You pull away from the pack and circle around to the south, just far enough away to keep from getting run down. You hope. You draw a deep breath, close your eyes to free yourself from distraction, and scream a cry of pain.
You don't need to wonder for long whether or not your ruse has succeeded. Howls of pursuit follow shortly, and you lead the pack on a merry chase, occasionally letting loose a bellow of agony before circling back around to where you last saw the soldiers. You pause to take a breather, relieved to see that the soldiers have long since made themselves scarce.
Too late you hear the sound of paws rushing toward you from behind. A great weight falls onto your back, and you collapse to the ground.
This is it, you think to yourself. This is the end. There's no regaining your footing as claws rake your flesh and heavily muscled feet rain down blows upon you. You draw back instinctively, hands held over your face protectively while your eyes scrunch closed in a rictus of pain and fear.
And then the blows stop coming all at once, and you're surrounded by the hum of dozens of low growls. What fresh hell…?
You open your eyes in a squint, peering up between the shield of your arms. Instructor Lonan is crouched over you, eyes alight with an atavistic fire. Of all the wolves you could imagine killing you, he would never have made the list. Your teacher hesitates before delivering the final blow, the muscles in his face twitching irregularly.
Lonan may be out of his mind, but there must be some self-preservation instinct left in there. You fill your lungs and let loose your best roar.
Lonan blinks, temporarily stunned by your outburst, but he leans back in quickly, cocking his arm to deliver the fatal blow. Loathe as you are to admit it, if it comes down to your life or his, it's no contest at all. The feral wolf inside takes over, and you thrust your claws forward with all the strength you can muster, driving them through the resistance of Lonan's thick werewolf hide until a claw catches on one of his ribs.
His eyes widen as you twist your hand before pulling free. A wave of warm wetness floods over you as the teacher's body slumps forward, crushing you to the ground under its weight.
As you struggle to pull yourself free and roll the body away, you notice the whining. At first it's only a few, but soon more join in the chorus of desperate painful cries. You whip your head around, spinning in a circle until you're certain that you're safe from imminent attack.
Each wolf is holding their heads in their hands, the whimpering cries not at all unlike the sound of a mind-bending hangover. How had it come to this? The Hunter's Moon ceremony has always been a cause for joy, of celebration! You fear now that the humans and pack alike will attach a much less favorable meaning to the yearly ritual.
One by one, wolves you've known your entire life throw their heads back and howl despair into the void, the mournful chorus tugging at your primal core until joining the choir is irresistible.
You tilt your lupine head back and lock eyes with the moon, red fur standing up in a ragged bristling along your spine. An unfathomable weight upon your chest presses your lungs to bursting even as you heal from the assault. The dam that long protected your heart ruptures at the pressure, and a whimper bubbles to your lips, chased presently by a full-throated outcry of grief.
For the simple life you will never possess by virtue of your birth. For the fates of your brothers and sisters, a family forged by shared struggle if not by blood. And for your long-departed mother, recently remembered, if only in dream.
The unfeeling Hunter's Moon attends your outburst, its light cold and tyrannical, spun and diffused through a scattering of cloud with calculated disinterest. You know in that moment that it will not lament the passing of either you or your kind. For the first time in your short life, surrounded by dozens of other lost souls, you feel well and truly alone.
Next
As is its nature, grief slowly fades to a dull throbbing, and you regain your senses, breath catching as a brief stab of panic pulses through you. All too recently you'd been immersed in a struggle with lives hanging in the balance. The silence suddenly surrounding you is eerie; you cannot remember the cessation of the wolf-song, and you fear that its absence could signal the resumption of hostilities.
A clawed hand falls on your shoulder, and you duck into a roll, coming up facing your assailant.
"Ahote?" you gasp.
The old wolf nods wearily. The once-taut age lines surrounding his eyes are now puffy, creased and folded as though he's aged ten years in the last few hours. It looks like his long years in Haven have finally caught up with him. "I can remember everything," he says, his arms twitching in recollection, "but my thoughts and actions were not my own." He pauses to catch his breath. "You weren't at the ritual, were you?"
You shake your head. "Overslept. I only caught up to you when the pack started to move."
"Well, it seems like you did all you could to assist. You have my gratitude. But I'm afraid that word of the incident will spread, and the humans will be coming for us. There's no way to predict exactly how they'll react. Be on your guard."
You nod gravely.
"As for Lonan, you need to understand that you did what you had to do. We'll all grieve for him, and he'll receive a proper burial, but I'll make certain that the blame for his death does not fall at your feet."
You shiver, recalling that moment of panic, of indecision. "I could have…I should have…"
Ahote pulls your chin up roughly and stares into your eyes, the strength of his will unflinching in the face of tragedy. "You did what you had to do," he repeats slowly, putting force behind the words. "Second-guessing your instincts won't bring him back."
A low, moaning voice calls out from farther down the road, and Ahote looks over his shoulder. "You'll have to excuse me, I have others that will be in need of attention."
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