AN- Hello, my faithful readers. And welcome to the re-write! I thought it would be easier to simply make a new story section for it, and rename the old version. Now, you don’t HAVE to re-read this, if you want. The plot will be the same, after all. But names might change, and details will be added. If some of my reader’s don’t feel like re-reading it, and want me to send them a message once we’re back up to date, feel free to leave me a message saying that! It can be in review form, or in private message form. But either way, I’d be happy to do that.

Now, obviously there are no review replies, because nobody’s reviewed yet! So, without further ado, let us begin this story once more. At the end of this chapter, and any others that introduce new names, there will be pronunciations at the end.

Through the Icy Blue: Outset

Prolouge: “Life is a Play”

Life, what is it but an elaborate play? It has never been rehearsed, never planned, but it is a play none the less. There is an opening scene, which marks the beginning, a plot line which you are never quite fully aware of, and a wonderful or tragic ending.

The morning was cool, the earth overlade with the thin mist of the morning. Light from the still rising sun filtered through, not yet dissipating the fog, creating the illusion of midday light filtering through the opaque windows of a church steeple. Here, the forest was thick, with naught much room to move around save for the thin paths created by generations of creatures following in the footsteps of their predecessors.

One such path traveled along side a seeming impenetrable wall of raspberry thorns, the overgrown plant ringing what was revealed in the morning light to be a clearing devoid of anything save for a patch of wild violets, and a large flat-topped stone. Beneath the stone, earth was torn away, creating a hollow which the small entrance did nothing in way of revealing its size. Inside would be large, smoothed down, and – when the furred bodies of its inhabitance came together – warm.

In the still morning air, the cry of a whelp broke the silence, followed by others. Such cries were a joyful sign however, and the living earth around silently rejoiced in new life coming into existence with branches bowing to the wind, and fog heeding to the warm sunlight. Inside the hollow, a mother wolf tended to her newborn young, her pelt shining silver even in the dark confine of the den, the white underside that all wolves possessed contrasting against the color. Her eyes, vibrant emerald green, seemed to glow in the waxing light.

Squirming underneath her tongue was the first born, a decent sized whelp with a coat of a light brown; the tip of each fur strand was lined with silver, giving the pup’s coat a beauteous sheen. Once the young she-wolf was fully groomed, the mother moved on to the two second born; twins by the look of them, each with a coat in dark earth brown, the color revealed after meticulous grooming. All three pups possessed an underside of white as well, the color blending gradually with their main. Then lastly, the silver wolf moved on to the last born, the runt.

This whelp held much resemblance to the bearer of the litter, his wet fur gleaming silver as well. However, once groomed, the silver color of the pelt was revealed to be a lightly dulled version of the mother’s. This silver-gray pelt was somewhat off, however. Wolves were always born with an underside of white, the flag of surrender when submission was given to a wolf higher in pack order. But this whelp possessed no markings, the entirety of his fur a solid color.

With the grooming process over, and all the whelps settling against the mother's stomach to feast, the time for naming had come. This process, the mother perceived, held the possibility of difficulty. The litter was her first, and names were not something she had thought of previously. So she simply looked to each, eyeing the first born for a start, and tried to let the names come of their own will. Before she had left her pack, she recalled her own mother answering the question that she posed; how did she think of names? And this had been the answer.

“Ankti...” the word slipped easily from her maw, its meaning settling comfortably in the confines of her mind. Repeat the dance, it spoke to her. And she decided that this name was good, shifting her attention to the twins. The she-twin fell into her gaze first.

“Taima.” she voiced, beginning to enjoy the way the world seemed to flow through during the naming. The essence of this name echoed in her thoughts. Crash of thunder, it was, and the mother knew she would be full of energy. It was then the turn of the he-twin.

“Dyami.” came the name of its own accord, the meaning of this dubbance bringing a smile to creep across the mother’s maw. An eagle, he was called; one of the greatest Skyhunters, noble and swift. This whelp, she knew, would be a great hunter. He would follow well his father’s pawfall, but now it was time for the smallest pup’s naming.

As her gaze fell upon him, nothing came to mind. The feeling of a something more flowing through her to offer a name was still there, but it hesitated, as if this naming required more thought. Usually the names came swiftly, such speed thought to be due to the natural ease of the language they originated from. But even as a name came to her mind, the language was strange, and new.

“Chris...” the name tumbled awkwardly from her lips. There was more, but she could not form the rest. Christopher, it would have been, but the name would end at Chris for this whelp. With the strange language came an equally strange meaning, yet it fit somehow, and the mother would keep it. Christ-bearer, he would be, even if the full meaning of such strange words was not known to her.

The light was broken as a form stepped into the entrance to the hollow. The creature was earth brown in coat, his underside contrasting with the usual white, and the golden eyes that marked most wolves came to meet with emerald green. “That last name was strange, Alakws.” the Alpha spoke to his mate, “The language wasn’t the same.”

The silver Alphess lifted her head as her name was called. The feeling of the naming was still fresh in her mind, and the meaning of her own name floated comfortable at the surface. A star. “Tyee,” she spoke the father’s name, which she knew to mean chief. His mother would not have known that he would someday become an Alpha, he had an older brother that surpassed him in his birth pack.

“It is strange.” Alakws continued, “But it is his name.” the statement was said with a note of finality. The gaze that her mate gave her in return held something behind it. She had noticed it before, growing at a gradual pace within him, something that had not been there when she joined with him in the packless territory and chose him as her mate. It was change, and not the welcomed kind. The she-wolf could only hope that Tyee’s change would not corrupt him.

After a moment of silence, the father seemed to overcome his disagreement. He didn’t like the name she chose for the runt, though he did not know the reason why. The dislike of the name, however, seemed to bring with it a dislike for the pup, for his own son. “The mother’s choice is final.” he said curtly, nodding somewhat as he did so. Afterwards, without another word, the Alpha turned to exit the den. He would remain outside, guarding during the night. And in the morning, he would leave to hunt for he and his mate.

Sighing to herself, Alakws turned to regard her young, bellies now full and forms curled against her in sleep. The mother allowed her head to rest against the earth below her, exhausted now that everything was as it should be with the birthing. While the world around began to awaken, those that dwelled within this hollow entered soothingly into a land of dreams.

Pronunciations:.
Ankti Ahnk-tea
TaimaTie-mah
DyamiDie-ah-me
AlakwsAla-kews
TyeeTie-ee