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Feast of the Hunter’s Moon
Inspired by Watership Down, by Richard Adams
The forest was lush with game this season, though it being mid-May it was to be expected. Springtime widely known as the courtship “mating” period of the year, brought out numerous animals willingly giving themselves into the temptation of breeding. The dwindling soil was still rejuvenating itself from previous weather conditions - at a point before the strong age of man the earth was in the dominion of the wild, and animals of the forest lives were built on a system of hierarchy. Well built around the saying “survival of the fittest.”
Not all agreed with this system, but none opposed it as well. Various feared what might become of them, of their species, if they dare go against the whim of the forest.
At a time when every blade of grass possessed a single drop of dew, while each dense broad oak tree remained the home of rodents and birds alike. Wolves overran the wood, claiming only a portion of the acres as their territory. The spring sun blazed fiercely, the sunset red and purple in clouds, and there was still a full five hours until twilight.
In the depth of the wood, there was a clearing- free of trees and animal contact alike. A place where the ground slanted creating a slope and the wind carried in a circular motion. Embedded within lay a low cavern, on the outskirts of the clearing, was a hollow cave-like-burrow entrance dotted with grass and dandelions in a sort of quilt pattern- this was the underground or hillside tunnel home of wolves.
A hundred yards away, further down the slope in the midst of the woodland an intermediate brook flowed freely sectioning, and splitting the area in half. A miniature peak loomed over it, a massive oak tree grew tilted-its roots deracinating from the ground taking much of the earth with it. The miniature hillside confirmed that during the rainy seasons the water level did rise to a dangerous point, as it ate away at the slanted mound of dirt. Erosion succeeded in its fullest, reducing the summit to its smallest form.
This in many aspects, ones to be debated amongst animals, was the territory of the Disfiaean wolves. A pack of robust and intelligent timber wolves who were rumored descendants of the once influential, vigorous, and commanding dire wolves that reined over the forest eons ago. An assortment of animals conversed regularly about the highly unlikelihood of the relation between the two packs, badger once argued with a young herd of white-tailed deer bucks about this particular subject.
Fallow, the leader, and overall toughest and largest of the seasons yearlings believed the myths of these dire wolves. He and several other bucks ventured close to the Disfiaean’s den, stupidly, allowing themselves to consider they could surpass the timbers might. None were hunted, for a stag by the name of Fidel protected them from harms way. Yet even a well built stag deer can’t withstand the “take-down” formation of a cooperative pack of timbers. Or at least not for long.
A male wolf withdrew from the shadows taking a step into the clearing away from the cluster of beech trees. He tiled his bulky ebony square head towards the sky, sniffing the air around him carefully. The wolf stood stiff legged, his body tense and cautious. His white tipped ears were erect and forward as they twitched voluntarily to the carrying clatter of the wood. The sound of crunching leaves and grass came from behind him, his companion, a she wolf, revealed herself from the security and shelter of the trees. Her pelages a mixture of salt and pepper coloring marked her entire body, hers being unusually longer than the normal timber. Her masked black face dipped low to the forest floor; she paused taking a deep whiff of the winds traveling scents. No prey was near, so they would keep moving.
“I don’t smell anything more than the occasional rabbit,” the male grumbled, lowering his muscular canine body to the ground and began basking in the crimson sun. He stayed there pressing his body against the warm grass, removing the last of his winter coat, “What do you think, Fray?”
The she-wolf ear’s twitched continuously, averting upward, downward, and to the sides. She sniffed the river shore, attempting to single out the scents of the numerous preys. Not a single new scent of a deer nor elk had touched the waters this morning; she relaxed and shook her heavy pelt, for she still carried her winter one and the sun was beating down hot upon it, she then fell into place next to her companion. “Not a deer within a hundred feet range of here, but its still quite early for an evening drink, I suppose.” She replied, “we should be getting back to the pack soon, the others will lose they’re heads.”
He nodded, his neon orange eyes closing as he drew in a long slow breath, “Yes, I assume your right, although I have yet to hear the call of them.” He responded, with head on paws.
The sound of birds, annoying yet beautiful came faintly to their ears. At this point, both wolves seemed at ease, the anxiety of the hunt came and went throughout their bodies, but for a brief moment tracking down and slaughtering the kill gave them a rush of excitement that temporarily overpowered them making it irresistible to refuse.
Dew covered most of the clearings grasses; crickets zipped from one bluebell to another, chirping loudly and the echo of the dreadful noise flowing with the invigorating breeze. Wolves knew the matting rituals of these insects, far too well, during mid-day evenings the male crickets whose songs of courtship were vociferous and earsplitting, attempted to lure females, whose songs were gentle and fairly quiet, near them, while also repelling other males from the area. Of course the song was completely dependant upon the species of the insect, most of the species chirp at higher rates the higher the temperature is.
Wolves don’t tend to enjoy this period, but have they learned to cope due to the fact that these sounds also draw out many other animals. Inquisitive herbivores interested about the noise creep out from the thicket of trees, and try to hear more distinctly the individual voices of the crickets. But today none seemed attentive of the hum.
“Rune, we should be getting back, it’s almost nightfall, and mother should be waiting for our return.” She said, standing on all fours, “its astonishing that no ones been sent to retrieve us, though its safe too assume that father not back with the Ward. We would have heard from them long ago.” She stretched her hindquarters; her thick coat bristled causing her to appear larger and heavier than she actually did, she licked her front paws removing all unwanted debris such as small rocks and chips of wood and glanced back at her companion.
A Ward is a type of fleet or sentry of wolves usually only referred to in a pack of more than five.
“What’s the matter with you, Fray? You seem a little apprehensive this evening, do you hear something, or is it something you smell?” Rune inquired, nestling her briefly with his stout blocky nose.
“No, it’s not that- well I don’t know exactly what it is.” She began, “I suppose I’m a little hungry, is all.”
She trotted passed him, her blunt claws dung into the earth as her pace quickened. Her black nostrils twitched as the faint scent of a deer passed through them, a large herd of ten maybe even twelve drew near. The arousal of the hunt over took her once more; she paused briefly sniffing the air again. She crouched down low and scratched at the light soil. This was the entrance of the softwoods, a thick maze of high-density conifer trees and far off mountain ranges, no wolf nor any other carnivore for that matter ever hunted here for the duration of May. The softwoods, a sensitive place, full of mature tree and plant communities were mainly the homes of four-legged herbivores and small woodland creatures.
Light vanished as she pressed onward, the trees so tall that they touch the sapphire heavens and the canopy eclipsed the sun. The branches and foliage of the trees interlocked overhead blocking all contact to the outside world, this place of darkness and mists protected winters game. Fray turned abruptly, sensing the presence of another.
“Ear up, Fray,” said Rune dropping in alongside her, “Hunting here is dangerous, and not much game still lingers here. Though I must say that trailing any prey here will be like searching for a needle in a haystack. But no matter, shall we continue or shall we go back to the den?” he pulled back his ears, noting a suspicion of the inexplicable place, his eyes narrowed into thin slits, and his tail lifted from its downward position becoming stiff.
A rustle of grass and the smell of unknown scented plants filled the air; the shrill penetrating voice of the raven pierced the thin atmosphere. Prey was near, for the guardian of the hunt presented himself; he and he alone decides whether a creature possess the will to survive, if not, well, then they have set their own fate. Fray crouched down low, low enough for her underbelly to rub against the soaked grass. A deep snarl emitted from the she-wolf’s throat, her white lips curled back as she bared her massive fangs.
Rune called to the pack, with his back arched and his mane-involuntarily bristling, his claws spasmodically clutched the tender earth as she prepared to pounce. Once finished, he bent down, hunching his sharp shoulders while he half lunged for the herd. A chocolate speckled buck was the first to spot them, he stood wobbly on his hooves as he warned his family, the two wolves assumed him to be a fawn; he would be the first to strike down.
They scattered franticly attempting to evade the thought of being the wolves’ next meal. Animals of life, ungulates especially, knew the odds of wolves failing during the hunt, and this alone was rare. Only seldom did a fawn, doe, or strapping buck succeed in getting away.
Wolves approached, swiftly on stocky legs- one bellowed lowly as two others fell in beside him; the group of now five wolves would attack from an angle, allowing them the edge they need to decrease the fawn’s rate of escaping. Fray leaped at the young buck, her fangs fixated on its neck. The speckled fawn yearling bleated desperately out for its mother, who seemed to have deserted him. He squirmed violently as he evaded a blow; he stamping his splayed hooves at the she-wolf forcing her back to the others, with his ears reared back and his pale eyes wide, he knew that he was closer to death than any new yearling should be. Darkness played upon his lips, as the bitter wind called his name, endless sleep drew near for him, yes, young in age he might be, but every wild animal knows when their life among the living has come to an end.
A snorting noise ceased their assault, as heads turned a large stag stood before them. The massive bull’s nostrils dilated; enraged it was, by the inhuman act the wolves nearly accomplished. His reddish-brown fur prickled, enlarging the stage’s chest, it embossed its hooves hard upon the earth, causing the soil to tremble beneath it. Fray shivered, for the brute astoundingly, frightened her. Her pepper tail lowered, and tucked between her thin legs, and her back arched slightly, just enough to make her appear smaller and nonexistent. Never had she seen prey of that proportion before, for her this was only the ending of her second year. Her ears flattened against her head, she, though only a cale cub knew when to withdraw or back-down from things that were far more sizeable, and physically powerful than herself.
A cale cub is how a wolf identifies the younger generation, such as maturing and newborn pups
Now mind you, scaring a wolf is no easy task. One must pose an immediate threat when first glanced on; wild wolves always show gallantry, brutality, and dominance when concerning anything other than their kin. Rune, noticing his sister’s anxiety advanced toward it, attempting to savagely tear out the deer’s throat. The others stepped near it as well, besetting the stag, and trapping it. The fawn, in fear of its life fled from sight; the group of five, no longer caring for the small prey focused more on pursuing the heftier meal. Three other’s leaped at the stag, fixating teeth and claws everywhere upon him. He went down with Rune, and the aid of Fray, the two devouring him alive, his last struggles to fight back ceased as Fray ripped a large piece of its neck from the body and it fell limp bleeding. It was a brief fight but ferocious.
“Are you alright, Fray?” Rune asked, licking the blood from his sister’s muzzle, “I can’t recall ever seeing you in a state of submission before. And I find it rather odd that you would choose to back down from the hunt, when you are such a marvelous huntsman. Though one can’t deny the powerful blood of the alphas’ that flows through you.”
Fray swallowed the raw deer meat then licked her lips, “fear overcame me, Rune. I’m not afraid to admit defeat when it encounters me. Being subdued by terror is something I shan’t be afraid of, that and that alone is the alpha’s blood that I posses.” She said, slight irritation lingering in her voice.
“Come now, I meant nothing by it.” Rune interjected defensively, clipping her shoulder with a metallic snap. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and the pack is probably starving whilst we idle sit here. Fray, here you grab hold of the hind legs, hold them in your mouth like this- and you take hold of the other, its going to take all of us to get this back to the den.”
Rune realized warily that Fray was being difficult, he knew far better than anyone else that she was an outstanding fighter, and hunter but to see her cower in fear in such a way, his spirits diminished slightly then, and only the Great Creator himself knows why.
The stag weight an even two hundred and twenty pounds, a well proportion banquet for the pack of fifteen, two of those mouths sharing the same portion of the raw tender meat. How the five wolves were to presume home with the kill was indeed the issue, though it alone was not a hard task, but as they progress over time a wolf will become fatigued after carrying more than it’s own weight. The small group departed the softwoods, leaving questions as to why they venture beyond the walls of their own territory and into the sanctuary of prey.
Once beyond the enclosed walls of the softwoods, it seemed a mere few yards back to the den. A little way in front of them an auburn wolf awaited them down the slope, his face held an impassive and unsympathetic look upon it, “Rune?” asked the wolf sniffing the approaching wolves, “That is you isn’t it?”
“It is, hello Willow,” Rune greeted warmly, “why so far from Disfiae? And all alone without a cohort?” he ignored the others, as they continued descending the hillside.
Willow, a rather prudent pup was the son of the Ward captain, Bane; he the apprentice of the grey nosed commander was the alpha’s lap dog. Doing all he could to impress them, and some how surpass his father’s rank. “What are you doing here? And this late in the day, it’s not the way of wolves to hunt at night.” He answered, an immense tenseness overpowering him, and a snarl forming in his throat, “but never mind that, Rune, I have simply come to have a word with you. Alpha-Socrates, your mother sir, has requested for you retrieval.”
Rune’s ears twitched, he could hear the sharpness of his intonation, and in obedience he followed. Aggravation nipped at his paws, the tender skin between his toes gave off a tepid sensation as he walked beside Willow. The hair bristled on his neck as he observed Willow’s new dominance over him, he knew as the alpha’s offspring he had to hold his own and prove to the other pack members that he subjugated all under his rank. “Come along, then, we shan’t keep your mother waiting. Don’t you agree sir?”
He remained silent looking steadily out overlapping the thicket and downward casting his bright eyes upon his home. Tall grasses masked the entrance, and a fallen oak lay on top of the lip of the cave, this is where the roots began to grow once more, with small blossoms dotted every looming root. Something quivered deep within him, he watched as his sister and the others ventured into the dept of the den, stumbling, and awkwardly baring the increasing weight of the dead kill.
The earth consumed the bright red sun. Night fell and the wind grew bitter and cold, with a scatter of rain, and in less time than the actual hunt took the pack fed prodigiously until nothing but gnawed bones remained. Much needed rest and sleep was granted after the live bull, which the pack had taken down only a few hours ago, was devoured. In the blackness and security of the den Fray stirred restlessly, she yawned and licked her lips, her wild animal instincts on edge she could sense the presence of another. Her head rose from paws, her greens eyes flickering with curiosity, and her hind legs shaking involuntarily, after another yawn she moved about the den. It was rather large for a wolf’s den; the whole idea was for it to resemble that of a rabbits’ burrow- though unlike a burrow, the den only consists of four rooms. The nursery, two sleeping quarters, and the main hall, and all of this dug by the paws of their ancestors, or so it was said.
She ventured passed her brother, who lay sprawled out next to a few other wolves. A she-wolf rose from her sleeping position, her muzzle held such bewilderment and trepidation. The young she-wolf was a graceful, petite female far more intelligent than any wolf of her age, though she the second of her mother litter she seemed like that of a runt, fragile, and weak. She had the soft, gentle exterior of a flower, and this had given her the name Saffron. “Fray?” she yawned sleepily, “what are you doing up and about at this late hour, what’s wrong?” her golden brown coat bristled as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, its nothing to fret about,” she said instantly. “But I’m going to visit the nursery, and care for my siblings. Do sleep Saffron; I assure that I am perfectly fine.”
“Shall I accompany you? Or do you seek anything, maybe something to eat; I don’t much like the idea of you wandering about by yourself. What would your mother think?” She motioned to stand, her body worn to exhaustion from previous engagements.
“Nonsense, -“she said. “Remain here, sleep, your in need of such. Can’t have you collapsing and lolling about when work to be done.” She crept quietly along the back cave wall, slinking gently upon the moist earth, minimizing the chances of causing further noise or disturbance among her fellow kin. The slight webbing between her paws cushioned her steps - softening, and lighting her weight so she felt composed and stealthy. Her body, both narrow and lean moved hesitantly, throughout the darkness registering all that her evergreen eyes could to identify the silhouette figures of her wolves. She stopped at the entrance of the cavernous room, catching the scent of her mother and new siblings.
Faint raspy yelps and yips emitted from the room, her brother and sister desperate cries for warm milk breaking the silence of the night. Since the regurgitation process of stag meat, Socrates, the female alpha of the pack, slept throughout the cries. She feared the worse for her actions, it was known to the many that no one unless directly authorized by one of the alphas was allowed to approach or enter the nursery, especially males who had a tendency to eat new cale cubs out of pure threatening instinct of loosing rank. She paused at the entrance, her ears reared backward snuggly against her head, the calling cries of her siblings silencing at the sound of her steps.
“Father, is that you?” asked the gray-backed cub, he inhaled deeply attempting to distinguish the cave scents, he failed of course his heightened sense of smell not yet at it’s full potential, his back legs quivered violently as he stood his ground against the intruder.
“No, your sister. Fray.” She whispered, emerging from the obscurity of the outside hall, “hush now Aster, you know me.” Once near them she relaxed and laid down beside them, giving them warmth and a sense of security.
“Sister! Fray! Fray!” The elder of the cubs squealed, nipping at the she-wolf’s neck. “It’s been a while since you last visited us, not since father’s departure anyway.” Mauve was the cale with tipped white ears, like her brother and father before her. She was the biggest, and inclined to be bold. Fray and Rune spend most of their evenings with the infant she-wolf educating her in the ways of they’re kind, and the alpha. Mauve had taken to the lessons willingly. She felt compelled to become a strong a mighty timber, like her parents, although she still had a lot of growing to do if she wanted to become an alpha some day, yet she decided if the alpha life was to suit her she would need to pursue, and demand a higher dominance over those of her year.
The three siblings lie there for a while resting, the two cales yipping at their sister, and then dozing off into a deep sleep. Socrates woke suddenly, hearing movement beyond the nursery; she disregarded Fray and scratched her ears while her tongue dangled peaceably out. Heavy panting, gasping breathes rung throughout her white ears. She could recall this breathing from memory; it was that of her mates’, she stood to meet him tail held high, with rhythmic wags that swayed to the resonance of her eager heart. A sensation of happiness, and playfulness washed over her, it had gone two weeks on end without seeing a glance of him. He would return, and they would lick each other joyously, greeting one another, he would nuzzle her neck gently with his muzzle, and then they would sleep comforted by their love for each other, warming them through the night.
“Vega,” she muttered, greeting him. “You’ve returned.” The white she-wolf froze in fear as the smell of blood flood the room; her eyes lay upon the gray male who entered the room sluggishly. He was in horrible conditions, his stunning silver ears mangled, torn and ripped to mere shreds, along his back deep gashes bled: the wolf whimpered and wailed as though the guardian of the hunt was at his heels. Members of the pack approached their alpha tentatively; the Ward was among them also badly injured, their bodies dropped lower, as if to slink along the ground, their tails curled downward tucked between the legs, and eyes smoldering with guilt. “I say, what happened, Vega?” the distressed she-wolf asked, anxiously nudging the gray male with the end of her nose.
“Kodiaks came, reining from the mainland.” Chocked Vega, before collapsing in the last stage of exhaustion, his hind legs trailed behind him motionless, his breathing was hoarse and shallow as if deprived from oxygen.
Kodiaks are how a wolf refers to a bear, or something bear-like. They don’t know the individual species of the many types of bears, so they identify them all as the same thing.
“What happened?” demanded Rune, who had entered the mouth of the nursery as Vega collapsed. He knelt down, crawling over to his father’s fallen, limp body and tried to persuade him to get up. No response was returned to him; Rune dropped his head, with his nose to the ground and attempted again to wake the gray alpha. Others gathered around them, making a much bigger scene than Rune intended, Fray had now awaken from all the commotion. She cast anxious eyes upon her family, as she directed the youngest of the family away from their unconscious father; Saffron escorted them from the nursery, cradling Aster by the scruff of his neck and Mauve trotting beside them. She trembled hysterically, fearing whatever brute beast caused her father, her alpha to become weak in the knees. “Do you think whatever attacked father and the Ward, will come further towards Disfiae?” asked Rune, the question was directed to his mother, for no one, unless their advice was called upon, would answer.
“I-I don’t know,” answered Socrates hesitantly, “And I’m sure everyone here doesn’t either. But what are Kodiaks doing here, this far north during the spring? They hardly venture a considerable distance from steams and rivers during the time of the salmon spawn. All the same we’d better keep our wits about us”
“I’ve never seen a Kodiak before,” a younger she-wolf whispered, “I’ve heard stories about them, terribly massive beast, weighing more than any elk or caribou in these parts.”
“I’ve also heard stories…” another began, this time it was a third year male, “When they kill, they rear up on their hind legs and stand like a man. And their claws, oh their claws, they’re like that of a wolves fangs!”
“Be silent, don’t talk like that!” said Socrates, “I won’t tolerate such nonsense!” her voice rising to an assuming irregularity. Everyone fell silent to the alpha’s word, no one brave, nor daring enough to challenge it. The wolves sulked back; they received the aggressive message in her voice, obeying they crept from the litters sanctuary and pawed back to the main halls of the den. Rune’s ears twitched as he glanced intently from Socrates to Vega.
The white she-wolf was the first to reply. “Fray and I will be scouting the area, Rune stay and watch your father.” She said earnestly, “I don’t know exactly were we shall go first, but if we indeed run into trouble, I shan’t hesitate to call for you.” Her mouth was menacing, her lips writhed back to prove her seriousness as she veered from Vega’s limp body and crowded near her eldest daughter.
Rune sat back contently on haunches, his tongue lolling slightly as he watched his mother and sister disappeared into the belly of the main hall. His white-tipped ears twitched as he listen idly of the wolves’ whispers; some spoke of attacking the Kodiaks now without consent of the alphas, and others suggested retreating from the den. A ferocious temper scorched his insides - he refrained himself from lashing out and shredding the first thing his jaws locked on, how dare these wolves show such disrespect, and disloyalty to the Disfiaean wolf pack, “Do not worry, my son. Let them speak as they wish, for they are frightened, as they should be,” said Vega; his voice broke midmost coughing and spewing blood. Though his voice broken by hoarse coughs he kept his tone low and calm as always, being the wise instead of an arrogant fool as the alpha should always be.
Rune turned his head and began licking his father’s dreadful wounds, the arch of his neck curved towards the nursery entrance. This was a mistake; the lesson of survival of the fittest amongst wolves was never leave your neck exposed. He’d hoped that no one took advantage of this opportunity, for if his wolves did indeed turn on him- he would be in the most susceptible stage of passive submission, “Relax Rune, they shan’t turn on us. They are more loyal than they may seem, our wolves are family after all. And being as such we can’t act rash because tails are between legs.”
After hours on end of restless twitching and kicking with his hind legs, sleep finally possessed the old-gray alpha. Rune feared that his father wouldn’t last through the night, his wounds still refused to stop bleeding, but of course only time will tell what will happen. He curled beside Vega, allowing enough moving room for the aging wolf, before he too fell into a deep sleep permitting exhaustion to infest his tired body.
Jasper came trotting towards him sniffing noses leaping about in frisk play with his tail tucked tightly between his scrawny auburn legs. It was the time of the Hare Moon, a joyous period in celebration of the summer’s bounty; in which the creation of Disfiae was built upon. “What a wonderful day, wouldn’t you agree, sir?” Jasper asked, tongue lolling. Rune ignored the comment, and continued to wait patiently in silence. Jasper no longer awaited a reply, he knew all too well that Rune’s vision was blinded by his stubbornness, and that once he convinced himself of something there was no way of altering his decision.
The yellow sun dimmed a burnt orange as it reached mid-point in the sapphire sky, silver lined clouds dispersed clearing the surrounds for miles, it was noon, or sometime around noon. Wolves couldn’t clearly comprehend the simple aspects of time, or dates, they merely recognized the suns midpoint in the sky.
Jasper just lay and watched as Rune stood stiff and attentive, he couldn’t leave his side, at least not until granted such permission. He was restricted in movement for so was Rune, and being lower in rank he could not go beyond his upper’s side. Time moved easily while they rested there, head on paws, “If I may say so, sir, but your siblings…is it wise to leave with in the nursery with Alpha-Vega?” said Jasper.
“It’s been good of you to stay here with me, Jasper. If your desire is to leave, I shan’t stop you, you are free to go. No need to make excuses of my siblings.” said Rune. He rested on his haunches scratching behind hind his ears, and yawning sleepily.
“But, sir…”
A howl from the left and right broke out, fairly faint at first but with each passing second it drew near, “quiet! Jasper, do hear that?” he interrupted in a whisper, ears flickering.
Jasper turned shoulder, his body directed towards the mysterious vocalizations. It came again, this time the tone of the howl changed, no longer was it distant and sad, but it was almost like a welcoming, a cheery puppyish cry. “Why, it sounds like your sister, sir. Lady Fray.”
Jasper was right about one thing, it was Fray, she and Alpha-Socrates dispersed from the obscured screen of red trees that aligned the edge of the wood. He stalked towards them, he paused briefly his eye meeting upon an animal foreign to him. He trotted forward a few steps, stopping and then sniffing, sniffing and then stopping. He repeated this several times, until he was within speaking range of his kin and the invader. His lips writhed back involuntarily, this was nothing but natural to him attacking all unfamiliar wolves that entered his kin’s territory.
All wolves are taught this simple rule of life; it is taboo for one wolf to travel into another wolf’s land unless invited. The thought crossed him that his sister and mother were exceptional fighters, and could handle a mere solitary. They approached Rune and Jasper, heads up in alertness. “Rune, back down. No need for such hostility. We picked up this solitary while we were scouting the area. You see, he is accepted here.” Fray explained, collectively.
“Yes, as your sister said, I am allowing him to join our pack. And I shall not hear a word of him not, I am alpha here,” said Socrates assertively, her tail horizontal and straight.
The wolf held his head low, as an omega would; he remained silent in his defense clearly acknowledging the dominance Socrates, Fray, and Rune held over him. His frame of course was not of an omega, it was that of a hunter; a high ranking wolf among a pack. Rune inspected him cautiously; this unknown wolf’s coat was an inexplicable hue of blue, never before seen by any wolf in these parts, it was strange to see a wolf any other color than grey, black, white, brown, and the occasional red. But blue, that was another story. Hints of grey flickered throughout it faintly, as if shining dew a simple illusion of water that appeared only in the morning and then vanished without a trace once night fell.
“What kind of wolf are you?” Rune snarled, staring penetratingly at this new submissive adversary, “certainly not of clean blood that is for sure. Maybe, you posses that of little house pet blood, a whimpering mutt of a dog that obeys the whims of-“
“Hush now, Rune! No more talk such as that, or I shall deal with you myself.” Socrates rebuffed, her white fangs flashing at him in anger.
He backed down immediately slinking away; retreating from his mother’s reach. They all knew why Rune acted on such an impulse, male timber wolves instincts asserted mastery over all lower in class than them. His day of maturity was coming, he could sense it and everyone around him could smell the sudden shift in his scent, and with the imposing threat of another male in his birth pack; it was a lot to reckon with. “You must forgive my son, he is…just upset about what happened to our alpha- You must understand that you’ve caught our pack at terrible time” Socrates explained,” But never-mind that. Now, my young cale what shall we call you?”
“My name is Aspen…” he responded, “milady alpha.”
The wind roared once in the clearing, ruffling the green and yellow leaves of May. Many of the wolves perked their ears up and listened to the carrying winds, a she-wolf came bounding up falling in line beside them. “Alpha-Socrates you have returned! I prayed to the Great Creator himself that you would return unharmed,” she said, bowing in submission.
“Thank you, Tosca, for such thoughts. But please, I have other matters to attend to. Gather everyone, for my daughter and I have news, dreadful news, that no one will be very pleased by- but never mind that now, hurry call them.”
