Print

The cold flurry fell silently, the world dark and grey. The wind didn’t even sigh as it blew over the untouched snow. The sun tried to warm the land, but its golden rays turned an icy indigo before they kissed the earth.
A small simple log cabin with a barn beside it was the only warm spectacle. The glow from the fire flickered through the frost covered windows. Still, the world was soundless.
Two creatures moved stealthy over the territory; one a rusted auburn shade, the other a pastel grey. Both moved as if they had a flawlessly preformed dance planned out, one would shift the other followed until they were only a few yards from the modest barn.
Their breath puffed into the arctic, their tongues lulled out of their elongated fang filled maws. The auburn one moved forward, a blood stain in the virgin snow. It was exposed, but only for a moment, a wolf, slender and sly. It disappeared quickly.
The second followed its leader; this wolf was much bigger, built with a thicker pelt of indigo and smidgens of grey. They stalked the barn, the scent of food in the air made their hearts race with exhilaration and their mouths water.
“Todd.” A light voice from the auburn leader broke the silence. The blue brute responded padding towards the other, its paws crushing prints in the ice roofed snow.
“Yes, Swiftkill?” He asked, his wolven voice deep and throaty. This was Todd Coldwaters, the beta, or second in command of the pack who awaited Swiftkill's command.
“Go to the rear of the storage place, frighten the prey and drive it towards me.” He said sharply, not in emotion, but in ways his vocals echoed. It was as if this tone of voice belonged to a small pup. Todd nodded, impassive by the voice, and raced ahead.
Swiftkill's jade eyes darted from the spot Todd had last been distinguished, and then towards the barn, tense. He lingered for the howl, the flutter of the chickens’ wings and their pierced outcries in fear. His tassel waved side to side, brushing gently over the snow. Then it was heard. The cavernous howl and poultry shrieks ricocheted against the wood walls where they were trapped. It was not long before the prey scurried out of their little shelter and scattered around the landscape.
The quiet morning had transformed into an afternoon of screeching. Swiftkill sprung from his hiding place, snapping his jaws near the open atmosphere of the chickens’ wings before finally making contact. They impulsively locked tight on the weak animals’ carcass before it died of fright.
The sudden explosion of fear let loose like thunder and rang in Swiftkill's ears. His body tensed and his eyes extended with terror. He tightened his grip on the kill and bolted from the area, taking notice of man's roars of anger. The firing of the gun launched for a second time and only made Swiftkill's legs move faster.
A flash of Todd’s pelt beside him calmed his nerves and his worries for his companion, advancing towards the forest edge. Once the silence of the woodland had penetrated their ears and the sounds of man and prey had decreased, they slowed to an effortless tempo. It was Swiftkill who stopped first and dropped his prize, waiting for Todd to catch up to him. He turned to his successor, noticing to his sorrow that his friend was injured. Todd kept his head low, jaw rigid with his kill, and limped to his chief. He dropped his catch on top of Swiftkill's and stood their, stiff.
“Where are you hurt?” Swiftkill alleged sullenly, circling his heir.
“My hind leg.” Todd wheezed, tired from the dash and the pain. He turned his head a bit and surveyed the damage. A portion of his hind leg had been removed clean, the edges of his flesh scorched. Mans bullet had just barley taken his leg.
“Lay in the snow,” ordered Swiftkill, trying his best to conceal the concern in his voice. Todd obeyed, gently landing in the mounds of white. The ice willingly melted into a slush of scarlet. A sharp whine escaped from Todd