A requested story of wolves.
By the light of moon, they crept from their hideaways. The air is cooling on their hot blooded bodies. The ground is frozen, their hardened leather pads fend off the climate as well as the stones that dare to scratch at their clothed bodies of fur. Those eyes gleam in the brightened light that falls upon the earth to light up that blackened sky. The trees part, pulling their roots from the ground and leaning their branches away as they move for those demon speeded shadows of the night. The stars follow while the moon watches over her joyous singing children.
Leader speeds on ahead, his paws leaving dainty imprints in the snow for the rest to follow. They are quickly swept away by the obedient breeze that shifts the white sheet back into place. Nobody must know they were there. The earth holds its silence.
Pawing at the icy ground, nostrils widen and pull in that scent in just one breath. Leader’s head lifts; he has the best sense of smell. He has the longest stride and the fastest pace. His claws are like the talons of a hawk, sharp and long. Able to pierce the skin of the toughest caribou before his large fangs catch up and strike until they rip at the nerves to bring it down. The shadows enjoy the hunt. Leader is to be admired. For now that is. The youngsters’ blood is stirring as his shimmering hues fall upon the wiser wolf. Leader’s days are numbered. The moon looks down upon us. Her light is full; this is a lucky night for wolves. We will celebrate our mother.
In a flash the shadows are gone.
Speeding through the decaying leaves that line the floor. Winter is bitter today. However, we do not think how it was yesterday, or how it will be tomorrow. Who knows what will come our way in a moment?
The chase is on in just a moment. Knowing their place the pack moves out. Circling the weaker deer as it attempts to run after its family. They leave it behind cruelly; they leave it for us as a gift. We take it. Leader’s partner leaps through the air onto its back, she rips at its neck and then her paws touch the ground. Continuing gracefully as if she had never left the snow. We snap at its heels, listening to its panicked bleats with pleasure. In just a second its hoof lagged and it fell. It was put out of its misery quickly; there was no doubt about that. Leader took first pick, then the ranks took theirs. The scraps were left for the sly dogs that hid among the bushes. They watched in awe, saliva dripping from their jaws.
Eating till the point that our stomachs could eat no more, we escaped the eyes and returned to the hideaway. Hidden in the bushes and the rocks, the den was filled with the smell of birth. It was warm with the many cramped bodies inside. Kept away from the prying eyes, vulnerable bundles of fur snuffled at their mother’s body. The runt pushed aside by its brothers and sisters. Their shimmering eyes had not yet opened. There was new life in that den. The cycle was beginning again just as leaders was about to end. It is the nature of our family. Just as it is that winter will pass, the Leader and the successor will pass, succeeded by those who dare to defeat them.