bay. He'd lived here for some time now, but it still didn't smell quite like home.
Ronon shed his coat and hung his guns up. he would need neither tonight.
Outside, he could hear the whole tribe assembling to see the werewolf members of their clan off for the evening. The happy chatter reminded him of a time long ago. Ronon shed his pants and undergarmets as the moon insistently tugged at his soul. He replaced the clothing with a simple loincloth and stepped out into the cool air.
Greetings called out to him and he acknowledged his adoptive family with silent nods. His nose was filled with the scent of the wild and his soul longed to stretch the confining bounds of this weak body and run.
"Hey,"
Ronon looked over. A lanky man in a coat slouched on top of a barrel. His spiked hair stuck up in all directions and one leg lazily swing in the air. US. Marshal John Sheppard. They'd been assigned to be partners for only a few weeks now. Ronon had resented him at first; he'd been a loner for so long. Though he wouldn't admit it, Sheppard was growing on him.
"Hey," Ronon returned.
"Want company?" Sheppard asked.
Ronon smirked. "You couldn’t keep up," he told the other man.
Sheppard shrugged, acknowledging the truth. Sheppard wasn't a werewolf and few of Ronon's kind could keep pace with him. The Satedan tribal pack had been legendary for their stamina and speed and even among his own people, Ronon had been exceptional. It wasn't bragging, it was simply the truth.
"Thought I'd offer anyway," Sheppard drawled easily.
Ronon grunted. The wolf in him liked that the other man had offered, even if it was a token gesture. Werewolves were meant to belong to packs, his inner self whispered.
"Hey, we have an assignment along the border," Sheppard said. Ronon could see the seriousness in the other man's eyes, even in the low light. "Don't stay out too late," Sheppard advised with humor. Ronon nodded understanding and continued on with a smirk. John slid off the barrel and followed his partner toward the edge of the village
Ronon stood near the entrance and watched the full moon for a minute. A few Red Rocks ambled past, already having shifted. They trotted out a few yards beyond the heady scent of the Wolf's blood, then dropped to all fours and broke into loping runs.
Ronon wanted to join them, to run free. Ronon closed his eyes and stopped resisting the tug of the moon.
The sickening crack of bones breaking and reforming themselves into new patterns resounded even with the muted murmur of the village behind him. Ronon's body seemed to pulse as he doubled over, muscles contracting and writhing under his skin.
It looked much like Ronon's inner wolf was struggling to the surface, and maybe it was. Claws, bone, teeth and fur pushed against Ronon's skin. The wolf side finally broke through in a spurt of blood and unnamed fluids, shredding skin as it burst from within Ronon's skin. His hair and flesh dropped toward the ground, bursting into copper colored dust before dissolving into the aether.
Ronon shook out his brindle brown fur like a huge dog. He looked over his shoulder at Sheppard. Some humans were squeamish around werewolves. Sheppard remained unfazed. "Have fun!" he called with a small sardonic wave before turning back to the center of the village and the hot dinner for everyone not hunting their own meal this evening.
Ronon stepped across the edge of the village and the scents of the evening became sharper. As the others had done before him, he dropped from two feet to four and began to run.
Ronon remembered his homeland, his home tribe, his pack, his wife. As always he ran angrily at first. The ground was too rocky, too full of trees, too hilly. The Satedan packlands had had man more open, more flat. The scents here were wrong.
He launched himself over a small bounder and splashed through a shallow creek, kicking up water and disturbing the fish.
Ronon ran to remember and ran to forget.
They'd called him 'Runner'. He'd been one of the fastest, one of the strongest. His strength and speed had meant nothing the day his family and friends has been obliterated. Sheer luck had him across the border, out of the main blast. Everyone else had run away, but Ronon had run toward it. He'd shifted and been gone in less than a second after he'd heard. It hadn't mattered. Everything was gone.
Ronon surged ahead, running from the memories with a growl. He could feel the ghosts of the past on his heels.
He ran until the soothing cadence of his feet on the ground calmed his nerves. The damp ground was cool under the pads of his feet. The chill of night soothed the burning anger once more. The ghosts that pursued him faded into the moonlight. He slowed to a trot then stopped, rising to two feet once more.
His run had taken him to a high, rocky outcropping as it had the first time he'd shared the full moon with his adopted tribe. The Red Rocks of the Cheyenne Mountain were nice, but they weren't Satedan. Below, he could see the river snake across the world, shimmering in the moonlight. In the distance, his sharp eyes could just make out the lights of Washington City.
Ronon was a thousand miles from home. His soul cried for the land he'd grown up in, for vengeance, for his Melena. He lifted his head and howled, a wolf alone, sharing his grief with a foreign land.
He focused angry eyes towards the west. Sheppard had said that they would head out there. The Wraith who'd destroyed his home were there, and he growled in anticipation of killing as many of them as he could.
His snarl startled a deer which sprang from cover and raced down the mountain. The primal side of Ronon focused his attention sharply on the retreating creature. Ronon launched himself down the side of the hill and began to give chase. Tonight he would run under the moonlight alone. Tomorrow he and Sheppard would head out. With any luck, they'd find some Wraith to kill.
Author:
lanna_kittyPairing: none
Character: Ronon Dex
Rating: PG
wordcount: 1087
Warnings: AU. uhm Werewolves?
Spoilers: none
Notes: This wouldnt let me go until I wrote it down somehow. This is part of a partially written AU steampunk universe where there are Werewolves, Vampires and Mad Science. All you need to know is that Ronon is a werewolf.
Ronon lifted his head and breathed in the night air. The sweet scents sang to him of life beyond the confines of the Red Rocks village and the sweet Wolf's Blood flowers that kept his more primal side at bay. He'd lived here for some time now, but it still didn't smell quite like home.
Ronon shed his coat and hung his guns up. he would need neither tonight.
Outside, he could hear the whole tribe assembling to see the werewolf members of their clan off for the evening. The happy chatter reminded him of a time long ago. Ronon shed his pants and undergarmets as the moon insistently tugged at his soul. He replaced the clothing with a simple loincloth and stepped out into the cool air.
Greetings called out to him and he acknowledged his adoptive family with silent nods. His nose was filled with the scent of the wild and his soul longed to stretch the confining bounds of this weak body and run.
"Hey,"
Ronon looked over. A lanky man in a coat slouched on top of a barrel. His spiked hair stuck up in all directions and one leg lazily swing in the air. US. Marshal John Sheppard. They'd been assigned to be partners for only a few weeks now. Ronon had resented him at first; he'd been a loner for so long. Though he wouldn't admit it, Sheppard was growing on him.
"Hey," Ronon returned.
"Want company?" Sheppard asked.
Ronon smirked. "You couldn’t keep up," he told the other man.
Sheppard shrugged, acknowledging the truth. Sheppard wasn't a werewolf and few of Ronon's kind could keep pace with him. The Satedan tribal pack had been legendary for their stamina and speed and even among his own people, Ronon had been exceptional. It wasn't bragging, it was simply the truth.
"Thought I'd offer anyway," Sheppard drawled easily.
Ronon grunted. The wolf in him liked that the other man had offered, even if it was a token gesture. Werewolves were meant to belong to packs, his inner self whispered.
"Hey, we have an assignment along the border," Sheppard said. Ronon could see the seriousness in the other man's eyes, even in the low light. "Don't stay out too late," Sheppard advised with humor. Ronon nodded understanding and continued on with a smirk. John slid off the barrel and followed his partner toward the edge of the village
Ronon stood near the entrance and watched the full moon for a minute. A few Red Rocks ambled past, already having shifted. They trotted out a few yards beyond the heady scent of the Wolf's blood, then dropped to all fours and broke into loping runs.
Ronon wanted to join them, to run free. Ronon closed his eyes and stopped resisting the tug of the moon.
The sickening crack of bones breaking and reforming themselves into new patterns resounded even with the muted murmur of the village behind him. Ronon's body seemed to pulse as he doubled over, muscles contracting and writhing under his skin.
It looked much like Ronon's inner wolf was struggling to the surface, and maybe it was. Claws, bone, teeth and fur pushed against Ronon's skin. The wolf side finally broke through in a spurt of blood and unnamed fluids, shredding skin as it burst from within Ronon's skin. His hair and flesh dropped toward the ground, bursting into copper colored dust before dissolving into the aether.
Ronon shook out his brindle brown fur like a huge dog. He looked over his shoulder at Sheppard. Some humans were squeamish around werewolves. Sheppard remained unfazed. "Have fun!" he called with a small sardonic wave before turning back to the center of the village and the hot dinner for everyone not hunting their own meal this evening.
Ronon stepped across the edge of the village and the scents of the evening became sharper. As the others had done before him, he dropped from two feet to four and began to run.
Ronon remembered his homeland, his home tribe, his pack, his wife. As always he ran angrily at first. The ground was too rocky, too full of trees, too hilly. The Satedan packlands had had man more open, more flat. The scents here were wrong.
He launched himself over a small bounder and splashed through a shallow creek, kicking up water and disturbing the fish.
Ronon ran to remember and ran to forget.
They'd called him 'Runner'. He'd been one of the fastest, one of the strongest. His strength and speed had meant nothing the day his family and friends has been obliterated. Sheer luck had him across the border, out of the main blast. Everyone else had run away, but Ronon had run toward it. He'd shifted and been gone in less than a second after he'd heard. It hadn't mattered. Everything was gone.
Ronon surged ahead, running from the memories with a growl. He could feel the ghosts of the past on his heels.
He ran until the soothing cadence of his feet on the ground calmed his nerves. The damp ground was cool under the pads of his feet. The chill of night soothed the burning anger once more. The ghosts that pursued him faded into the moonlight. He slowed to a trot then stopped, rising to two feet once more.
His run had taken him to a high, rocky outcropping as it had the first time he'd shared the full moon with his adopted tribe. The Red Rocks of the Cheyenne Mountain were nice, but they weren't Satedan. Below, he could see the river snake across the world, shimmering in the moonlight. In the distance, his sharp eyes could just make out the lights of Washington City.
Ronon was a thousand miles from home. His soul cried for the land he'd grown up in, for vengeance, for his Melena. He lifted his head and howled, a wolf alone, sharing his grief with a foreign land.
He focused angry eyes towards the west. Sheppard had said that they would head out there. The Wraith who'd destroyed his home were there, and he growled in anticipation of killing as many of them as he could.
His snarl startled a deer which sprang from cover and raced down the mountain. The primal side of Ronon focused his attention sharply on the retreating creature. Ronon launched himself down the side of the hill and began to give chase. Tonight he would run under the moonlight alone. Tomorrow he and Sheppard would head out. With any luck, they'd find some Wraith to kill.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-16 05:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-16 05:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-16 04:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-16 08:22 pm (UTC)glad you liked it :D of all the casting in this kinda mental AU, Ronon was always this kinda primal werewolf type and definately the easiest ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-17 01:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-22 08:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-18 03:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-22 08:39 pm (UTC)