One
Frost lay light and glittering upon the ground as watery shafts of sunlight filtered through branches of broadleaf trees. Among the budding life walked a silvery wolf of an advanced age, her ears pricked and eyes alert. Dangling from her jaws was a dead marmot, occasionally dripping scarlet drops of blood onto the ground.
Suddenly a shrill and terrified howl cut through the air, and she gave a start of surprise. The birds nearby took flight in alarm. She jabbed her ears forward to listen to the message, but there was none. But the gist said something was very awry.
The same wolf howled again before the silvery wolf could do anything, though his howl carried a message now: Humans are trespassing the northern border, currently resting near The Slough. The rout is bringing guns with them, prepared to kill us and keep our pelts for souvenirs. We must flee, abandon our home.
Silence followed this, then howls of disbelief broke out throughout the territory. The silvery wolf’s hackles rose and seemed to quiver. The Ancient Laws forbade the killing of humans, which seemed hardly fair since humans killed wolves freely, but no wolf dared challenge the laws Sirius himself laid out, the first wolf blooder to exist. Indeed, they would have to flee, or they all could be annihilated.
The silvery wolf felt a huge weight crash down on her shoulders, and she drew in a sharp breath. It was her job to guide the Pack to a safer place, a new home – or perhaps just ensure the Pack kept a low profile until the humans passed. She needed to know the details first. So, with these thoughts in mind, she tipped her head back and howled for the Pack to gather at The Marrow, their main camp, and for no decisions to be made until an official kela was held.
“To The Marrow!”
She snatched up her fresh-kill and raced off northwest.
»
The Marrow, from a distance, appeared to be very sharp and prick the sky. But it was merely a distortion of perspective. The greater the distance, the sharper the profile of a peak, but when approached the land flattened. The Marrow loomed over the lord now like an immense flat table rock. Trees were scattered here and there atop, casting great shadows that seemed to dance as the icy wind pushed the trees. This effect is what the Pack was named after – the Pack of the Dancing Shadows.
The lord paused at the crest of a small hill, dropping the dead marmot to observe what was happening below her, and immediately felt profoundly astonished.
Seniors were shouting orders, but they were being downright ignored, seeing that wolves were rushing past them; mothers were calling after their pups in an attempt to herd them. It was a waterless sea of pelts, desperately frenzied.
The lord howled the signal for silence. Then, before the Pack could do anything, the lord bounded down from her position and reared up on two legs, taking a few steps forward that made the Pack cower in fear and sudden shame. Good, she thought. She knew what she was doing was a rather bearish act, but it was the quickest way to grab their attention. She huffed and fell back down on all fours, her gaze sweeping over her Pack.
