As I gazed down, a rivulet of blood trickled down my leg, a stark reminder of my dire situation. The ropes binding my legs seemed to tighten, as if mocking my futile attempts to break free. I strained with all my might, trying to dislodge the heavy stone that pinned me down, but it refused to budge. Severed my legs, I kept trying to pull on the heavy stone that was holding me down. The night was bitterly cold, and I shivered from head to toe, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. I wished desperately that my fur would provide some warmth, but it seemed to offer little protection against the chill that had seeped into my bones.
Through the cage bars, I gazed with my weary eyes at the ones who had held us captive for what felt like an eternity. I had long since lost count of the days, but my heart still held onto the hope that they would finally grant us the mercy of returning to our human forms.
I was perplexed by the cruelty of being bound to a massive stone by a rope, yet still confined within a cage. The injustice of our treatment weighed heavily on my mind. It was clear that our captors were driven by blind hatred and fear of our very existence, our nature a constant threat to their own.
I winced every now and then as I felt the piercing pains of the rough surface we were standing on. I felt sharp edges of stones piercing into my paws. At night, I felt the ice snow freezing under my paw and at daytime, I felt the burning sensation of the sun as we trudged on it.
Tonight was another one of those dreadful nights. We were forced to haul the cart once more, its heavy cargo weighing us down as we trudged and ran through the darkness. Our captors whipped us at their whim, and meager rations were the norm. As night fell, we were left to quench our thirst with icy snow water, the crunch of frozen crystals piercing our teeth like a thousand tiny knives.
Our "reward" for a job well done was a filthy cup of water, tainted with the acrid taste of urine, and occasionally, a putrid chunk of rotting flesh. The rancid smell and vile texture made our stomachs churn, but we were too exhausted and famished to refuse this meager offering.
I sat down with my head placed on my leg to provide warmth to my freezing leg as I waited for us to be escorted out of the cage and tied to the cart. The cage was well-built with a partition between them. I always saw another wolf being dragged out of the other partition and I never saw her again after each trip.
They constantly brought in new wolves, and from a distance I could always see the other wolves. My attention was always transfixed on the white wolf that had been there long before I was brought in. My eyes always clouded with sympathy anytime I saw her. We all knew she wasn't going to stay alive much longer.
"You better run fast today" said one of our captors. He grabbed the rope tied to my leg and fastened it to the iron parts of the cart. The skin on my leg was almost tearing off, red and raw from the rope.
For that night, there were fifteen wolves in number, each looking lean and weak but at the same time ready to take off at the slightest whip. The rules out here were simple.
Don't run. Die!
Their stone-cold hearts made every word they spoke a chilling reality. The haunting memory of how they callously plucked a wolf from our cart during one of our grueling journeys and mercilessly plunged a dagger into her heart still lingered in my mind, refusing to fade.
The once-pristine snow was now tainted with blood, dripping from the open wounds that marred our bodies. I felt the whip's cruel lash slice across my back as I was violently thrown into the midst of the pack and secured to the cart, my restraints digging deep into my flesh. The men took their turns, kicking, spitting, shouting and whipping us while the others laughed .
It was never clear how any of this torture could amuse a full-grown man, yet they all laughed with abandon. One of the muscular men, Mitch, snatched the spiked whip and unleashed it upon a wolf beside me, sending her blood splattering into the air. The crimson droplets splashed against my face, and I felt the warm trickle of blood rolling down my mouth. Her blood tasted metallic, a bitter reminder of the brutality we endured.
Move it bitches! Hyah!
That's how our grueling journey began - with a crack of the whip across our backs and the incessant shouts of the men. We labored to drag the heavy cart, our paws struggling to grip the icy surface. With each step, the whip lashed down again, propelling us forward. I felt my leg numb and freezing with every stride, the pain and discomfort etched in every movement.
Another flurry of slashes struck us, accompanied by the cruel laughter and chatter of our tormentors, who sat comfortably on the cart as we strained with our last vestiges of strength to pull them forward. I feared that if I didn't keep running, I'd lose my leg, but the rules continued to haunt me, echoing in my mind like a cruel mantra.
Don't run! Die!