Blood of an Alpha
By Forest Wells
Prologue
By Forest Wells
Prologue
Wolfor: Creator of all wolves, the alpha wolf, from which the name is taken.
Believed to be a grand wolf himself, though no one knows what he looks like. It’s said that when he created wolves, he left them to run the wilds of the Earth until the day comes they can run no more. When death comes, wolves journey to Wolfor’s sacred dwelling on the moon. Known as “Luna”, it is the only land to bear a name. There, wolves will spend the rest of time in Wolfor’s territory, where he will guard, protect, and provide for them.
While on Earth, wolves are still watched over by Wolfor, at times acting in their favor. He will bear his fangs when they are threatened, he will share his kills when they are weak or starving, and he will lend his fur when they are scared or alone. He is ever watchful, ever protecting, and always there for those he created. Never has he forgotten them, yet the trials they face will better prepare them for their eternity spent with him.
It is unclear what it takes to earn his favor, though many suspect he does choose who will or will not be alpha. Then again, just because a wolf is his choice does not guarantee that he or she will be the one to lead. In such cases, the pack almost always suffers. For those not chosen are missing the one thing a leader needs. That un-identifiable element. The fire, the drive, the devotion, the courage.
The blood of an alpha.
Believed to be a grand wolf himself, though no one knows what he looks like. It’s said that when he created wolves, he left them to run the wilds of the Earth until the day comes they can run no more. When death comes, wolves journey to Wolfor’s sacred dwelling on the moon. Known as “Luna”, it is the only land to bear a name. There, wolves will spend the rest of time in Wolfor’s territory, where he will guard, protect, and provide for them.
While on Earth, wolves are still watched over by Wolfor, at times acting in their favor. He will bear his fangs when they are threatened, he will share his kills when they are weak or starving, and he will lend his fur when they are scared or alone. He is ever watchful, ever protecting, and always there for those he created. Never has he forgotten them, yet the trials they face will better prepare them for their eternity spent with him.
It is unclear what it takes to earn his favor, though many suspect he does choose who will or will not be alpha. Then again, just because a wolf is his choice does not guarantee that he or she will be the one to lead. In such cases, the pack almost always suffers. For those not chosen are missing the one thing a leader needs. That un-identifiable element. The fire, the drive, the devotion, the courage.
The blood of an alpha.
***
“Toltan! Toltan, get back here!”
Toltan didn’t listen. He didn’t care. He wanted to see the world. The smells coming from outside the den were too enticing not to explore. The challenge to evade his parents made it all the more irresistible. He’d already snuck past the den guards. Most of the rest of the pack were out hunting, leaving only those wolves lounging in the gathering area to deal with.
He kept to the shadows, using his dark grey pelt to blend in with them. He saw a clear path through the shrubs. No wolves there. A few more steps and--
“Gotcha!”
Toltan felt jaws plant him to the ground. He cried out in pain… that he soon realized wasn’t there. His ears still went flat and his tail melded with his rear end as he looked back to see who had caught him. He saw a young female not yet full grown. She had thick silver fur that was smooth as ice, but her eyes entranced him even more. They were hard right now, for she was glaring at him, but he saw a softness there too. How did I miss a wolf that pretty?
“Martol?” his mother called. She was breathing hard as she appeared next to the female. When she saw what Martol had caught, she sighed relief. “Thank you. I was afraid he’d gotten clean away.”
“He almost did,” Martol said with an amused ruff. She returned to glaring at Toltan. “What does this make, five times now?”
“S… S… seven.” Toltan said, trying his best to look innocent.
Martol flicked an ear before looking back at Toltan’s mother. “Jilsina, I do not envy you and Mouler.”
“I said the same thing to your father when he was alpha,” Jilsina said. “I’m beginning to wonder if Wolfor took it as a challenge.”
“I wouldn’t mind having pups some day. Though you’ll forgive me if I hope I never have a pup like him.”
“Careful what you wish for. You may end up with much worse.” Jilsina stood over her pup while Martol held her own vigil. “You however, need to learn some wisdom. That forest is dangerous for one so young.”
Toltan found his courage, or more foolishness. “I’m not afraid! I want to see what’s out there. I want to hunt the things I smell.”
“You will when you’re big enough to catch them. At your size, you bite a rabbit, he’s likely to drag you with him.”
“Rabbits don’t eat wolves.”
“But eagles do,” Martol said. Jilsina glanced back at her, causing Martol to lower her ears until Jilsina turned hers forward in approval.
“She has a point,” Jilsina said. “There are many things you do not yet know.”
“I want to learn!” Toltan said. “I want to—“
“Enough!” Jilsina’s growl forced even Martol’s ears to fall. “Someday, you will be strong. You may even take your father’s place as alpha, but until that day, you must wait and learn. As for today, you will remain within the den. You will not leave without an adult, for any reason, at any time. Am I understood?”
Jilsina glared at him, still as a stone, hot as an inferno. The death stance the pack called it. As in you only challenge it if you want to die.
Toltan shrank in size, but did tick his ears forward. “Yes mother.”
“Use my name,” she ruffed. “It’s time you pups started to apply the rules you learn.”
“Yes… Jilsina.”
Jilsina ruffed in his face before looking back at Martol again. Martol’s ears shifted uneasily, to which Jilsina ruffed amusement.
“Take him back to the den please. Make sure he stays there.”
Toltan didn’t listen. He didn’t care. He wanted to see the world. The smells coming from outside the den were too enticing not to explore. The challenge to evade his parents made it all the more irresistible. He’d already snuck past the den guards. Most of the rest of the pack were out hunting, leaving only those wolves lounging in the gathering area to deal with.
He kept to the shadows, using his dark grey pelt to blend in with them. He saw a clear path through the shrubs. No wolves there. A few more steps and--
“Gotcha!”
Toltan felt jaws plant him to the ground. He cried out in pain… that he soon realized wasn’t there. His ears still went flat and his tail melded with his rear end as he looked back to see who had caught him. He saw a young female not yet full grown. She had thick silver fur that was smooth as ice, but her eyes entranced him even more. They were hard right now, for she was glaring at him, but he saw a softness there too. How did I miss a wolf that pretty?
“Martol?” his mother called. She was breathing hard as she appeared next to the female. When she saw what Martol had caught, she sighed relief. “Thank you. I was afraid he’d gotten clean away.”
“He almost did,” Martol said with an amused ruff. She returned to glaring at Toltan. “What does this make, five times now?”
“S… S… seven.” Toltan said, trying his best to look innocent.
Martol flicked an ear before looking back at Toltan’s mother. “Jilsina, I do not envy you and Mouler.”
“I said the same thing to your father when he was alpha,” Jilsina said. “I’m beginning to wonder if Wolfor took it as a challenge.”
“I wouldn’t mind having pups some day. Though you’ll forgive me if I hope I never have a pup like him.”
“Careful what you wish for. You may end up with much worse.” Jilsina stood over her pup while Martol held her own vigil. “You however, need to learn some wisdom. That forest is dangerous for one so young.”
Toltan found his courage, or more foolishness. “I’m not afraid! I want to see what’s out there. I want to hunt the things I smell.”
“You will when you’re big enough to catch them. At your size, you bite a rabbit, he’s likely to drag you with him.”
“Rabbits don’t eat wolves.”
“But eagles do,” Martol said. Jilsina glanced back at her, causing Martol to lower her ears until Jilsina turned hers forward in approval.
“She has a point,” Jilsina said. “There are many things you do not yet know.”
“I want to learn!” Toltan said. “I want to—“
“Enough!” Jilsina’s growl forced even Martol’s ears to fall. “Someday, you will be strong. You may even take your father’s place as alpha, but until that day, you must wait and learn. As for today, you will remain within the den. You will not leave without an adult, for any reason, at any time. Am I understood?”
Jilsina glared at him, still as a stone, hot as an inferno. The death stance the pack called it. As in you only challenge it if you want to die.
Toltan shrank in size, but did tick his ears forward. “Yes mother.”
“Use my name,” she ruffed. “It’s time you pups started to apply the rules you learn.”
“Yes… Jilsina.”
Jilsina ruffed in his face before looking back at Martol again. Martol’s ears shifted uneasily, to which Jilsina ruffed amusement.
“Take him back to the den please. Make sure he stays there.”
Chapter 1
Toltan buried his nose in the carpet of flowers, inhaling their scent while fighting back sneezes that might damage the source. Such delicate, soft, sweet scents, others somehow musty, still more almost sour, yet no less appealing. Such an array of smells, no wonder he couldn’t make sense of them on the wind as a pup. They’d become a jumbled mess by the time his nose ever touched them. That is until now, when he was better able to enjoy them.
“You find that scent yet?”
Solas. His almost twin brother, at least by fur color, but that’s as far as the relationship went. Even then, Solas’ coat had more dark grey than his, and Solas’ cream underside and legs bordered on brown. Toltan meanwhile had developed a white and cream underside, which extended up to his forehead and muzzle.
Personality wise, they couldn’t be more different. Toltan didn’t mind taking a moment to enjoy life. Solas meanwhile…
“Toltan! We need to find that deer before it gets back to its herd.”
Toltan had to wonder if Solas would actually drop when he died, or if he’d keep right on hunting.
“No luck yet,” Toltan said.
He heard an annoyed growl from Solas followed by a lot of snorting, only half of which was looking for the trail. The other half was for Toltan. The rest of the hunting party had more or less ignored them both in favor of the hunt.
Toltan’s ears did turn back when he heard someone else approach. He gave a soft growl of his own when Martol pushed past him to check where he’d been sniffing. She ignored him of course, as she often had since he’d crossed from pup to adult.
“You find something else?” she asked. “All I can find is flowers.”
Toltan ruffed amusement. At least she was talking to him for a change. “Me too. Sweet aren’t they?”
“So you have a thing for flowers huh?”
“Sure. What’s wrong with that?”
Martol sneezed after a deep sniff, and Toltan wasn’t sure she didn’t do it on purpose. “You’re a wolf. We track prey so we can eat it. These have no bearing on us.”
“Just because I’m a deadly hunter doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a little beauty. After all, you’re pretty good looking yourself.”
That got her. Martol tried to glare at him, but her softer ears gave away her blush. She tried to force them forward in aggression. A softer flick of amusement came out instead.
“Come on,” she said. “We still have a kill to find. Unless of course, you intend to eat those things.”
Toltan ruffed a chuckle. Nice dodge. Though he had to admit, he really should continue the hunt.
He left the flowers behind in favor of where the original trail had turned through them. He and Martol hit on the same thought at once as both went straight through the field until the flowers ended. They didn’t need long afterward to find where the deer had continued. Fresh blood is always easy for a wolf to find.
“Solas, this way,” Toltan called.
He led the way through thickening trees as the trail darted between them. Despite the bite they’d landed, this one buck had covered a lot of ground. Toltan found himself trotting along the trail, dripping drool as he imagined the bounty he’d find. He wouldn’t get much considering the large size of the pack, but that didn’t keep him from thinking about it.
The blood drops grew in size and frequency as they moved. Surely it couldn’t keep this pace for long. It had to be getting weak. Then again, it didn’t need long. The herd wasn’t far. All it needed to do was last long enough to catch up with them.
A crash snapped Toltan’s ears and head up. Another hoof clap sent him and the others running toward it. The claps grew louder, and his pace faster. It was staggering! Only thing that could explain it making so much noise. The chase and the wound had finally caught up with it. Toltan tore through brush to make sure it didn’t crawl back to its herd.
His enthusiasm almost sent him charging into its antlers. He had to dig his claws deep to stop, then dig again to avoid getting mauled by a swipe from the buck’s head. It caught only his tail, and it slithered through unharmed.
Toltan might have been caught off guard, but he had never stopped thinking. After escaping harm, he planted his paws and turned around as the hunting party drew the buck’s attention. All nine snapped low, feinting mostly to get it to expose its neck, but its attention had exposed something else. Toltan charged in as it stomped a tail’s width short of Solas. Before it remembered him, Toltan had gotten in behind and sent his muzzle stabbing at the buck’s hind quarters.
His fangs landed where he’d aimed them; right onto the creature’s genitals. Toltan planted and pulled as hard as he could, tearing out a hunk of flesh from the buck’s hind-quarters. His face was drenched in a glop of blood as he pulled away before it could kick him. It turned to face him, but he and the party had retreated well outside any possible attack range. They knew what a strike of that kind did. As the ground was stained by the buck’s blood, it staggered, tried to keep it’s footing, then collapsed as the blood loss claimed its energy, and soon after its life.
“Toltan,” Solas said between pants, “you can be flighty sometimes, but your fangs could catch a hummingbird’s tongue.”
“You’re welcome,” Toltan said.
Solas stepped forward to lead the feasting, as well as choosing parts to bring back to the pack.
His fangs never touched the kill.
Solas yipped pain as another wolf tackled him before anyone saw him arrive. The shock prevented the rest of the party from seeing the other wolves until most found themselves in a fight for their lives. Thankfully the attackers weren’t able to use their advantage. The hunting party shed the initial attack and forced an even ten-on-ten brawl. Snaps were traded all at once, others fought paws on the shoulders, trying to get an angle.
Toltan found himself doing the latter with a female bigger than he was. They stood almost upright as they both tried to land a bite on the other. Toltan was able to strike fast and accurate, but even his best efforts could only block a bite or land a meaningless blow on legs or fur.
Then at one point, the female pushed too hard for him to counter. Toltan was forced to drop to avoid landing on his back, which allowed her to lock her jaws onto the back of his neck instead. Mostly scruff, thank Wolfor, but it still hurt, and it still had him in big trouble. She tried to push him down, and he pushed back knowing that if she got him down, she’d end him.
He tugged hard trying to get away, but she stayed with him every time. He kept pulling anyway because he knew that if he didn’t, sooner or later, she would readjust and kill him. He tried to plant and pull again, except this time his right legs caught the dead legs of the deer. They slipped off, sending him sliding onto his side.
He expected the female to go for his underbelly, but at the same time he’d fallen, she’d pulled up just a second to reposition. When she came down to try another push, her body expected to find Toltan still fighting her. Instead it found no resistance at all. The mis-proportion of force sent her muzzle into the ground with all the force meant for Toltan, with her head catching some of the blow as well. She yipped more in surprise than pain, but the pain was enough to loosen her jaws and send her head spinning.
Toltan had only a second of surprise to get over. The moment he recognized his advantage, he used his fangs with lethal accuracy. His first strike punctured an eye. His second snapped a foreleg in half. His third landed on the throat, and stayed there until the female fell limp on the ground.
Toltan snapped his head up to check the status of the battle. Much of his own pack had faired as well or better than he did. Solas, despite gashes on his shoulder, was taking down his opponent, while Martol danced around hers like a hummingbird darting between flowers. She struck with equal quickness. Though not as well as Toltan did, she still left her mark.
He decided to end the dance to free her for the others. He charged in, found the tail of the enemy up, and let his hunter blood do the rest. Once again, he took aim, and his fangs followed. Just like the deer, he went for the genital area, found his mark, and tore a gash that drew a strong stream of blood. The enemy wolf didn’t get to bleed out however, as Martol ended him herself while he cried out in pain.
They both went looking for the next opponent, yet found the remaining attackers retreating into the distance. Solas led the chase until they’d gone well beyond their pack’s borders. Satisfied they’d run them off, the hunting party returned to claim their kill and care for their wounds. Many were bleeding, all were panting hard, and two of their own lay dead from the attack. The rival party in contrast had lost half a dozen, not counting those whose wounds might claim them later. Still too many, Toltan thought.
“What was that about?” Toltan said aloud. “I’ve never seen such aggression from another pack.”
“I may have part of the answer,” Martol said. She was just beside the kill, sniffing at the bush the first wolf had jumped from. “They marked this bush recently. I think they thought they’d claimed this territory, and we were the intruders.”
Solas examined the scent while Toltan checked the more serious of the wounded. Thank Wolfor again, they didn’t appear to be life threatening. The worst were heavy bleeders that always looked worse than they were. Thorough cleaning would keep the wounds little more than scars.
Solas meanwhile snorted at the marked bush. “Mouler apparently needs to remark his borders.”
“He did,” Martol said. “Just yesterday.”
“Then what would drive another pack to such aggression? Could it be the rage plague?”
“There’s no way to know… unless… unless one of us—”
“Don’t say it! Mouler has enough to deal with without the idea of one of his pack going mad. Perhaps they were simply foolish enough to think they could claim the territory.”
Toltan prayed he was right, but something within said he wasn’t. He couldn’t find a source beyond a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away. As much as it worried him, without the source, he could do little about it now.
For the moment at least, he gladly pushed the thought away as the party lifted their heads briefly in a long howl of mourning. They’d lost only two, but a loss is a loss. In a way, Toltan cursed himself that he’d almost forgotten about them. Martol hadn’t, as she had been the first to begin the howl. The group joined on her tail, grieving the loss of their fellow wolves.
Sadly, the wild life does not allow grief to dominate. The pack still needed to be cared for. After marking the borders again themselves, the party finally got around to eating their kill. The group ate with more energy than normal, a touch energized by the blood spent to win the kill. The bloodlust got to Martol though, as she had to be reminded by Solas’ fangs that the kidneys weren’t hers to take. Toltan satisfied himself with a thigh, and let each mouthful slide down with smooth joy.
As the party started gathering the left-overs for the pack, he had to push the female he’d killed off to get at it. It was only then he noticed her state. She was so thin that her ribs were showing, and where her fur wasn’t matted, it was thin or weak as if half the strands that should be there were missing. Her jaws were also pale, and not from recent death either. A glance at the other bodies as the party passed them showed the same signs of malnourishment. Now he knew why his instincts rejected Solas’ reasons. The attackers weren’t disputing territory, they were desperate for a meal.
Yet that didn’t make sense either. Toltan knew this forest. There was more than enough game for them beyond Mouler’s border. How could a pack of any size get that thin?
A crack of thunder drew everyone’s ears in the direction the other wolves had fled. It was so distant at first Toltan wasn’t sure he’d heard it. The fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky didn’t help much. Worse yet were the birds that came soon after. Flocks of several breeds, squawking as they flew, very much on edge. Whatever the thunder was, it wasn’t something they were used to.
Martol ruffed through her mouthful of meat. When the party looked to her, she moved on toward their meeting area. Most followed without question, while Solas and Toltan traded looks that said “since when did she make alpha?” They also decided to let it be via the same method. She had the right idea. They had what they came for, and hanging around now would only put them at risk. Assuming of course there was risk to hang around for.
Toltan felt sure there was, but he buried it under a lie to the contrary, at least for now.
“You find that scent yet?”
Solas. His almost twin brother, at least by fur color, but that’s as far as the relationship went. Even then, Solas’ coat had more dark grey than his, and Solas’ cream underside and legs bordered on brown. Toltan meanwhile had developed a white and cream underside, which extended up to his forehead and muzzle.
Personality wise, they couldn’t be more different. Toltan didn’t mind taking a moment to enjoy life. Solas meanwhile…
“Toltan! We need to find that deer before it gets back to its herd.”
Toltan had to wonder if Solas would actually drop when he died, or if he’d keep right on hunting.
“No luck yet,” Toltan said.
He heard an annoyed growl from Solas followed by a lot of snorting, only half of which was looking for the trail. The other half was for Toltan. The rest of the hunting party had more or less ignored them both in favor of the hunt.
Toltan’s ears did turn back when he heard someone else approach. He gave a soft growl of his own when Martol pushed past him to check where he’d been sniffing. She ignored him of course, as she often had since he’d crossed from pup to adult.
“You find something else?” she asked. “All I can find is flowers.”
Toltan ruffed amusement. At least she was talking to him for a change. “Me too. Sweet aren’t they?”
“So you have a thing for flowers huh?”
“Sure. What’s wrong with that?”
Martol sneezed after a deep sniff, and Toltan wasn’t sure she didn’t do it on purpose. “You’re a wolf. We track prey so we can eat it. These have no bearing on us.”
“Just because I’m a deadly hunter doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a little beauty. After all, you’re pretty good looking yourself.”
That got her. Martol tried to glare at him, but her softer ears gave away her blush. She tried to force them forward in aggression. A softer flick of amusement came out instead.
“Come on,” she said. “We still have a kill to find. Unless of course, you intend to eat those things.”
Toltan ruffed a chuckle. Nice dodge. Though he had to admit, he really should continue the hunt.
He left the flowers behind in favor of where the original trail had turned through them. He and Martol hit on the same thought at once as both went straight through the field until the flowers ended. They didn’t need long afterward to find where the deer had continued. Fresh blood is always easy for a wolf to find.
“Solas, this way,” Toltan called.
He led the way through thickening trees as the trail darted between them. Despite the bite they’d landed, this one buck had covered a lot of ground. Toltan found himself trotting along the trail, dripping drool as he imagined the bounty he’d find. He wouldn’t get much considering the large size of the pack, but that didn’t keep him from thinking about it.
The blood drops grew in size and frequency as they moved. Surely it couldn’t keep this pace for long. It had to be getting weak. Then again, it didn’t need long. The herd wasn’t far. All it needed to do was last long enough to catch up with them.
A crash snapped Toltan’s ears and head up. Another hoof clap sent him and the others running toward it. The claps grew louder, and his pace faster. It was staggering! Only thing that could explain it making so much noise. The chase and the wound had finally caught up with it. Toltan tore through brush to make sure it didn’t crawl back to its herd.
His enthusiasm almost sent him charging into its antlers. He had to dig his claws deep to stop, then dig again to avoid getting mauled by a swipe from the buck’s head. It caught only his tail, and it slithered through unharmed.
Toltan might have been caught off guard, but he had never stopped thinking. After escaping harm, he planted his paws and turned around as the hunting party drew the buck’s attention. All nine snapped low, feinting mostly to get it to expose its neck, but its attention had exposed something else. Toltan charged in as it stomped a tail’s width short of Solas. Before it remembered him, Toltan had gotten in behind and sent his muzzle stabbing at the buck’s hind quarters.
His fangs landed where he’d aimed them; right onto the creature’s genitals. Toltan planted and pulled as hard as he could, tearing out a hunk of flesh from the buck’s hind-quarters. His face was drenched in a glop of blood as he pulled away before it could kick him. It turned to face him, but he and the party had retreated well outside any possible attack range. They knew what a strike of that kind did. As the ground was stained by the buck’s blood, it staggered, tried to keep it’s footing, then collapsed as the blood loss claimed its energy, and soon after its life.
“Toltan,” Solas said between pants, “you can be flighty sometimes, but your fangs could catch a hummingbird’s tongue.”
“You’re welcome,” Toltan said.
Solas stepped forward to lead the feasting, as well as choosing parts to bring back to the pack.
His fangs never touched the kill.
Solas yipped pain as another wolf tackled him before anyone saw him arrive. The shock prevented the rest of the party from seeing the other wolves until most found themselves in a fight for their lives. Thankfully the attackers weren’t able to use their advantage. The hunting party shed the initial attack and forced an even ten-on-ten brawl. Snaps were traded all at once, others fought paws on the shoulders, trying to get an angle.
Toltan found himself doing the latter with a female bigger than he was. They stood almost upright as they both tried to land a bite on the other. Toltan was able to strike fast and accurate, but even his best efforts could only block a bite or land a meaningless blow on legs or fur.
Then at one point, the female pushed too hard for him to counter. Toltan was forced to drop to avoid landing on his back, which allowed her to lock her jaws onto the back of his neck instead. Mostly scruff, thank Wolfor, but it still hurt, and it still had him in big trouble. She tried to push him down, and he pushed back knowing that if she got him down, she’d end him.
He tugged hard trying to get away, but she stayed with him every time. He kept pulling anyway because he knew that if he didn’t, sooner or later, she would readjust and kill him. He tried to plant and pull again, except this time his right legs caught the dead legs of the deer. They slipped off, sending him sliding onto his side.
He expected the female to go for his underbelly, but at the same time he’d fallen, she’d pulled up just a second to reposition. When she came down to try another push, her body expected to find Toltan still fighting her. Instead it found no resistance at all. The mis-proportion of force sent her muzzle into the ground with all the force meant for Toltan, with her head catching some of the blow as well. She yipped more in surprise than pain, but the pain was enough to loosen her jaws and send her head spinning.
Toltan had only a second of surprise to get over. The moment he recognized his advantage, he used his fangs with lethal accuracy. His first strike punctured an eye. His second snapped a foreleg in half. His third landed on the throat, and stayed there until the female fell limp on the ground.
Toltan snapped his head up to check the status of the battle. Much of his own pack had faired as well or better than he did. Solas, despite gashes on his shoulder, was taking down his opponent, while Martol danced around hers like a hummingbird darting between flowers. She struck with equal quickness. Though not as well as Toltan did, she still left her mark.
He decided to end the dance to free her for the others. He charged in, found the tail of the enemy up, and let his hunter blood do the rest. Once again, he took aim, and his fangs followed. Just like the deer, he went for the genital area, found his mark, and tore a gash that drew a strong stream of blood. The enemy wolf didn’t get to bleed out however, as Martol ended him herself while he cried out in pain.
They both went looking for the next opponent, yet found the remaining attackers retreating into the distance. Solas led the chase until they’d gone well beyond their pack’s borders. Satisfied they’d run them off, the hunting party returned to claim their kill and care for their wounds. Many were bleeding, all were panting hard, and two of their own lay dead from the attack. The rival party in contrast had lost half a dozen, not counting those whose wounds might claim them later. Still too many, Toltan thought.
“What was that about?” Toltan said aloud. “I’ve never seen such aggression from another pack.”
“I may have part of the answer,” Martol said. She was just beside the kill, sniffing at the bush the first wolf had jumped from. “They marked this bush recently. I think they thought they’d claimed this territory, and we were the intruders.”
Solas examined the scent while Toltan checked the more serious of the wounded. Thank Wolfor again, they didn’t appear to be life threatening. The worst were heavy bleeders that always looked worse than they were. Thorough cleaning would keep the wounds little more than scars.
Solas meanwhile snorted at the marked bush. “Mouler apparently needs to remark his borders.”
“He did,” Martol said. “Just yesterday.”
“Then what would drive another pack to such aggression? Could it be the rage plague?”
“There’s no way to know… unless… unless one of us—”
“Don’t say it! Mouler has enough to deal with without the idea of one of his pack going mad. Perhaps they were simply foolish enough to think they could claim the territory.”
Toltan prayed he was right, but something within said he wasn’t. He couldn’t find a source beyond a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away. As much as it worried him, without the source, he could do little about it now.
For the moment at least, he gladly pushed the thought away as the party lifted their heads briefly in a long howl of mourning. They’d lost only two, but a loss is a loss. In a way, Toltan cursed himself that he’d almost forgotten about them. Martol hadn’t, as she had been the first to begin the howl. The group joined on her tail, grieving the loss of their fellow wolves.
Sadly, the wild life does not allow grief to dominate. The pack still needed to be cared for. After marking the borders again themselves, the party finally got around to eating their kill. The group ate with more energy than normal, a touch energized by the blood spent to win the kill. The bloodlust got to Martol though, as she had to be reminded by Solas’ fangs that the kidneys weren’t hers to take. Toltan satisfied himself with a thigh, and let each mouthful slide down with smooth joy.
As the party started gathering the left-overs for the pack, he had to push the female he’d killed off to get at it. It was only then he noticed her state. She was so thin that her ribs were showing, and where her fur wasn’t matted, it was thin or weak as if half the strands that should be there were missing. Her jaws were also pale, and not from recent death either. A glance at the other bodies as the party passed them showed the same signs of malnourishment. Now he knew why his instincts rejected Solas’ reasons. The attackers weren’t disputing territory, they were desperate for a meal.
Yet that didn’t make sense either. Toltan knew this forest. There was more than enough game for them beyond Mouler’s border. How could a pack of any size get that thin?
A crack of thunder drew everyone’s ears in the direction the other wolves had fled. It was so distant at first Toltan wasn’t sure he’d heard it. The fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky didn’t help much. Worse yet were the birds that came soon after. Flocks of several breeds, squawking as they flew, very much on edge. Whatever the thunder was, it wasn’t something they were used to.
Martol ruffed through her mouthful of meat. When the party looked to her, she moved on toward their meeting area. Most followed without question, while Solas and Toltan traded looks that said “since when did she make alpha?” They also decided to let it be via the same method. She had the right idea. They had what they came for, and hanging around now would only put them at risk. Assuming of course there was risk to hang around for.
Toltan felt sure there was, but he buried it under a lie to the contrary, at least for now.
