Lyra

Lyra was too excited to stay in the camp that night, much to her friend's annoyance and worry. So, all alone she tracked through the prickly grass, the mixture of scents tickling her nose.

She had promised herself that she would only be out for a few moments, but the scent carried her paws further and further from home. If only she had realised what she was after.

It wasn't long after that the creatures started appearing. Long, sleek bodies, coyotes would have been easy to handle by an adult wolf. But, Lyra was barely 5 months old, her body still too weak to handle the beasts.

They must have been 5, she could not remember. They took turns tearing her little body apart, and only left after they were viciously chased out by her pack. They must have heard her earsplitting screams, or perhaps the horrid sounds the coyotes made each time their satisfaction stone through. She was barely breathing, a husk of her old self. It was still there, a glimpse of it, but it was dying out, just like her.

She didn't make it back home.