A peircing howl shot through the air, breaking the silence of the forest. It started off soft, low, and grew higher as it went on. Midway, another howl started up, further away but off to the right. Then another, to the left. They went on like sirens, in almost every direction. Different pitches, different lengths; identifying each wolf they came from. But then they stopped, fading out into nothing. It was silent for a good second, the air still but the mountains around seems to echo with the bone-chilling sounds. Then there was one, a deep, hollow sounding howl rose from just behind. Strong and powerful, prideful. It was so close.
They were here.
A wolf is one challenge, but a pack is a whole other. Even the most powerful dog out there, the Kangal, would have trouble taking on multiple wolves at once. But it is their courage, their drive to protect, that carries the Kangal onto battle. Just as the drive to fight carries the Pitbull, and the urge to herd pushes the Collie.
There's a story involving a wolf pack, a village, and their three Kangal dogs. The wolf pack had come to the village, wanting the livestock, looking for fresh food. The two males out of the three Kangals reacted on instinct, trying to scare off; intimidate, the wolves. They eneded up fighting, but at the time the village came out they were already dead. The last Kangal, a nursing mother, realized the commotion. She had given birth to three puppies, yet she knew she needed to do what her genetics formed her into doing. She left her puppies in a concealed area, and with the village by her side, they fought the wolves off. Won against them, but the results for her were not good. She risked her life, her puppies' lives; to do what man created her to do. She protected, but she was severely injured and she did not survive the attack. What was left, was her three puppies, to carry on her legacy; her genes.
Each dog had a purpose, formed from their genetics. But what did a mutt have? A dog with unknown lineage, poor genetics, and no known instinct. They only had one thing, the need to survive. With no wolf to kill, no dog to fight, no sheep to herd, they were left to please man. However, a mutt with no home, no human to obey, followed her natural instinct. Their true meaning; to carry on their bloodline.
It went all the way back to the first wolves, (whom were now a either wild dog's worst enemy or bestfriend). Whoever was the strongest, got to reproduce. The weak were picked on and most died. It truly was and still is, the way of life.
That's why Ruger had to run for now. He couldn't take on these wolves, he had his own mate. He needed to survive, that was his purpose.
The canine was a true stud. Long legs with solid bone structure, massive paws, well developed muscles on both his front and hind quarters. His tail wasn't extremely long, but it was not short, it gave him a proud stance. He had a deep chest with a nice tuck, but it wasn't enough to make him appear feminine. His neck was thick, but his head was large and his jaw muscles gave him a nice, broad looking face. His snout wasn't pointy, it was a decent length and his jaws were well set. His eyes fit his face nicely, round and sharp. They were complimented by his tan eyebrows, his black and tricolor fur allowed the moonlight to shine off his rippling muscles underneath his dark, short pelt.
The wolf pack was quick on his trail, they had been tracking him for a few days, desperate for food. He had led them away from his own territory, which left his expecting mate in danger, but gave the unborn puppies a better chance of survival. He was risking his life to protect his own, like a mother rabbit would do to hide her kits from a murder of hungry crows.
A flash of lightning struck somewhere in the distance, followed by a loud rumble, ending in a boom. A sudden shower of rain began pelting the ground harshly, hitting his fur like tiny, flat bullets. He stopped sprinting for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, looking to see if the wolves were visual. He watched for a moment, seeing a blur of grey shoot between two trees and step out. A giant, lanky wolf stood behind him, the dim moonlight lit the drool that hung from it's snarling jowls.
Ruger turned and fled, adrenaline flowing through his veins. As the rain continued pouring, his scent would be washed away, the prints his massive paws left in the mud would be filled with water. This was an advantage, but wolves had eyes and ears too. They were faster, had more stamina, could run for hours, whereas Ruger could not.
That didn't stop him from trying though. His powerful legs propelled him forward in lengthful strides, in attempt to draw out the distance between him and the wolf pack. The rain blurred his vision, making him blink rapidly as he ran. They must have been weak by now, being so desperate to go after a single, wild dog.
A howl started up somewhere to his right, in front of him, causing him to run the other direction. How was there one infront of him already? He could barely see anything due to the rain, the mud splashing upwards in flecks as his paws came in contact with the ground. He slowed, shaking his whole pelt, the dirt and water on him flying off in all directions. Then he went on, running inbetween trees and rocks, crashing through brush and undergrowth.
There was a loud crack and all the sudden Ruger was being flipped onto his side. He jumped up and lashed around, snarling out of instinct before he was met with two glaring amber eyes and a long, pointed grey snout. Ruger stiffened, raising his tail and letting out a deep, earsplitting bark. The wolf flinched and snapped at his muzzle, grazing his face. He stepped back, keeping his eyes locked onto the lanky animal. It would only be a matter of time until it's pack appeared and tore him to shreds with their razor sharp, blood thirsty fangs.
He stepped back one paw at a time, keeping his chest puffed and head high. Anything to make himself look larger, more powerful. The wolf was growing irritated as the standoff grew longer. Every step Ruger took back, every step forward the wolf made. Then they stood still, waiting for one to make a move. As Ruger built the confidence to strike, the hunger drove the wolf to jump at him.
The powerful black and tan canine jumped back, his back paws slipping off what was assumed to be the edge of a ditch. The wolf's jaws shot forward, clamping down on Ruger's left ear. The large dog snarled and pushed back, forgetting he was on the edge of a natural platform, he tumbled down. The wolf came with.
Ruger yelped as he felt his ear get torn from his head at the base, sending the wolf falling in a different direction. Mud stuck to his pelt and covered his face, getting into his eyes and nose. As he collided with the ground, his breath was taken away from him. A loud shriek came from beside him somewhere, and he heard loud stomping. A giant hoove landed right beside his head, triggering him to jump away. He shook his pelt quickly, the rain washing away some of the mud from his eyes. He saw the grey body of the wolf who had attacked him, lifeless on the ground beside him with the rain washing away the mud, revealing a stomped in ribcage.
The grey fur was washed away of the mud, white bones stuck impossible anatomical ways. Blood oozed from its wounds, organs spilling from its chest.
Ruger realized they had fallen into a resting area that belonged to elk. A massive buck hovered above him, but it wasn't watching him, it was looking up. The dog's eyes followed the gaze, which were locked onto the top of the hill that he had fallen off of. The wolf pack had finally caught up, making their way down towards the elk. This was his chance to escape. The wolves would stop following him, they had new prey now.
He dropped down into a crawl, watching the elk as they were thrown on edge and panicking by the wolves. He saw an opening, beside a large pine tree. He made a run for it, staying close to the rock and mud wall. He could hear the sounds of panicked hooves blend with the snapping of straving jaws. He didn't dare look back, he bolted up out of the pit and ran. He could go home now, rest, form his own small pack.
Ruger slowed his pace once he was a good distance away, the rain washed the mud and grass from his face and pelt, mixing into the blood that dropped from his torn ear, streaming down the side of his head. He felt his muscles relax, even though the pain on the side of his head was still somewhat there. He knew which way led back to the river, back to his den. However, it would at least take two days, and his stomach was running empty.
But he had a purpose, to survive; protect his own. He fought to live, to carry on his bloodline. He was a wild dog, he had been for years now and that wouldn't change anytime soon.
