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“How many members are there in total?” Finbar asked, gazing up at the golden wolf. “It seemed there were a lot at my pre-trial.”
“There are roughly thirty of us,” answered Marco. “Not including the three new additions you and the High Lady have generously added.”
“That is a lot of wolves.”
“There used to be more.”
“What happened…?”
“Humans. Cold times. Lack of food. It may feel like we are in the middle of the wilderness, but this is not quite as safe as you would imagine; while our territory is large, it is surrounded by humans. There is nowhere for us to go if our area runs out of sustainable prey, it is here or nothing.”
“This all sounds very stressful,” Finbar replied soberly, beginning to somewhat understand why Alpha Balto had wanted to get rid of him. Sparing him was a true act of mercy, but now with proper context Finbar understood the pressure that his father-in-law must be dealing with.
“It is simply a fact of life out here that the weak die and the strong survive,” Marco looked down at him light-heartedly. “We do what we can to help our brothers, sisters and our young, but in the end things are what they are. Life moves on, and so do we because there is no other choice. Your children are lucky, though; they were born in spring, and will be big enough by winter to survive it.”
“I am grateful for that, to be honest. I will take care of them the best that I can. I am a father, and though I may not know all of what it takes to be a good one, nor how to even be a wolf, I will surely do my best,” Finbar stated assuredly.
“That is the spirit,” Marco chuckled down at him, “I love to see it. On that note, it is high time we begin the assessment properly. Do you know why we go out on these hunts, Finbar?”
Finbar raised a brow, confused by the question because it had such an obvious answer. “To… feed ourselves?” he said.
“Yes, of course,” the golden furred wolf nodded, his gemstone eyes aglow. “Yet, it is so much more than that, friend. Just as the minnows must work together to survive, so must we wolves; when we hunt, we kill not only to fill our empty bellies, but primarily to feed the mouths of others, namely first those who are unable to catch prey for themselves, such as the pups, or the elderly.”
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The white wolf-dog understood now, his instructor had wanted to put an emphasis on something far deeper than one’s own personal needs in order to highlight the needs of others, especially the less fortunate and those who could not keep themselves alive if it were not for the selfless love of their pack-mates. “I understand now,” he dipped his head respectfully. Finbar smiled. “I really love your pack’s way of life. It’s a lot better than anything I have ever lived under before.”
Marco lashed his tail patriotically. “Naturally. It is simply the way of the wolf. The humans may antagonize our kind, but they could stand to learn a thing or two from us.”
Finbar sighed. “They surely could.”
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A single lone doe stood grazing high up near the edge of the trees, munching on clovers and flowers. At this time of year, the beasts of the wild loved to snack on those; it filled and satisfied them, keeping them alive another day. However, sometimes these animals failed to pay attention to their surroundings, which worked out in the favor of the other beasts who did not have an innate taste for herbs.
Those with a taste for flesh and blood would always wait for the chance to strike, in order to live another day, to invest in the next generation that would take their place in the future. This moment was no different; a pair of fangs leaped at her neck from the undergrowth, sinking in.
The doe ran, fighting with every last ounce of her strength to survive, but it was too late. Her life-giving artery had been damaged beyond repair, and she was losing a lot of blood; she was already dead and she did not know.
Collapsing, the predator stood over her, ensuring she did not get away again, making her many struggles futile. As her final moments approached, she felt warmth overtake the pain, and contentedness melted away the fear.
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“You have done well, Finbar, you are making me feel proud,” Marco walked slowly up to the white-wolf dog. “I should think that Lady Silvera will be proud, too.”
Finbar looked at the golden wolf and smiled, licking the blood off his fair maw. “I am a better hunter than I am a fighter,” he said, flicking his wounded ear.
He lay down over the deer to rest.
“Gathering food is just as important as defending the pack, so do not feel inferior should anyone make fun of you for your lack of combat skills,” Marco stood still before him. “I am grateful for your contribution to us.”
The words lingered sweetly in Finbar’s mind; he had concluded his assessment, and the effort all day long was worth it just to hear Marco say that. He had not failed, it was over.
“I share your sentiment, Sir Marco.”
Finbar whipped his head around, squinting his golden eyes in order to see through the shafts of sunset glow. It was Lady Silvera; the look on her face was soft, a hint of emotion showing there. She must have intended on showing it, and that had to be a good sign.
“You have performed well, young male,” she went on, coming closer until she stared down at him. “I have watched you closely, and have overheard your conversation with Marco as well as seen the killing of prey. I shall approve of you; you need a lot of work, but you show promise and your heart is pure. That is all we needed to know.”
“Thank you, Lady Silvera,” Finbar lowered his head with great respect.
Behind her came Thorn and Sorley who met with Marco and began to pull the deceased doe.
“The Alpha will be glad to hear of all your works today. Come, let us go home.”
Finbar, exhausted as he was, stepped in to help the males bring the food back.