Fighter

One

Vincent crouched low in the bushes,  his paws silent as he crawled slowly to the edge of the clearing. His golden eyes peered out through the foliage at the herd of caribou he was tracking. He'd been tracking them for days, waiting for the right time and the right place to make his kill. If he struck too early, he'd lose the herd for future hunts. If he struck too late, they'd stampede and one kick to the head by their hooves would kill him. 

But the right day and the right time was now. He was hungry and he needed energy to travel with the herd when it ran. His eyes scanned the herd as they grazed,  oblivious to the death coming their way. He needed but one yearling to single out from the rest of the pack for his kill.

Finally, he saw a straggler off to the right side of the herd, a straight run from where Vincent was hidden. He was young, barely growing out of his spots. He felt his compassion for the animal,  but was reassured when he remembered it was the natural order of things. It would keep the earth in balance, protect it.

Bunching his muscles, Vincent sprang from the shrubbery and sprinted at full speed toward the yearling. The herd cried out in fear before turning tail and running. But the yearling was cut off from the herd.  He could only run one way to avoid the wolf and that was away, which is exactly what Vince had been banking on. Separation.

Snarls ripped through the clearing as the wolf howled in blissful tandem with Vincent. They had been joined in body and soul their whole lives. If ever separated, one could not live without the other. Vince gave a wolfish grin before he zeroed his attention back onto the hunt.

He chased the young caribou all the way to the tree line before he attacked.  Locking his jaws onto the animal's back leg, Vincent snarled as he shredded through muscle and tissue, snapping the bone with a jerk of his head and a gruesome crack. The caribou cried out, stumbling before his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed. Vincent tore his claws into his stomach to further injure it before he went for his killing blow. Clamping his jaws around the caribou's neck, he crushed the animal's windpipe to offer it a quick, honorable death. 

Vincent's instinct to honor the sacrifice of another animal for his survival kicked in and he sat back. Raising his russet colored head to the moon, he howled. He heard the echoing chorus of his lost pack from the skies as if they were still next to him. He missed them. But they were gone, and life as a lone wolf was good enough for him now. He loved the freedom, the abandon he shared with his wolf. He had everything he could want out here. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

After his howl, Vincent lowered his head and tore into his kill. He tore off slab after slab of meat until his stomach was full. Energy restored, Vincent set off to find a river to cleanse his fur of the blood that coated it. He smelt of caribou and forest musk. It took a few minutes, but eventually he heard the water as it rushed downstream and trotted in its direction. When he found it, he used his paws to cleanse his fur before getting a clean drink and setting off again. 

Vincent walked for hours, enjoying the forest. Nature was the only thing Vincent truly understood. It was also the only thing he'd ever really known, the only thing he'd ever really cared for. Because it never hurt him. It welcomed him, comforted him, fed and watered him, and gave him shelter. It had been the only place he'd called home in over fifteen years. Vincent stopped on the bank of a small stream to soak up the sun and the sound. Squirrels scurried across the trees above him. Birds sang as they soared overhead. Insects joined together with the forest and all its sounds to create a symphony of the only music Vincent had ever heard.

A twig snapped behind him, but before Vincent could turn to see what it was, a sharp prick in his flank made him whine. He whipped his head around, biting at the little metal dart that had pierced his skin. He wanted it out. He whimpered as drowsiness spread through his limbs. He knew it was the dart's doing, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what it was. He continued biting at it until he couldn't anymore. He was too tired. Vincent gingerly laid down, trying to at least refrain from laying flat out on his side, but the pull of oblivion proved too great. He lowered his head, laying on his side on the ground. As his eyes drooped closed, he saw the men step out of the trees. 

Memories flashed through Vincent's mind, causing a whimper to bubble from his throat. They had come back for him. The bad men. The ones who killed his pack and his family. They had finally come back for him. Vincent struggled to get up, to run. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Eyes closing, Vincent was pulled into oblivion.

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"He's perfect, Derek. Just the dog I needed," said a raspy, masculine voice. It sounded as if it belonged to a heavy smoker, and it smelt like it to. Burnt tobacco wafted into Vincent's nose, rousing him further from his sleep.

"Great. So where's my money?" another voice asked. This one was smoother, firmer. Confidence radiated from the man. Vincent kept his eyes closed, not wanting to alert them to the fact that he was awake. If he could keep the element of surprise on his side, then he would have a far better chance of escape.

"Mitch! Get your ass out here! Bring the money!" Smoker yelled.

Vincent heard footsteps and then a door slamming somewhere behind him, followed by more footsteps. He listened to the heavy breathing and the racing heart of a boy about his age. His body tensed. 

"Here you go, Antonio," the boy, Mitch, said breathlessly.

He heard Antonio take something from him and hand it to Derek. He listened to the click as Derek opened whatever it was, checked inside, and then shut it again. Vincent assumed it was the money Derek had been asking for. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, Tony. Call me again when you have another job," Derek said. His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked away. Once Derek had gotten in his car, Vincent opened his eyes and shakily pushed himself to his feet. He'd been laid out on top of a picnic table. Derek had stood on one side, while Mitch and Antonio stood on the other. Vincent pulled in a breath of air, and shook himself out. His gaze went to Antonio, who held a bat in his left hand. Mitch stood beside him, eyes wide with fear and sympathy. The air around him smelt of fear as well.

Growling, Vincent snapped his jaws at Antonio and jumped off the table, throwing both boys to the side. He raced across the yard, but everywhere he went there was a fence. He was forced to continuously skid to a stop to avoid running into it. Antonio jumped at him, backing him into a corner. Mitch stood behind him. Vincent knew he wanted to jump in and help, but was afraid Antonio's bat would be turned on him. Vince understood and he didn't blame him. Focusing back on Antonio, Vincent continued to snarl and growl, snapping his jaws and swiping his claws at the man. Even though he knew it was useless, that he was trapped. 

"Got you now, mutt," Antonio said darkly, a cruel, amused smile appearing on his lips as he raised the bat. Flexing his fingers, he swung. 

His hit struck true and Vincent stumbled to the side as his shoulder blade was crushed beneath the blow. Whimpers of pain escaped his mouth, making him hate himself for showing weakness. Antonio swung again. This time, his bat struck Vincent's left shoulder. Again, the bone splintered at the blow. Vincent turned to the side to avoid the bat, and Antonio's third blow came down hard on his back, forcing him to the ground. He lay there on his side, struggling to get up, to run, to fight, for over an hour as blow after blow after blow battered him. When Antonio finally brought himself to stop, Mitch was a blubbering mess and Vincent was nothing but a ball of matted fur, broken bones, and blood. 

Thankfully, his accelerated healing and Mitch's worrisome actions allowed him to restructure his bones so they could heal correctly. After Antonio had gone inside, Mitch had even gone as far as to get towels and used the hose to bathe him before drying him. But, there was nothing he could do about his situation and Mitch was forced to leave him chained up outside. However, he was nice enough to wrap Vincent in a warm towel before he retreated into the warmth of his house.

Vincent lay there, awake and in pain as he healed, until sundown. He thought of all he'd been through, and all that was to come. He thought of how he'd suffered, of how he didn't even remember being a human. He'd been a wolf for so long; it was all he knew. And it was probably all he would ever be. Exhaustion caught up to him, and he was too weak to fight it off. Settling himself in a ball on the ground with the towel wrapped around him, he sank into a deep sleep.