Feral

14

Mention of moons is a full moon, so 2 moons= roughly 2 months

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The trek back to their land took to nightfall at her slow pace. Along the way they called to her females, pups and the warriors sent with them.

The shirt provided a similar comfort as her coat did when she was a wolf, though her limbs were left to the elements.

It was definitely strange to be smelling like Damien but also herself as well, and at first it had thrown her wolves off. The pups came to her, sniffing and biting at the shirt, interested in it, even her older wolves didn't know what to make of it, and sneezed several times in response.

Was this why the twolegs smelled so sour? Did their scents mix?

Their territory had been compromised. When dawn rose again, she vowed they'd find somewhere else to live.

She wouldn't wait till she was healed, like the other male had said; these twolegs would come for her again, knowing the stories that would be told.

She didn't want to leave, this place had been near perfect for her small pack, and having met Damien she was given hope at a possible future. That was no more.

Once they'd arrived back at the den, she counted eight wolves gone. Tonight they would sit vigil and mourn for them.

The mothers and pups were safe, which meant they had a future, three female warriors and five males were taken down. They couldn't sustain these losses much longer otherwise she'd have no pack to lead and protect...she was failing at protecting them thus far.

It hadn't always been like this, moons ago, she was leader of hundreds, and she commanded respect. That was before another like her had taken advantage of her youth and naivety, and destroyed her, taking her pack.

She lived as a lone wolf after those wounds had healed, thriving and growing. Her scars had turned pale and forgotten when she was given another chance at leading a pack, but these wolves came to her, she did not ask for them, they trickled into her life in pairs, groups of three or on their own, and soon enough she had a pack of twenty which has grown into a pack of sixty wolves in the past nine moons.

Maybe she was better suited to be a lone wolf, Irik would make a perfect leader for this pack.

Regardless though, of that thought, these wolves were hers to command, to lead, and to protect, and she needed to start doing that.

The night was long, as she and her wolves sat in mourning with the moon above them, providing the only sources of light.

When dawn came, their bones ached and cracked with relief and reluctance as they all moved, sleep would not happen today, today they'd decide where to move the pack to next.