داستان درمورد جان بود که یه کابوی بود توی اون زمان و هر سال تابستون برای فروختن دام‌ها از توی یه صحرا رد می‌شد و داستان از جایی شروع می‌شه که مرگ جان رو نشانه‌گذاری می‌کنه. یا چیزی که مردم باهاش خطابش می‌کنن.
یه جسم مبهم همیشه پیششه. نه کایوته نه انسانه و همزمان جفتشونه.

داستان این شکلی شروع می‌شه:

There is a coyote who follows John Egan through the scrublands of New Mexico. A pale-eyed, pale-furred, washed-out shape against the desert night. Limbs too long and paws dexterous as it lopes just out of sight. Sometimes it stood upright, mouth lolling open wet and pink and full of teeth. Sometimes it is a man too, still furred and broken-limbed but with a maw that could almost form words and hips that narrowed delicately.  It is never human, but sometimes it is a man. 

A voice that reeks of iron and copper blood, sweet as a devil and horrible as an angel.
Come away, come away, dance in the desert with me, sweet-blooded man. Come, sweet horse, with your fat, succulent flesh, run under the moonlight until your lungs give out.

و این موجودت همیشه کنارشه همیشه دنبالشه و همیشه می‌گه که سردشه. درد داره و نمی‌تونه نزدیک آتیش بشه چون داغه و می‌سوزونش ولی خیلی سردشه و چرا جان کمکش نمی‌کنه؟ چرا جان خونش رو قرض نمی‌ده؟ فقط یک قطره هم کافیه.

جان تمام تلاشش رو می‌کنه تا موجود رو از بین ببره. به تمام کلیساها التماس می کنه هرکاری که به فکرشون می‌رسه انجام بدن حتی جن‌گیریش می‌کنن ولی نه... این موجود همچنان توی مغزش جیغ می‌کشه.

ولی خب واقعیت خیلی متفاوته

It was standing upright, hollow-chested and bellied. Narrow hips led to long legs that were covered in pale fur and skin. Broad shoulders, well-muscled arms that tapered to hands that could not quite decide whether they were fingers or paws and had settled in some spindly center spot to compensate. A delicate neck, a sharp beautiful jaw and similarly mismatched face. Somewhere in between what was man and beast.

The monster’s head tilts, and for a flicker of a second John gets the image, more than he truly sees, of soft human lips. 

I feel the water on my ribcage, dripping through my eye sockets. I feel the pups training their bites on my leg bones. I see the stars. 

He’d grabbed a spare saddlebag before beginning his journey and now he slings it off his shoulder, setting it into the damp soil. One by one, hands tender, John lifts bone after bone from the muck, carefully brushes them clean, and places them into the bag. Fibula, tibia, femur and pelvis. Ulna, radius, humerus and ribcage. His hands don’t shake but his breaths come unsteady as a racehorse, puffing past his lips with an increasingly damp quality to them. 

آخرش رو اسپویل نمی‌کنم براتون

فایلشو داااری؟؟؟ خیلی جالب بنظر میرسهه

↳FanFiction
↳ Masters of the air

TW: extreme graphic gore, murder, injury. If you are sensitive to fluids, blood and guts proceed with caution.

بفرما :>

:((((((

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