Eternity

Prologue

Erlendur stood on the peak of the ridge, defiant against the fierce gusts of his pack's namesake.

His brother stepped up beside them, his silver fur whirling the wind. "The North Winds smell rich of prey. Do they not, Brother?" His brother inquired.

"They do, Auslaug. Perhaps today the wind will be with us, and we shall both gain our names today." He replied wistfully. In the green, grassy, windswept valley below him, he spotted the migrating caribou. Most likely to be the last of the season. "Lets pray the Ancestors are with us!"

His brother gave him a farewell nod and replied: "May the Ancestors lead you to good hunt."

He turned to his brother, locking his eyes with his kin. "And may they lead you to rich hunting lands." He returned in the customary fashion. He touched noses with his brother before they parted ways, their two hunting parties splitting like a river of silver-and-brown-and-black wolves down the ridge.

Erlendur raced against the wind, the head of his own hunting party! This was the time. He was certain. This was when he would earn his name! He and his brother were now on the ceremonial hunt. The hunt that proves their worth to the pack. This hunt would seal his fate till the next season of the North Winds.

Erlendur raised his chin and smelled the rich petrichor moor. The smell of the caribou herd also crossed by not far from here. He signaled his lieutenant up beside him. "Borrig Pi-"

He cut himself off, remembering his place. It was customary that a wolf refer to a wolf of higher rank by his or her full name. But on this ritual hunt, he was the highest in rank.

"Yes, Master Erlendur?" His Lieutenant prompted. His lieutenant did not call him by his full name, as Erlendur did not have one just yet. Hopefully, if this hunt went well, he would by the end of the day. For now, "Master" would have to do.

He flicked his tail for his flankers to initiate. They would efficiently scout the weak and young from the herd and begin to drive.

Elite as his paw-chosen team was, the hunt began swiftly. Of course, this was a ritual hunt, and according to the scrolls, the strongest of the oldest buck must be hunted. They all knew the plan, and seamlessly worked together. The hunt had begun.

Erlendur himself linked eyes with his decided target. A white stag, and surely the largest of the herd. He barked short orders and his team wove their way around the thunder stampeding legs.

Everything was executed smoothly; until a new scent worked it's way to him. Another team! He realized with horror that the scent belonged to Auslaug. He turned to see his brother leading his own team towards the white stag; a fire and rage had replaced the kind and wistfulness he had seen in his brother's eyes not hours ago.

He forced his own eyes cold. He would catch this stag. It was no longer a hunt. It was a race.