Mango Marmalade

The third wolf to take charge of the Glenwood Pack. He never thought he would be chosen for the role as his scouting missions often found him seeking out unusual food rather than doing any actual scouting. But despite that, Petrichor named him as successor, gifting him the leader's necklace before disappearing off into the forest in the dead of winter, never to be seen again. The former leader was an odd one, always followed by wisps of light, a relic of a past he refused to talk about until right before his passing. Now Mango is followed by one lone, and rather weak, wisp. An old friend perhaps, or merely someone to keep an eye on the pack? No matter, the wisp is welcome to stay as long as it does not interfere with his odd affinity for fruits and fish. He has even tried to sample herbs on more than one occasion to Firework's endless annoyance. Despite his inexperience and utter lack of preparation he is still a fine leader and much more friendly and aloof than Petrichor ever was.

Toward the end of his reign while exploring the Tundra of his pack's home he encountered a strange wolf. She stood out against the snow, all black and carrying herself with an easy confidence not often seen. He was about to introduce himself before she cut him off with a laugh, saying she already knew who he was. She said she knew all of them, whatever that meant. Again before he could say anything, to ask for any sort of clarification, she challenged him to a fight. Not one to back down from a direct challenge, especially in his own territory, he accepted. He was a capable fighter and had all the experience years of leadership had afforded to him. It should have been an easy victory. Oh how wrong he was.

The battle was over in only a few moves, red feathers, fur, and blood were scattered while the strange wolf had barely a scratch in her dark fur. He lay there panting, vision blurry and fading fast when her head swam into view yet again. She was going to finish him off, he thought. Maybe she would take one of his feathers as a trophy and be satisfied enough to leave his body to be found by his pack's scouts. These thoughts were cut off when he felt her licking the blood away from his eyes and scolding him like a pup, thinking he could take on an older pack mate. As she turned away he found it in him to call to her, though it was more of a raspy whisper. Tala. Her name was Tala.

But that shouldn't have been possible! Stories had been passed down through the generations that Tala was the one who taught their first leader how to, well, lead! Two, nearly three leaders had come and gone since then, it shouldn't have been possible! And yet, there was no denying it. She fit the stories, she matched the descriptions exactly, it had to have been her. Thoughts sent reeling and with the ringing in his ears growing ever louder, he couldn't hold on any longer. His last view was of Tala, vanishing back into the snows as if she had never been there at all.

When he awoke hours later it was dark, only the full moon above lit up the snow around him. Gathering stiff limbs under himself he stood on aching paws to drag himself back home. He has little memory of the walk back, somehow too many thoughts and none at all filled his mind. His only focus was to get back home to his camp. His pack. His family. He staggering back in as the early morning's glow began to light the skies. Those who were early risers turned to greet him happily only for those greetings to turn to cries of horror as they took in his bleeding and battered form. They began shouting for Scuttle, practically dragging the poor herbalist from his den before he could get his own paws under him. If it had been any other day Mango would have laughed at his pack's antics but found he barely had the strength to shuffle forward.

In a second his mate, Pepper Jelly, was at his side, supporting him with whispers of encouragement and worry. In another his daughters were at his other side, both Moth and Maple uncharacteristically swearing vengeance upon whomever had hurt their father so. He wanted desperately to warn them not to, to protect them from the pain even he could not escape. But all he could manage was a broken whimper which sent his pack into even more of a panic. They had seen him hurt before but never to this extent, never so utterly defeated. Back in his early days of leadership it wasn't uncommon for him to come back ruffled up but still celebrating his victories, showing off his trophies and entertaining the pups with tales of how he had bested his enemy. Even after his losses he was still lively, cracking jokes and reassuring those around him. But now? He was silent. And it was wrong.

They half dragged half carried him to the herbalist's den where Scuttle shooed them away with assuring words that didn't match the worry in his eyes. Mango laid down heavily on one of the soft nests usually used for expectant mothers but also for injured or ill pack mates. He wanted nothing more than to let sleep claim him again