Shifting With The Snow

Prologue

The wolf lunged at the owl. She dodged him. This had been getting tiresome. This fight had been an hour they were going at it like this in the wintery woods. She brought her back claws up and scratched the black wolf’s eyes. It stumbled around abit. As he got his footing, he turned around to stare at her.

The wolf growled as the blood oozed down from below his left eye.

The owl screeched at him. She flapped her wings. They were as white as the snow if the snow had small black rocks in it. She was a snowy owl. She flew higher, not in a mood to die.

The wolf had been the owl’s mate not too long ago. She seen what he had been doing to his pack. There was no way she was going to stand by and watch what he been doing. He was using the basement to, in his word, “teach” the new wolves what was right. It was sick. They were head to toe bruised, sometimes broken bones. The owl had known they were all dying in front of her, but she had no clue what to do. The last one finally made her snap. They were her pack, too.

The owl shook herself back to the present, she swooped down toward the wolf’s feet. She nipped at them with her beak, drawing blood every other time she went for a blow. He tried to snap at her, but her wings made her to nimble for him. The owl went for a sharp dive to the back of his head. It caused him to look up. Making it look like she might take the sharp incline, instead she goes around his neck. It was a good enough distraction for her to go for the last blow to his throat. She sunk her claws in and brought them across. The blood gushed onto the ground as the wolf dropped dead-looking to the ground. She dropped a few away. The pack was now her’s.