20.10.2005

Golden hues decorated the forest floor. Red, orange, yellow, amber, ochre, brown. The sun was dropping away now, leaving behind rays of temporary colour. It was cold out and the winter ice had begun to form, thin and clear. The north winds had started and the animals were readying to sleep. An owl screeched from far away and dried leaves rustled in the wind. The low howl of a wolf cry echoed from far away.

Mystical. Alluring.

The forest was untouched by humankind, it was a place only the Feu pack wolves knew of; a sacred retreat they rarely visited, but protected with all they could. It was where their ancestors had built a pack, begun a home. And to preserve that, they left it be, allowing mother nature to take charge.

It was serene and it was peaceful. And from there, the entire world looked still, and maybe it was still. You could just stay there, seated under a maple tree, sipping on tea, and watch the sun rise and then fade away over and over again. And you would never feel anything change. As if you were stuck in an enthralling time loop.

It was utterly beautiful. So calm, so refreshing. But there was something about it that said wait, wait patiently. Because there was always a perfect moment to shatter.

And it did shatter. The ice shattered.

A scream sounded through the forest. Birds screeched back harsh responses as they flew away in fear. Idle deer fled fast into the bushes. The forest had been disturbed. A steel bullet ricocheted through the thin air, right before a heavy splash echoed. Sounds were too much.

But then there was silence. Death like silence.

A dark hooded figure stood at the edge of the lake, silver eyes gazing intently at the broken ice. His features were sharp and impersonal. He looked dead, cold and lifeless, like a ghost; like an omen.

A gaping hole looked back at him from the lake. His muffled boots moved steadily as he advanced towards it. He knew how to survive on thin ice, he had done it most of his life.

He blinked and exhaled calmly tilting down his shotgun and pocketing it in his open jacket. White smoke wafted around him, leaking from a cigarette stuck casually between his teeth. The water under the ice was moving rapidly, the current was strong and harsh, dragging down everything in its path.

His lips twitched slightly and a small sadistic spark ignited momentarily in his dead eyes. So now he was sure that she would struggle. That she would have to fight to survive. But after all, that was the point. That's what he wanted. That's what he needed. That was the deal.

Because if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger.

A second passed. So did another. And one final second later the silence broke again. It was the sound of pounding from beneath the ice. The heavy thuds made the entire lake tremble... there was raw frustration and fear in those sharp movements, there was panic and pain. After all, she was only a little girl.

Those silver eyes immediately located her, far east of the gaping hole. He tread carefully towards the sound and knelt down. Using a single mitted hand he wiped away the crispy leaves and light ice.

The dimming light revealed the blur outlines of what lay beneath the ice. He gazed down silently at her, waiting. A pair of emerald green eyes stared back at him. And even through layers of numbing ice they burned with a dangerous heat. Those eyes promised vengeance.

A halo of black hair wafted around the girl; her skin was pale now and her blurred lips opened and closed rapidly. She was furious and she was fighting. He could almost feel her little bubbly growl through the ice. A smirk graced his cold features.

"Good girl."

He hadn't been sure about the assignment he had been given... he hadn't even wanted to follow through with the plan. The plan had been so absurd that he had been tempted to break a direct order. But now after seeing those eyes, that growl... they promised so much. So much potential, so much power. His instincts spoke to him. There was a huge chance that that little girl would be the death of him... that once she could, she would destroy everything in her path, including the monster that inspired her. But she could also be his glory; his road to power.

The small fist continued to bang against the ice, blood had begun to stain against the water now, and the air bubbles had exceeded the initial amount. A sudden jerk shook the ground... a small crack had appeared on the surface.

"That's the spirit, little alpha."

A bloody palm clashed against the crack with new found determination. She was running out of air and she knew it now. He wouldn't help her. Fear glinted in those eyes. And that shadow only watched. He wiped his fingers on his wool jacket and straightened his back. He casually looked up to the sky and observed the clouds above him. They were scarce trails of white against a multicolored palette. Nature was admirable, sophisticated without even trying.

It was a fine evening. He puffed his cigarette and the minty flavour tainted the air. The smoke swirled in front of him magically, only to be carried away moments later, by a gust of soft wind.

The world hadn't change though a little girl was drowning. It didn't care that some one was suffering and fighting for their life. The world never stopped, no matter how much it looks like it did. Not even for a moment. It's always moving, because now the forest was back to normal, the deer were grazing and the birds were back in their nests.

To rule in this world you had to fight your own battles, you could rely on no one.

He looked down at the tortured girl. He didn't feel anything. She had much more ahead of her.

"If you cant survive in there, little alpha... you'll never survive out here."