🌲 Ruins of Wildwood - Pack Lore 🌲

Introduction

The Wildwood has been here since before the old gods were born, and will continue to exist long after. To this day, it stands alone against the hills, holding all darkness within: these trees have witnessed the rise and fall of kings, deaths and births, love and betrayal. The trees carry many secrets, legend and lore from a time when trees still had tongues with which to tell it. Now, silence reigns supreme: rivers meander on without a sound, and all that roam here are wild as the wind, and whatever walks here, walks alone. But sometimes, when the night is quiet the trees seem to whisper to each other: secrets of a forgotten past that lies buried beneath the trees, among the bones of unquiet ancestors. For even the proudest of oaks take root from creeping rot.  

Some secrets, it seems, are best left buried forever. 

Characters

note; don't worry about remembering all the different characters, they are introduced and described individually throughout the story - this is just for aesthetic references.

The Wildwood Pack

            Kamotts                                                        Daere                                                        Lakota 

     Lane                                                         Laika                                               Wyakin 

                                    Faolan 

Other

Night was coming, and the shadows crept like thieves along the cave floor. Longer and longer they grew, stretching and bending like tree branches in spring until they covered the whole of the world. 

The cave was perched on a beetling precipice of the highest mountain, overlooking the peaks and valleys below. Shrrg had chosen this cave for it’s vantage point, but also for its quiet. In this kingdom of mist and shadow, she could watch over the comings and goings for miles around without being disturbed. She did not like company, except to look down upon it. 

The land below was not as empty as it appeared. In the gathering gloom, Shrrg could make out hundreds of glittering pairs of eyes reflecting the light as wolves tracked through the valley below, could smell the musky scent of their fear and excitement carried up on the wind from below. Her wolves, she reminded herself, gathering at her command. There was no need to fear them. No need to fear anything, any longer. 

Shrrg rose, and left the quiet of her cave with a growl in her throat, tracking down the steep mountain trail to join the pack in the valley below. The wolves did not see their leader approach but felt her, the way one would feel a storm coming. Shrrg’s night-black fur let her melt seamlessly into the shadows around them, and the small she-wolf had always prized herself on her light tread. But she sensed the pack’s unease as she approached, smelled the ripple of apprehension that went through the mountain pass as she at last stepped into view. 

Good, she thought. Let them fear me. Fear was what kept their world turning, after all, what sent deer scattering before and wolf’s jaws and predator chasing after prey. Fear was natural, just as much a part of their world as the moon and sun. 

“Come,” she said. She did not address them, or make any grand speeches about what was to come. Sometimes, it was her silence that said what words could not. “The moon is rising.”

Shrrg leaped down from the rocky outcropping she had been standing on and began to make her way along the familiar mountain path that lead up to the great precipice where the Stone Circle stood. Her pack followed wordlessly behind her - almost a hundred strong now, a tidal wave of dark fur and hungry growls and flashing eyes. She spotted her two sentries, Jarl and Brent, beginning up the rear, keeping the pack in line with snapping jaws, and leading the way was Sileas, the huge brown timber wolf, Shrrg’s best fighter and second in command. 

“Hurry, Sileas,” Shrrg turned back to snap at her second. “It is almost midnight.”

There was a harsh, rasping call, and Shrrg glanced up to see the hooded figure of a raven swoop down to meet her, snapping his beak excitedly. 

“Have you summoned him, mistress?” the raven croaked as he came to rest on Shrrg’s shoulder. She fought back her irritation, the urge to swat the bird away. She knew the pack feared the raven, a symbol of death and decay - some said the birds were messengers of Farkas himself - and to see the bird perched on her shoulder made the pack fear her, too. 

“No, Snick,” Shrrg growled, forcing herself to swallow her irritation. “I shall wait until the darkest hour, when the moon is at her fullest at the top of her heavens. Have you gathered the rest of the Vrenshrrg?”

“Yes, mistress. The northern and western patrols are on the move as we speak. Headed for the Stone Circle,” said Snick. “Do you really believe this will work, mistress? I mean, Farkas - Ayr - Rah is only a - ”

“A legend. A story told to fretful pups,” Shrrg smiled. “But soak the earth with enough blood and Farkas himself will smell the stench and come crawling out of the legend. You see, Snick, stories have far more power than you realise. And it will be we Vrenshrrg that will taste this power.”

The Vrenshrrg was the name her pack had earned for themselves, a fierce and bloody reputation - an army of the boldest mountain warriors, who had been trained to show no mercy, and feel no fear. Shrrg’s army had grown so strong that even man daren’t hunt them down. And after tonight… after tonight, even death itself couldn’t stop them. After tonight, they wouldn’t have to hide in the shadow of the mountains. The rest of the free territories would be hers. Wildwood, at last, would be hers. 

But even the mighty Vrenshrrg fell silent as the Stone Circle came into view, the great dark stones starkly silhouetted against the silver light of the rising moon. A full moon, a perfect white circle in the heavens - Shrrg felt it tug at some string deep inside her, the same way it tugged at every wolf who dared raise their head to meet its gaze.

The great standing stones were ancient, taller than the tallest trees and slippery with moss and mildew. She could smell the centuries on them, the rusty tang of spilled blood and ancient secrets, lichen and legend and lore. The stones were perhaps even older than the mountains themselves, from a time before their kind had walked the land - perhaps, Shrrg thought, they were older than the great Lykin - Rah himself. 

Lykin - Rah. Shrrg sneered when she thought of his name. Soon, no one at all would be left to remember it. Soon, the only name they would whisper in worship was hers. 

With a snarl, Shrrg sprang into the center of the Stone Circle, turning as she surveyed the Vrenshrrg gathering all around her. They were a sight to behold, all claws and teeth and growls, the storm wind tugging at their fur as they jostled to get a better view of their leader. Shrrg stood tall and proud in the circle of moonlight that dripped over the standing stones, illuminating her like a halo. Once, she would have cowered away from their gazes, but no longer. It did not matter that she was only a small she-wolf, her pelt grizzled with ugly scars, it did not matter that she was not beautiful. To them, she was so much more than that. 

At last, she swung back her head and howled. “Now,” she snarled to her warriors. “Now it really begins.”

The Vrenshrrg began to muster and howled along with her, a hundred voices rising into one collective song that echoed through the mountains and all the way up to the stars, a call that seemed to rattle the night and wake the whole world from its slumber. If he could hear them from up there in the sky… Lykin - Rah himself would be trembling. 

Shrrg bit back a snarl of satisfaction at her army, her empire, the monsters she had created. But she didn’t speak until every wolf had fallen silent. 

“Now,” she addressed Sileas. “Bring them forward.”

There were ten of them - ten wolves, some young, some old, some tiny pups. As Sileas herded them forwards into the Stone Circle, anyone could tell they were not Vrenshrrg. No - these wolves cowered in fear as they were driven forwards, ears flat against their heads, the whites of their eyes yellow with terror. The Vrenshrrg snapped and cackled at them as they went, tails between their legs, into the very center of the Circle. 

“Do not tremble,” Shrrg told them. “And do not be afraid. For it is an honour to serve the great Farkas - Ayr - Rah.”

And then, as the moon reached her summit at the very top of the sky, Shrrg began to chant:

“Come to me from the land where the shadows fall, 

A river of blood to ease your pain

O child of the night, heed my siren call

And my sacrifice shall not be in vain!

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain

I am the voice of your hunger and pain

I am the voice of the past that will always be

Answer my call and I’ll set you free!”

In that instant, a wicked talon of lightning streaked across the sky and struck the Stone Circle. The standing stones seemed to leap forwards in the brilliance of the flash, like the afterimage of a terrible dream, illuminating the fallen wolves, the sacrificial altar now dripping with blood. They were dead, all of them, the ten wolves that had been brought into the center of the circle, throats torn out by an invisible predator. Shrrg felt a wicked pulse of glee go through her. 

And then came the thunder, a terrible growling that shook the valley, as if some great and terrible god was stirring awake up in the heavens. Black clouds raced across the face of the moon, where only moments ago, the sky had been clear as cut glass. As if an invisible dam had been breached, rain began to pour from above, ice-cold and stone-heavy, pounding the earth into submission and soaking through the wolves’ coats in seconds, rain heavy enough to wash away the world. In all her years, Shrrg had never seen anything like it. 

“Lykin help us,” she heard Sileas whisper. It was the first time she had seen the Vrenshrrg afraid. Her mighty army suddenly looked very small and powerless, their coats sodden with rain as they gazed up at the moon going dark. But Shrrg didn’t feel small or powerless. She let out a great howl of triumph, and the wolves that had begun to scatter regrouped instantly. 

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Come to me, child.”

Lightning flashed again, and this time Shrrg gelt it go straight through her like a knife. She felt her mind bend beneath it, felt a power slice through her like none she had ever known, a lawless, terrible, ancient power. Wordless images burst behind her eyes: a river that had no ending, moss and pearl, rotting baby teeth, unearthed fingers, ram horns and ripped lace. The darkness within the darkness, and behind the darkness, too. 

Shrrg smiled. Farkas was here. 

Shrrg spun around, her sharp yellow eyes surveying the wolves around her, and a smile began to spread across her face. 

“He has come!” she howled. “Farkas - Ayr - Rah has come!" 

The pack went still, and on the storm howled, the wind screaming high and wild, louder than the call of any wild wolf. Shrrg howled back at it, and this time her voice was louder. 

"Now bring him to me."

The sun was rising above the land the stories called Wildwood. The ancient trees watched over the sleeping wood like proud and faceless sentinels, silently guarding the birds that slept in their branches and the secrets that stirred at their roots. The trunks were wreathed with autumn mist that glittered in the rosy dawn sunlight that crept down through the tree canopy. It was Koh Lanta - first light.

A wolf pack was weaving silently through the wood, shadows appearing and disappearing like reflections on a winter lake. There were six of them, a small family pack, and their tread was so light that their paws made no sound even on the red-gold carpet of leaves that littered the forest floor. But the trees saw them, and knew who they were there, as the trees saw and knew all things. 

The six wolves had been keeping up a brisk trot for several hours, and even though they had been travelling through the night, they showed no signs of fatigue. Wolves were made to travel long distances, and their tireless determination was often their greatest ally when hunting and tracking. But there was one wolf - the omega of the pack - who was lagging behind. He was not a small wolf, but he was shy by nature, his white coat tinted yellow by the shift of the seasons. 

To the omega, Wildwood seemed a strange and unsettling place. The twisted roots and crooked boughs of the ancient trees worried him, seeming to hem him in from all sides - he was used to the wide open spaces and lonely tundra that was favored by all wolves. But what spooked him most was the silence. No birds sang to welcome in the dawn, no creatures chased and scurried through the undergrowth. But the wood was not devoid of life - he felt it whispering all around him. Wildwood had not given up its secrets yet. It unsettled the omega, and although he daren’t admit it to anyone for fear of more chiding, he was afraid. He remembered these woods from a distant time - he had been born here in Wildwood, and played here as a pup, but he had been gone so long that now the trees felt like strangers to him. Now, the trees that had once sheltered him felt like they were tracking him like prey. 

The omega startled as a shadow danced across the ground, and then felt foolish as he realized it was his own. But his sudden fear had taken him by surprise, and sent him scurrying sideways and crashing straight into the stern figure of the alpha male. 

“Watch yourself, Lakota,” growled the alpha wolf. The alpha male was a big grey wolf, not much larger than Lakota himself, but he stood with such pride and certainty that he seemed a hundred years older and a thousand times bigger. Lakota often forgot that the two of them were brothers. 

“Oh, can’t you feel it, Kamotts?” Lakota whined, his ears flat against his skull. “You must feel it too.”

“What in Lykin’s name are you wittering about?” growled Kamotts. The alpha was not unkind, but he didn’t stand for nonsense. Already, Lakota could make out the beginnings of irritation on his older brother’s face. 

“It’s coming, can’t you feel it?” Lakota trembled. “There’s something terrible about this place, like jaws closing in.”

Lakota was shivering now, hunched on the ground as the rest of the pack huddled around him. The shadows of Wildwood seemed to stretch as if reaching towards him. 

“Come now, Lakota,” came a gentle female voice. “We’re almost there. We’ll be playing in the sunny green glens before the day is up.” 

Lakota peered up to see the alpha female’s face above him, soft with concern. Whereas the alpha male was stern, his mate, Lane, made up for his lack of cheerfulness with her own abundance of it. Lakota was grateful for her concern - up close, the alpha female looked tired herself, and her bulging belly told of the heavy burden she had been carrying all the way from the mountains. But still, her muzzle was set in a playful grin - it would take more than a long journey and a little foul weather to get Lane down. 

“I do admit, there is something queer about the woods this morning,” said Wyakin, an old silver she-wolf, gazing up at the canopy above with her pale, watchful eyes. At last, Kamotts sat down with a grunt. If old Wyakin thought something was wrong, then something usually was. Wyakin had been there when Kamotts was born, and when Kamotts’s father before him was born, and sometimes the old she-wolf could tell if rain was coming just by listening to the wind. 

But still Kamotts shook his head. “Now you’re both being foolish,” he said. “These trees are our homeland. Wildwood is ours by birthright, and we have returned to claim it. There is no danger here, or I would have smelt it coming.”

Wyakin just shook her head, the old shaman strangely silent. Lakota fancied that she knew things that the rest of them didn’t - whereas they had been too young to properly remember Wildwood, Wyakin must still remember it perfectly. And remember why they had left in the first place. 

“Maybe our parents left this place for a reason,” said Lakota quietly as he eyed the dark tree canopy. At once, Kamotts let out a warning growl, and Wyakin looked away, her face looking strangely guilty. 

“Now stop it, brother,” snarled Kamotts, seizing Lakota by the scruff of his neck. “You’re scaring the others. Now keep up - we need to find shelter by nightfall, and you’re slowing us down.”

Kamotts shook his head, turning away from the terrified omega as he continued to lead his pack through the silent wood. 

*

By mid-afternoon, they found what they were looking for. 

The pack slowed as they came to a spacious glade, where the land began to slope steeply downwards into a shallow, gurgling brook. Kamotts paused at the entrance to the glade, his nose working, but the place seemed safe enough. He remembered it, he realized with a jolt - the steep walls of sloping earth, the scrubby pines, the familiar babbling of the stream. 

“It should be here somewhere,” Kamotts said as he began to trot through the glade, following the course of the stream. His other brother and second-in-command, Daere, followed at his side - the beta wolf was even bigger than Kamotts himself, but despite his dark fur and intimidating appearance, Daere’s brutish body hid a warm and cheerful heart. Daere yipped happily as his mate Laika caught up with him - a beautiful she-wolf whose fur was as light as Daere’s was dark.  

Together they scouted along the bank in single file, noses to the ground, searching. Lane stood back with Wyakin and Lakota as the other end of the path - the tomboyish alpha-female was usually the first to run up and explore, but both Lakota and old Wyakin refused to move any further, and Lane didn’t have the heart to push them. 

“Here!” Daere shouted, and his shaggy head came up at the other end of the steep slope. “Just as I remember it!”

The rest of the pack rushed to meet him. Nestled beneath the sprawling roots of the great silver birch tree at the top of the bank, was the entrance to a den. The entrance obviously hadn’t been used for a long time, overgrown with trailing ivy and long cowslip stems that seemed intent on growing over it, as if to conceal its very existence. 

Daere and Kamotts exchanged a grin, and the two brothers set to work tearing the ivy away from the den’s entrance. Lakota hung back from his older brothers, his pulse ticking warily. Perhaps his brothers had fond memories of this place, but he didn’t. All he remembered was Wyakin telling them stories as pups, and in the close darkness of that den, the stories had almost seemed to come to life - wolf-gods and wicked beasts, enchanted forests and creeping shadows. 

“What a fine place you have found for us, Kamotts,” said Lane, bumping against her mate affectionately. “Lykin himself must have made it for us.”

“Come on,” said Kamotts, licking her between the ears in a rare show of tenderness. “Let us all go inside.”

Lakota knew he should have felt safe as he followed his brothers into the den - after all, it was a wolf’s instinct to get below ground when fear struck, but strangely, Lakota felt even more afraid in the den. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could make out the earth walls worn smooth from years of use, ribbed with tree-roots, and the low roof that should have made the den feel cosy but instead made it feel close and oppressive. 

“This is perfect,” he heard Laika say. “You and I can even have a chamber to ourselves, Daere. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Lakota - don’t you like it?”

Lakota did not like it. The den was far bigger than it looked from the outside, more than big enough for six wolves, and however many pups Lane was carrying in her belly. Their old pack must have been very big, thought Lakota, to warrant a den so spacious. There were little chambers carved into the walls big enough for a wolf to curl up in, and at the back, caved-in tunnels that must lead to other rooms. But what worried Lakota was the amount of air circulating. He could feel it, blowing down through the entrance shaft and moving his fur like a ghost wind. Dens should be small and cosy, he thought to himself. Here he could hear the echo of every footfall and breath bounced back at him like an eerie wail. 

Then Lakota looked up, and terror seized him. 

“Oh, Lykin-Rah!” Lakota hissed. “The roof! The roof is made of bones!”

Of course, the roof was not made of bones, but of the twisted roots of the birch tree above, but to Lakota the whole place seemed like a warren of death. He could bear it no longer, and bolted straight back up the earth shaft and out into the open. 

“Whatever has gotten into him?” Laika laughed, but it was not a kind laugh, and the white wolf stared after Lakota with sharp and icy eyes. Wyakin, who had been feeling out of sorts all day, stood up to address the rest of the pack, sudden anger flashing in her eyes. 

“Oh, you must heed him,” said the old she-wolf. “There’s obviously something scaring him out of his wits. And you, Laika - you should know better than to tease him.”

Kamotts growled. “Lakota is a yellow-bellied fool.”

“Lakota is your brother.”

“Fine,” Kamotts conceded with a growl. “I’ll go after him.”

Kamotts sighed as he trailed out into the open after Lakota. His younger brother was an omega and a coward, but even so, he would hate to see Lakota spend a night out in the open. Who knew what kinds of creatures roamed these lands? He tracked his brother’s scent along the edge of the stream, and let out a little yelp of surprise as something came crashing sideways out of gorse thicket and straight into him. 

“Lakota!” said Kamotts, slightly breathless as he shook off the panicked wolf. “You gave me a fright. What is wrong with you, running off like that?”

“There’s something bad, something very bad about this place,” Lakota whined. “And if you think it won’t find you in your precious den, then you’re the fool, not I.”

“Calm down, brother,” Kamotts stepped back, his voice taking on a gentler tone. “There’s no danger here.”

“You don’t understand. It’s coming, closer and closer, and when it comes nowhere will be safe. It will tear these woods to pieces.”

Kamotts blinked down at the terrified omega. Lakota was obviously scared out of his senses, and even Kamotts was a little unnerved by the words that had come out of his brother’s mouth. 

“Stop all this nonsense. You’re frightening me,” said Kamotts, boxing his brother playfully over the head. “Come on, into the den. Rain is on the way, and Wyakin’s going to tell us a story.”

Kamotts knew how much his brother loved stories, but still Lakota refused to budge, shaking his head adamantly. 

“Fine,” Kamotts shook his head in disbelief as he trailed back down towards the den. Lakota could be stubborn, but he knew that rain and nightfall would bring his brother crawling back into the den, imagined danger or not. 

Besides, Lakota could never resist a good story.

Morning had come, and the rain had passed. Kamotts slunk from the warmth of the den and shook out his fur, yawning and stretching in preparation for the new day. The pack needed to eat, and he would be the one to lead the hunt. There was no time for fatigue today. 

“It’s a bad day for a hunt,” came a voice. Kamotts whipped around to see Wyakin’s silver figure curled beneath the birch tree - the old shaman often rose early to welcome in the dawn, and today she had risen even earlier than usual. Her tail was flicking in annoyance. “Bad weather is on the way.”

“The weather can mind its business,” said Kamotts, narrowing his eyes at the darkening clouds. “Anyway, you never told us your story last night - that one about the great flood.”

This brought a smile to Wyakin’s face. Ever since they were pups, she had told them stories - and even now that they were old enough to have pups of their own, they still gazed up with childlike wonder as Wyakin told her tales. Stories had power, Wyakin thought, more power than many people realised.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Daere cheerfully as he followed Kamotts out of the den. “It will be like the great flood if this weather doesn’t hold. Wyakin, won’t you tell us the story now?”

“No, but I will tell you another story,” said Wyakin as she got to her feet. “The story of a wolf pack who refused to believe their omega’s instincts, for he knew that something terrible was coming to the wood - but blinded by their pride, his brothers refused to see it.”

Kamotts cocked his head curiously. He was sure he had heard this story somewhere before, but he wasn’t sure where. 

“I fear poor Lakota may be right this time,” continued Wyakin. “And if we do not heed his word, then I fear for us all. Something is coming, Kamotts. I have seen it.”

“Seen it?” 

“Oh, when have I ever been wrong, mó cuilean?” Wyakin said despairingly. “I predicted that terrible snowstorm last winter, remember? And I smelled the sickness that came on the wings of birds before it even arrived. The sickness that took your father, Kamotts. You must believe Lakota. For I believe he speaks the truth.”

Wyakin regarded the brothers gravely, and the old she-wolf’s eyes seemed to be tumbling with distant memories. 

“What nonsense,” laughed Daere. “Foolish superstition and old she-wolf’s tales, nothing more. Why, we aught to teach that fool Lakota a lesson, spreading fear and superstition like that! Wherever has he gotten to? When I find him, I have a mind to box his ears!”

“Yes, where has that fool gotten to?” Kamotts turned, surveilling the morning woods. “Damn him. I don’t think he returned to the den last night. Come on, Daere - when we find him, I’ll hold him down and you box his ears.”

Wyakin sighed as she watched the brothers race off into the woods, jumping and nipping at each other just like they did when they were pups. The old she-wolf felt a sudden stab of fondness for them both, these two whelps she had seen grow into warriors. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing them.

“It can’t be happening,” Wyakin whispered into the still morning air. “Not again.”

*

Lakota rested his head on his paws, watching a fat black raven hopping busily over the mossy stones of the stream. It paused only several feet away from him, looking up to examine him with beady black eyes. He didn’t like the look of that bird. It looked too well-fed for a carrion bird, and its clever eyes seemed to see more than they should. Lakota got to his feet and growled, and the raven hopped away into the trees. He may only be an omega, but he refused to cower before a dirty scavenger. 

He sighed and flopped back down to the ground, seeing shadows all around him. The trees were swaying gently in an unseen breeze, silver birch leaves hissing and rattling, flashing bright as minnows against the darkening sky. He wondered what kind of unseen dangers lurked in these woods, snares and traps and hidden things. Lakota shuddered and turned his attention to the waters below. He had never liked water, had always been wary of its insidious trickle - he had heard too many stories about the River of Death, where lost souls bobbed and drifted into the underworld, and so Lakota kept his distance from the stream. Besides, wolves had drowned in streams shallower than this one. 

To Lakota, it seemed suddenly like all his horrors were captured there in that running water, in that stream of silver light. And as he glared down into the brook he fancied he saw the face of a white wolf staring back at him.

“Remember,” it seemed to say. “Remember.”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to remember, only that there was something important he had already forgotten.

“Where in all of Lykin’s kingdom is he?” growled Kamotts, nose to the ground as he searched for Lakota’s scent. “He left us cold, I’ll tell you that.”

“Perhaps he’s under the yew tree,” Daere suggested. “I saw him hanging around there yesterday.”

“He won’t be under the yew tree,” said Wyakin, panting after finally having caught up with the brothers. “He hates that place.”

And sure enough, Lakota was not under the yew tree. Wyakin had to admit, she didn’t particularly like the yew tree either, especially now that the berries were bursting forth like drops of red blood. She couldn’t help but think of an autumn that had come before, an autumn that had stained Wildwood red. Only then, the red had not been berries but blood. 

The wolves wandered on, sniffing at the misty air, and at last made the decision to double back and search closer to home. Lakota feared the woods, and they doubted he would have strayed far. They followed the course of the stream - the waters were swollen with last night’s rainfall, and had burst their banks, running over clover and kingcup with the sound of a whispered lullaby. A white wolf was crouched on the bank, watching his icy breath swirl through the air and rise into the sky. And as he saw poor Lakota, all of Kamotts’ previous anger vanished, like morning mist beneath the sun. 

“Lakota?” he said softly, creeping closer. “Have you been out here all night, Lakota?”

Lakota nodded. The thought that his youngest brother had been above ground all night distressed Kamotts deeply. The saplings here offered little shelter from the rain, and bears and lynx could have been prowling the woods at night, searching for an easy meal. It must have been something terrible, he conceded, to keep Lakota out all night. 

He sighed. “Why didn’t you come back to the den last night, brother?”

“The den? You think I’d be safe there?” Lakota hissed. “That whole place reeks of death. And last night - I heard it again. Voices, out on the fell.”

Kamotts looked up curiously. The fell was the thin strip of bare land that separated Wildwood from the Druid Mountains - a kind of no man’s land separating the territory borders. Even Kamotts had never dared cross that border - the Druid mountains were a harsh and dangerous place, a land of ice and snow where no wolf dared to go. Besides, Wyakin had told them too many stories of ghosts dwelling in those mountains. 

“Don’t be foolish,” said Daere. “You must have dreamed it. Voices on the fell,” he shook his head. “There are no other packs for miles around.”

“I know what I heard,” said Lakota angrily. “Voices, and wolves howls, Kamotts. We’re not alone out here.”

“Voices, out on the fell,” Daere murmured to himself, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. 

“Don’t you see it?” cried Wyakin suddenly. “This is it! This is the danger that is coming. Shadows. Shadows out on the fell.”

Now, Kamotts usually put up with the old she-wolf’s superstitious rantings, but this had gone too far. He saw real, genuine fear in Wyakin’s eyes, as if she had started to believe her own stories. And Kamotts was afraid, even though he’d rather die than admit it to any living soul.

“Now, stop this talk,” he snarled, once again the fearless, bristling figure of the alpha. “There are no ghosts, and no voices. It was probably just a lone wolf you heard, passing though. Or maybe you just dreamed the whole thing, Lakota.”

Wyakin shuddered suddenly at the mention of a lone wolf. Lone wolves were often cast out for a reason, and often had done terrible things to be shunned by their own kind. To wolves, which were born pack animals, there seemed no destiny more terrible than to be cursed to wander the world alone. 

“Now, come on,” said Kamotts. “The others will be wondering where we’ve got to. And we need to hunt before the weather closes in. Lane is close to her time, and we are all in need of a good meal.”

Kamotts turned, and began to lead his friends through the woods back towards the den. If a sharp-eyed bird had been watching from the treetops, it would have remarked that the white wolf at the back of the pack seemed ready to mutiny. This omega had a particularly cautious stoop to his gait, peering around and jumping at every small  noise. The barest shadow would have been enough to send him scattering into the undergrowth. But if this bird was none the wiser, it would have just assumed that this was just the inborn fear of these strange, elusive creatures. 

But if this bird was a little more wily, it might begin to realise that this omega wolf was the weak link in the pack, and that it wouldn't take much at all to drive a wedge into this family and send it scattering apart. The bird might croak to itself, satisfied by this find, and flap away to relay this information to whatever dark master it served. 

This time, the bird wasn’t a figment of Lakota’s imagination. The pack was being watched, and their arrival in Wildwood had not gone unnoticed.

The whole of Wildwood seemed to fall silent as the pack came bounding from the shadows of the trees with hunger in their eyes. They were each in a state of ravening hunger, the thrill of the hunt burning like fire in their bellies, and the other animals and birds saw this and ran, for they recognized this look, and they were afraid. 

But there was one blue-black raven that watched more closely than the others as the wolf pack wound northwards in single file, heading ever closer to the shadow of the Druid Mountains and the dark of the gathering dark. For there was a storm brewing in the air - the raven could feel it blowing through his wings. 

*

Lane was exhausted. The pack had been tracking for hours without success, marching head-on into the bitter wind that flattened their fur back against their bodies and whipped away the scents of all the prey for miles around. Evening was closing in and still there was no sign of game, but the burning hunger inside them was a pit of roiling flame, driving them on. Lane’s eyes were smarting from the cold, the ache in her belly throbbing like a sore tooth - and though she’d never admit it to anyone, every step she took sent a searing pain along her spine. 

“Lane,” said Kamotts quietly. “Lane, my love. You cannot go on in this condition. I can see the pain in your eyes.”

Lane let out a barking laugh, but the movement sent a fresh shudder of pain through her belly. “Don’t be such an old she-wolf, Kamotts. You’re not going to deprive me of the fun of the hunt, are you?” At the look on her mate’s face, Lane’s eyes widened. “Are you?”

Lane prided herself on her independence, and hated to be fussed over. She was always the first to lead a hunt or engage in playful rough-and-tumble with her friends, and always felt resentful when her condition forced her to stay behind. The she-wolf’s curse, her mother had once warned her, and it was coming true. 

“I fear he is right,” said old Wyakin at last. “I know the scent, child. Your pups are coming. We must find shelter.”

At her words, Kamotts turned to look at his mate with wide eyes. The alpha knew very well the harsh laws of survival, and if Lane gave birth out here in the open, in the cold and the coming storm, both mother and pups would surely die. But out here on the fell, there was no shelter to be had for miles around. The sky was the colour of wool, heavy with unshed snow, and first snowflakes were just beginning to fall, swirling around and around in the wind. 

Daere went on ahead to scout for cover, and came back several minutes later, his coat soaked but tail wagging. “There’s a cave-like structure, not far off,” he said. “Do you think you can make it, Lane?”

“Of course I can make it,” she snapped, and huffed all the way to the cave, Kamotts fretting over her all the while. The cave turned out to be little more than a small rocky outcropping that provided at least some shelter from the sleet and wind. It was far from ideal, but their den back in Wildwood was a full day’s journey away now, and there was no way Lane would be able to make it in time. The she-wolf slunk to the back of the little cave, shoulders hunched low against the cold as she curled around her swollen belly. Kamotts made to follow her, but he was stopped short by a snarl, the fur along his mate’s back bristling. 

“You may not come in here, Kamotts.” Her usually soft voice was harsh with threat. “My time has come, and I must do this alone.”

The she-wolf receded into the dark, leaving Kamotts feeling more useless than ever in his life. He began to pace around the cave mouth, snapping irritably at the others. 

Daere was the first to break the tense silence. “We should carry on the hunt. Night is coming, and we won’t last long on empty bellies. Come, brother,” he nudged Kamotts. “The best way to help your mate now is to bring her some good rich meat.”

At last, Kamotts nodded. It would be foolish to sit here, useless and freezing, while hunger burned a hole in his belly. “Wyakin, Lakota, stay with her,” he ordered. “Make sure she comes to no harm. We will return with food.”

Kamotts glanced back at the den only once before disappearing over the brow of the hill, Daere and Laika on his tail. Wyakin watched their retreating shapes until they became dark specks in the distance, and then she leapt up on top of Lane’s cave-den where she curled into a tight ball, tail wrapped around her to guard against the cold. 

*

Kamotts crept silently through the darkness, the gray of his coat blending in perfectly with the heath and dry fern of the fell. Just beyond the rise, a deer herd grazed, blissfully unaware of  the hunters in the night. Kamotts glanced back at Laika and Daere, and with a swift nod, Laika went hurtling forwards like a shot, her snow-white fur flashing bright as a minnow as she raced through the growing night. The white she-wolf fastest of them all, and the most vicious - she did not hesitate before latching onto the stag’s neck, her sharp claws tearing furrows down its hide. A moment later, Daere barreled into it from the side and they pinned the bellowing stag between them, both of them stepping to the side to allow Kamotts to deliver the killing blow. The stag rolled, screaming, and Kamotts shook and shook until it screamed its way into silence, leaving only the whistling wind and hot blood steaming in the snow. 

For a moment, the three wolves stood over the carcass, heads bowed in respect. This was the great difference between the wild kingdom of the animals and the kingdom of man: whereas men killed callously, out of hate or spite, wolves killed only out of hunger, and were always sure to honor the life they had taken. All of Lykin’s creatures were made equal, after all, and without the deer and the rabbit, the fox and the beetle, where would they be? 

At last, Laika stepped forwards to tear into the meat, and Kamotts drove her back with a growl, for it was for the alpha alone to open the kill. She retreated with a resentful snarl, her eyes flashing like ice chips, and Daere gave her a warning look, but his devotion to Laika always stopped him from truly keeping her in check. Kamotts shook his head at them both, all thought of his previous irritation dissolving as the warm blood wet his lips. The three wolves crowded around, tugging the carcass this way and that, a frenzy of tongues and teeth and growls. 

When the three of them had eaten their fill, they sat back, licking their lips and grumbling contentedly. 

“And now we must take meat back for Lane,” said Kamotts.

*

Meanwhile, Lakota was ill at ease. From inside the low stone den, Lane’s cries of pain and Wyakin’s soothing sighs sounded low and disturbing, the sounds warped and twisted by the howling wind. He was jittery and cold, jumping at every flash of lightning, every growl of thunder. The queer feeling that had sent him running from the den the previous day was stronger than ever: every breath of wind was a lonely howl, every shadow an enemy, creeping closer. 

Then the lightning flashed again, startlingly close, and Lakota could bear it no longer. He abandoned his post with a cry and sprang into the night, panic scrabbling inside him with sharp and jagged claws. He could already hear what Kamotts would say to him about abandoning his post, but just then the fear and the dread was too much for one lone wolf to bear. 

He ran, stumbling this way and that with no heed to direction, blinded by the lightning and the driving snow. He did not know where he was going other than away. Out of some inborn instinct to find cover, he ended up back on the outskirts of Wildwood, but the dark trunks of those familiar trees offered him little comfort. These were not the woods they had tracked through only several hours earlier, painted all the vivid hues of autumn. These were woods made of a thousand dark treetrunks turned black by dusk. Lakota couldn’t believe how easily a storm and a few shadows could render Wildwood into a nightmare version of itself. 

He crashed blindly through briar and bush, thorns snarling on his fur, roots grasping his legs as if to pull him down. The whole forest seemed like a snare to the omega, like something to get trapped in, like the metal claws of a bear trap. Lakota startled as a strange light began to pulse from the sky, a flicker of electric blue clawing through the tree canopy before snuffing out into blackness with the sound of some great mountain being crushed in the distance. Lakota had never seen a lightning storm before, and his ears flattened to his skull in terror, sure he was about to be struck down by some vindictive god. 

“O Lykin - Rah,” he uttered fearfully to himself. It was as if the sky itself was growling at him. 

The light came again, blinding Lakota with its brilliance. Perhaps it was fear playing tricks on his mind, or the brightness of the light leaving a violent afterimage on his eyes, or perhaps it was something else entirely, but the young wolf could have sworn that the light had left a scar across the night, as if some great claws were tearing at the seams of the world. There were several of them, criss-crossing beams bathing the wood in their fractured light. Lakota froze to the spot, eyes rolling wildly. There was nowhere to run to. It was everywhere. He couldn't run from this. 

Lakota thought of the old tales, where the wolf-prince Kaheleha and his pack were punished by Lykin for their hubris, and washed away with a great and terrible flood. Perhaps this was what was coming now: a punishment and a purge, to wash away all traces of old blood from these strange and watchful woods.  

Like an arrow, like a tear falling, another surge of blue light spiderwebbed across the sky - in that instant, Lakota was sure the sky would crack and the universe itself would collapse inwards, like ice shattering on a winter lake. Then all sound fell away and blackness snapped down, leaving nothing but deafening underwater calm, nothing but the hole in the heavens where hell had just breached. 

Because the sky had torn. The sky had torn, and the space behind was bleeding through, but there were no moons there, no stars, just a darkness as thick as ink, bleeding across the sky like an infection spreading, and as the last of the light vanished the dark wash and the sounding black fell down, shutting in, forever. 

*

Out on the fell, Kamau jumped in fright as lightning flashed overhead, splitting the length of the sky. Laika cackled generously at his fright, and Kamotts grumbled, unhappy to be made a fool of. They trod on through the driving blizzard, hunks of meat hanging from their jaws, the snow falling harder than ever, turning the dry heath to blinding ice. Despite the treacherous terrain, Kamotts led them quickly and efficiently, his sure feet finding footholds in the slippery rocks, and before long they were heading back towards Lane’s makeshift den. From up here, they could see the whole valley, murky in the gathering dusk: the open fell where they had made their kill, the green expanse of Wildwood to the south, and due north, the steep black spires of the Druid Mountains stretching up into the stormclouds, seeming the cast a shadow over the whole of the world. 

By the time they reached Lane’s cave, night had fallen proper, and the storm seemed to be coming to a crescendo. As soon as Kamotts came into view of the cave, a scent hit his nose that made his blood run cold. He sprang up, growling in alarm, the hackles on his neck bristling at the scent of blood and death in the air. Daere flanked his shoulder, his own growls deep and wary. Lightning flashed overhead, and in the afterglow Kamotts could just make out Lane’s curled-up form, the eerie glitter of her eyes in the half-light. The snow around her ran red with blood. 

“Lane?” he panted, breathless from the climb. “Lane, what's wrong?”

Behind her, Wyakin whined pitifully, and Lakota was nowhere to be seen. Kamotts was shaking furiously now, the scent of his mate’s fear throwing his senses into overdrive for the need to protect her. For there, on the ground beside her, lay two little bodies. They were motionless on the ground, their fur caked with blood and dirt, and they were dead. 

“Oh, Lane,” Kamotts hung his head, and the deep sorrow in his voice was palpable. “How sorry I am.”

The pack stood in a mournful circle around the alpha female. Daere shook his shaggy head, the enormous male’s eyes filled with sadness. Even Laika balked at the sight of the dead pups. But Lane was a she-wolf, and she knew there was no time to dwell now. 

“It is nature’s way, Kamotts,” she said. “What is, is what must be, for Lykin declares it so. And now, we must look to the future.”

With a small smile, Lane uncurled herself and moved her tail aside. And then the pack gasped in wonder, for there, nestled tight into the arc of her body, lay two newborn wolf pups, their sides rising and falling quickly. Kamott’s heart soared with joy, and he fell upon his fate, tail wagging as he licked her face. 

“Alright, alright,” Lane shook him off with her usual briskness. “You are a father now, Kamotts. It is high time you started acting like one.”

One by one the wolves crowded around to look at the new pups, tails wagging excitedly, for nothing brings joy to a wolf pack like the arrival of new life, even in the midst of a wailing storm. Kamott’s attention was immediately drawn by the largest of the pups, the male, whose coat was as dark as the stormy sky above. He, Kamotts thought proudly, would grow into a fine warrior yet. In contrast to her brother, the second pup was smaller and lighter in colour, with odd, mismatched patches of brown and white, and a bold, beautiful muzzle just like her mother’s. As he beheld them, Kamotts felt a splintering deep in his heart, as though it were about to burst with pride. 

“What shall we call them, Kamotts?” Lane asked, and Kamotts fell back, quite puzzled. 

“I... I don’t know, Lane.”

Kamotts was a hunter, and it had not even occurred to him to think of such things. 

“How about Lali, for the she-cub?” Lane prompted gently. “After my mother.”

“Yes,” said Kamotts gratefully. “Yes. Little Lali. How do you like your new name?”

Little Lali, of course, was too young to know or care, blissfully oblivious of her future as she suckled greedily at Lane’s milk. All wolf pups were born blind, and it would be weeks before they first opened their eyes to gaze upon the world. 

“I thought of Rhain, for the little hunter,” said Kamau proudly as he gazed down at the male pup. With his stormy dark coat, it seemed appropriate. 

“Rhain, born in a thunderstorm,” Lane smiled, but just then something dark and secret slid down behind Wyakin’s eyes. 

“They are ever so little, Lane,” Laika said, her she-wolf’s concern overriding her usual dislike for the alpha female. 

“I know, Laika,” she said. The pack fell silent. They knew all too well the harsh laws of survival that faced young wolves in the wild. 

“Then I shall hunt for them, my love,” Kamotts said, his chest swelling with pride. “I shall be a father to them, and guide them as good as I am able, and protect them always.”

“And I,” Daere said, gazing down at the pups like a cheerful uncle. “I will teach them to run and chase, and I’ll fight for them too, should it come to it.”

Kamotts nodded approvingly at his brother, whom he had always admired for his straightforwardness. 

“And I shall teach them to sing to the moon and to read the ice, and to run as fast as Kaheleha himself,” Laika said, feeling a longing ache rise up in her chest as she beheld the pups. Laika had always wanted a family of her own, though in the wild it was forbidden for any other than the alpha pair to mate. She glanced sideways at Daere, and the longing she felt was mirrored on his own face. 

“And I will teach them wisdom and cunning, for our kind will always need our wits,” said Wyakin at last. “And I will tell them stories of Lykin and Kaheleha, and teach them of the world.”

Kamotts smiled as he watched the old she-wolf gaze down at the pups, no doubt remembering a time when he, Daere and Lakota had been that small. 

“Thank you, Wyakin. They will be lucky to have you,” he said, for despite his skeptical nature about the old shaman’s superstitions, he knew that stories were just as essential to a wolf’s training as hunting and fighting. The old legends had even taught him a trick or two that had come in handy more than once. 

“And you, Lakota?” he said. “What about you?”

When Lakota didn’t immediately reply, Kamotts realised the omega was still nowhere to be seen. He didn’t recall having seen his brother at all since they’d returned from the hunt. Kamotts immediately began to search, sniffing the ground for Lakota’s track. He daren’t howl to call out for him - these were strange lands, and the quieter they passed through them, the better. 

“Where is that blasted runt?” he growled. “He’s left us cold again. He’ll end up walking in to trouble one day, running off like that -”

Kamotts broke off as a rustling began in the far-off grasses. He and Daere both stopped in their tracks, ears pricked forwards as they watched the approaching shape. A second later, Lakota barrelled out from the undergrowth, and Kamau could tell immediately that he was in a bad way. 

"I tried to find you,” the wolf panted. Bloody foam dripped from the corners of his mouth.  “Oh, Kamotts, I tried to find you but the light, that terrible light! I couldn’t find my way back to you. Something terrible has happened, Kamotts. I thought I was all but lost.”

Lakota’s fur was sodden, his legs shaking from exertion, but it was not this that alarmed the pack. It was his white, rolling eyes and frothing mouth, and the rank scent of fear that hung around him. If he didn’t know better, Kamotts might have thought his brother had been lightning-struck. 

“What is it this time, Lakota?” he growled. There was no time to scold him now. Everyone’s hackles were up - the scent of terror on one wolf was usually enough to affect the others, and this was no time to cause a panic. “What have you seen?”

“Danger.”

That one world echoed like a death knell through the silent valley. Wolves relied almost entirely upon their instincts, and something clearly had made Lakota’s hackles rise in terror. Kamotts stepped in front of Lane and the pups with a growl, cursing himself for not sensing it before. He had been too preoccupied with the pups to pick up the unfamiliar scent. 

“Who goes there?” he demanded, whipping around. Beyond the scent of the blood and snow, was the scent of an unfamiliar wolf. “Who enters my territory without my blessing?”

The rest of the pack formed a protective circle around Lane, growling in agreement. Territory borders were sacred to the wolves - it was the height of disrespect to cross into one without the alpha’s blessing. 

“Your blessing?” came a mocking laugh from high above the ravine. “I have no use for your blessing, little hunter. For I am the alpha here.”

The pack looked up in unison, to where the shape of a lone wolf was silhouetted on the beetling edge of the ravine above, the storm blowing through her dark fur. Lakota shrank back on instinct - the night and the storm had spooked him, and he had heard too many ghost stories about lone wolves roaming the wild tundra. But Kamotts did no such thing. With narrowed eyes, he assessed the newcomer and dismissed her quickly: one lone female was no threat.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Kamotts snarled furiously, his irritation growing at having been startled. He did not like to appear anything other than intentional, even if it was intentionally cruel. 

“My name is Shrrg,” said the newcomer simply. “And I do not want anything.”

“Obviously you do, or you would not be here,” Lane said, her eyes narrowed at the she-wolf. Though she did not like to be rude, giving birth in the middle of a snowstorm hadn’t put her in the best of moods. Beside her, Laika and Wyakin snarled to back her up. 

“Wyakin, sister, there's no need to show your teeth,” laughe Shrrg, and Kamotts fancied there was something sly and slippery about her voice. “I mean you and your brethren no harm.”

“How do you know our names?” Kamotts said, suspicion making him wary. “Who are you?”

“I think any alpha makes a business of knowing anyone who crosses over into her territory,” said Shrrg. “I come to welcome you, that is all.”

The wolves looked at each other fearfully. In the confusion of the storm, they had come closer to the Druid Mountains than they had previously realised. Did this strange she-wolf call those mountains home? Kamatts shuddered. He did not want to imagine what cold, barren kingdom she must rule. 

“And what is this?” Shrrg said as she began to make her way down the slope. “New life, born beneath the blackest moon, on the darkest of nights. I congratulate you, Kamotts.”

As Shrrg came to inspect the pups, Lane shot to her feet, a warning growl in her throat. Shrrg jumped back, hurt flashing in her eyes. 

“There is no need to be discourteous,” she said. “I mean only to give the young ones my blessing. And to offer my protection. These lands can be dangerous to the young and innocent.”

Lane fancied there was a thinly veiled threat in the she-wolf’s voice. “Your protection?” she said.

“My pack rules over these lands, from the Druid Mountains right up to the Great River, Lane. We are many, and our alliance might prove a boon to you yet. Six wolves like yourselves must feel a little lost all alone in the trees of Wildwood.”

“We like Wildwood just fine,” Kamotts said. “We have no need of an alliance, but there is no reason why we can’t be perfectly good neighbours.”

Shrrg’s yellow eyes flickered in the gloom. “I think you misunderstand me, Kamotts. You are new to these lands, after all, and much has changed since you were last here. When my Vrenshrrg scouts caught wind of a new pack moving into Wildwood, I was intrigued. Those woods have lain empty for many years. I had to come and meet you myself.”

Shrrg began a slow, steady pace around the wolves, and strangely enough, Wyakin couldn’t meet her gaze. 

“Of course, Wildwood is your birthright. Your rightful home.” she said wistfully. “But I am a better friend than an enemy, Kamotts, and we are always in need of fine hunters like you in the Vrenshrrg. But that is no matter. You are content here in Wildwood, and I would certainly not presume to ask you to leave it. But freedom comes with a price, Kamotts,” she said. “I come to make a bargain. A small tithe to pay, to live under our protection, and continue to live as free wolves.”

“Bargain?” said Lane harshly. “You are in no position to bargain with us, Shrrg. Our freedom is our birthright. Lykin has decreed it so.”

Shrrg’s face saddened, she blew out a sigh. “If only it were still the case, my dear. But the laws of this world are harsh. Winter is coming, food is scarce and man is on the move again. I have seen entire packs succumb to starvation, and whole forests fall to man's wicked shadow. Lykin is as good as dead to us, child. He can no more harm us or help us than the stars in the sky,” she said. “Once, wolves like you and I would have to fight tooth and claw to survive, but there is no need for such savagery any longer. My Vrenshrrg can offer you security, protection, and access to the richest hunting grounds, so your pups can grow up in peace. But of course, there would be a small price I would ask of you in return. For everything comes with a cost,” she said, smiling inwardly. “Listen carefully, Kamotts, for these are my terms. A small tithe, to help us build for our future. Half of your litter, in exchange for your freedom. And before you ask - no. I will not accept the dead half.”

At this, the pack recoiled, eyes flashing. Kamotts had a right mind to tear this strange she-wolf to pieces. She was very small for an alpha, and for all her mighty talk, seemed to have come alone. And the fear in his mate’s eyes was too much to bear. 

“And if we should refuse?” said Daere boldly, stepping up beside Kamotts. 

“That would not be wise,” said Shrgg. “I do not need to remind you of the size of my pack, warrior-heart. No doubt you will meet them yourself in the weeks to come,” she turned towards Lane. “If it helps, my dear, I can reassure you that your pups will grow up safe and well under my protection. No harm will come to them, with the Vrenshrrg as their brethren.”

At this, Lane sprang forwards with an unearthly cry, her paws splashing in the bloody snow. “Get out of here, Shrrg,” she said. “You will not touch any of my pups, and your so-called Vrenshrrg will never be our brethren. Go back to your mountains and leave us in peace.”

“Your hesitation is understandable, Lane,” Shrrg said. “But don’t let me rush you. Such a decision should not be undertaken lightly. I will return when the moon waxes and wanes three times over, but not a moment more. So watch for me, sister.”

“Even better,” growled Wyakin at last. “Don’t bother coming back at all. Why, if you show your face again, I’ll drive you out myself.”

At this, genuine hurt flashed across Shrrg’s face before disappearing back behind a mask of scornful indifference. “Always so combative, Wyakin. But there is no need for hostility. Especially as I am willing to overlook certain… past misdemeanors,” her eyes glittered savagely. “Goodbye, Wyakin. We will cross paths again.”

At this, Shrrg swung her muzzle into the air and began to howl, just as a long claw of lightning flashed from above, illuminating her jet-black fur, her shining yellow eyes. And in the light of that flash, Kamotts fancied that Shrrg’s fur was pitted somehow, her muzzle twisted as if by terrible scars. He noticed that her ears were shredded, and half of her tail was missing, as if it had been bitten off. 

“The moon will wax, and the moon will wane,” Shrrg howled. “But as sure as day turns to bitter night, she will come full again.”

With her voice trembling with warning, Shrrg turned and vanished over the ravine without a backward glance. The pack rushed to the edge, convinced she had plunged to her death, but Kamott’s sharp eyes could just make her out, a dark figure on the fell, making off towards the mountains by moonlight. 

“I told you,” Lakota whimpered. “I told you, I told you -”

“Shut up,” he said harshly. “There is nothing to be afraid of here. Nothing more than a lone wolf with ideas above her station.”

Kamotts turned to his mate with a growl. 

“We ought to go now,” he said. “I highly doubt she is the great alphess she claims to be, but true or not, the weather persists, and we are not safe out here.”

But first, Lane went to scratch a shallow hole in the ground beside the rocky cave, and set the two stillborn pups gently into the earth. Sadly, without saying a word, the she-wolf turned her back to kick earth over their tiny bodies. “My poor children,” she whispered to the earth where their bodies laid, growing cold. “You never saw anything of the world.”

But Lane was a she-wolf, and she turned silently back to the land of the living, picking up her two living pups and making off up the slope without a sound. Kamau stuck close by her side as they trecked back towards Wildwood, over the bleak grey fell and towards the prospect of safety and their den, leaving the dead pups to the trees and the rain and the cold, uncomprehending earth.