Its Cold Outside

Its Cold Outside



We all ran together, dodging the underbrush and leaping over man-made potholes.

The further we ran the less of us there where. Crimson clung to our paws and our ruff, the smell of blood was overwhelming.

I tilted my head to Mark, a black, sleek and agile wolf. Who was running, no, leaping elegantly next to me.

I could tell that the smell of blood was strong for him, too, by the way his tail hung low and how Mark was reluctant to move his muzzle any closer to the ground.

The trees in this part of the wood was sparse, nice space for a pack of wolves escaping from their few threats.

I turned my head over my shoulder, running to the right as I did.

I saw a glimpse of a creature, a bright-orange warning against the pristine wood.



Holding the reason for the noise,

the running,

the death.





A deafening blast comes from behind us, two wolves stall and we leap over them.







They are gone now,



There is nothing I can do.



Why are they doing this?





   



I suddenly feel alone, running in the clear wood, leaping over potholes and landing silently on my four feet.

We meet a small slope, a clearing, harboring no trees, I sniff the air, smelling cool  river-water.

Something is missing as well.

Mark.



I stop, turning in  an awkward circle, visualising all sections of the dirt-scarred slope searching for Mark.

The rest of the pack have long passed me, the slowest of the throng disapearing up the slope, out of sight.



Thats when I saw him, at the base of the slope, a black-and-red scar on the browned earth.

A metal mechanism clamped around his leg, ensured no escape.

I ran to mark, my paws wet with fresh, warm blood.

Mark's blood.



Deadly war paint.



As I approached Mark, he let out a barely audible whimper.

I lay down beside him, licking his chin in sympathy. I followed the trail of blood along his ruff to the blood-coated silver clamp, which has inflicted all his injuries.

Pain, an insatiable master.



Then I rememered the the fluro-orange warning,

the man approached us, looking out of place in the orderly brown wood.

I leapt from my spot in the dirt and took refuge far behind a boulder at the base of the slope.



He held a mechanism to Marks head, Mark tried to escape, but the clamp had him captured in its talons.

Then there was the bang, I felt dizzy and stumbled.

It was so loud.



I looked over to Mark, who was still entrapped in the clamp, limp and lifeless.

I emerged from the side of the boulder,

my instincts told me to run, escape.



The man was far from me, threatening my shakily with the mechanism that caused Mark's death.



I should've ran but I didn't.

I stopped it.

I killed him.



   



I glided up the slope with confident strides, trying to escape from the reality of what just happened.



I met up with the pack at the base of the lake, where we were crowded with trees.

A great place to hide and hunt. The pack leader, Beck, a scruffy-black male with a white underbelly,  confirmed the packs safety with a wag of his tail.



I didn't feel safe, I felt haunted, like something was watching me.





   



The weather was getting warmer. The deer and rabbits where getting more common everyday, we weren't the slaves of hunger, for now.



Most of the wolves were still grieving from their lost partners or pals. Dmitri, a scraggly wolf with a brown, rough coat, was frustrated, and acting with violence because he was now the lowest in the pack, due to the deaths.



The alpha male,Beck, made sure that I was high up in the pack, so the other higher ranked wolves didn't use me as a punching bag every now and then to set me in my place.



 

 



The weather was getting warmer, and most of the younger wolves have changed, besides the older ones which cannot change anymore.



I could feel it in my veins.

I could feel the change.



   



---Jas, 12, 2011.