The Blizzard (Stories Etched in Snow)

Chapter Four

Skull's reddish brown eyes were narrowed from sleep loss, not because he worked a lot, but just because he could barely fall asleep in this gloomy atmosphere. Every single day was miserable here in the Pack of Silenced Souls. The youthful melanistic canid sighed to himself quietly, hauling himself to his paws and let out a loud huff through his flared nostrils. 

Shaking the bits of hay among other unknown fibres tangled in his fur out with a few rapid hops, he sighed aloud. Not only did this place stink of blood and rot, it was lonely, too. Skull was the heir to the 'throne' of this vile pack. Everybody treated him differently, as if he were a special snowflake, fragile and breakable. That's why everybody tried to kill him. They all wanted to become the heir. Every single one of them, dreaming dull dreams of granduer.

His den was cleaner than the rest. Nobody else lived up there, not even Malice, his littermate who was just a few seconds younger than he was. It was due to the fact that he was indeed younger that Malice hated him, just like the rest of them. Stepping out of his cave was like stepping out of your territory, onto enemy land.

Occasionally, he would think back to when he was younger, a pup, when Malice still loved him. It was back then that they didn't care about the throne, playing together and rolling through the soft, green grass near the border of the Pack of a Thousand Jades. That place was always full of fond, hopeful memories that would never return. Skull knew that, and yet he still dreamed of Malice as a pup, sharing his food with Skull, chatting happily, a bright smile on his face.

A large guard, Clamo, hurried frantically towards his den, panting as he stumbled towards his 'prince'. Clamo was the only wolf whome Skull had full trust in, apart from maybe his parents..? Skull halted to contemplate this thought for a second. Nah, his parents resented him as much as the rest of the pack did. They just spoiled him because he was the heir of that crappy title of theirs.

"Skull, your parents want you in their den immediately." Clamo regained his breath quite quickly, "They'll have the skin off my back if you don't go." The guard waited by the entrance of the den for a few heartbeats to recover from his running before escorting the melanistic pup through the dim, atmospheric camp. A dirty mutt lept forwards, spitting and licking his lips. Clamo tilted his chin slightly upwards, looking down upon the brute, in the correct pose, back straightened, to look like the perfect guard dog. Fitting for him, since his father had apparently been one. Almost seeming rabid, the mongrel slunk back into the shade of a rocky outcrop, shuddering with each step.

He shut his hazel eyes desperately, as if he could just wish himself away from this hell, and yet, as he reopened them once more, he was met with the unforgiving glares of his parents. If eyesight were a weapon, then they'd already have murdered half the earth. "Skull!" His mother, Rimm, bared her fangs slightly, "You shall start training, else Malice will become the heir." She threatened, as if she knew that Skull didn't want to inherit the title, though an air of finality swarmed her voice, and her eldest son knew better than to deny her.

Skull quivered under Rimm's edged gaze, shrivelling like a leaf stuck in summer sunlight. He was aware of an encouraging grunt from Clamo and raised his head, "Who'll be my mentor? Clamo?" He inquired meekly, chewing his lip. His father, who had obviously scented his fear, scowled. "Oh, of course not Clamo, you brain-dead child! That stupid, good for nothing mutt would spoil you dead." He paused for a second, smirking at the now trembling Clamo, "Instead, your mentor will be Inlaro." The youthful, black-coated male glanced over his shoulder, his heart almost shattering as something wet dropped from Clamo's lowered emerald eyes.

"You are dismissed. You will start your training tomorrow. And for the time being," The edges of the alphess's lips curved slightly into a cruel smile, her stance perfect, "Throw Clamo into the dungeons. I know he'll try to drag Skull down." Two 'servants' moved hesitantly towards Clamo. "What are you doing, hopeless hounds? Don't just stand there, drooling over my beauty! Get that mutt out of my sight. And as for Skull, chuck him right back where he belongs; in that god-forbidden cave!" She snarled, arching her back.

And with that, she lept gracefully off of her throne of sorts to sit next to her mate, leaning her head on the curve between his neck and shoulder. Rimm then looked back at her son with a burning gaze, which could have easily scorched the entire forest down. Skull, now being dragged roughly by his scruff back to his den, slumped down, giving in to his tire.