War is something I used to idolize, in my early days as a pup I admit I yearned to be like one of the generals, like my grandfather leading a hoard of wolves into the abyss only to return victorious with none of the blood and suffering just the pure glory. 

Sadly, I got what I wanted but nothing was what I thought it'd be.

I dragged my legs through the muddy scape, a gash above my eyebrow blurred my vision with my own blood. I looked down at the wendigo that's blood stained my fangs and jagged chunks of flesh littered around its now dead corpse. Looking around at my comrades it was easy to see we were losing even in my human form I stood over 6 feet, yet they towered over us, eyes hollow with nothing behind them animated demons tearing us apart.

'We are losing.'

The once green pasture housed a clash of titans thousands of wendigos standing 15 feet tall almost reaching the sky staining the winter snow before it even hit our heads, their breaths stank of rotting flesh. 

I turn to my right and see what used to be commoners, farmers, bakers fighting alongside our military, their once disjointed swings sharpened over the innate fear of death. When this war started, I never thought it'd come to this.

"Arghhhhhhhh!" the screeching howl snaps me out of my thoughts my body jerks instinctively towards the sound. It's to my left, I tighten my grasp on my swords hilt the pure silver blade reflects the morning snow as I ready myself. 

I gaze up at the demons yellow glowing eyes as it swings it claws towards me, its wingspan is large and aims for my ribs. I force my aching legs to lunge towards its chest, out of its grasp whilst I swing my sword towards its neck. The side of my sword lodges into its neck, 

'Just a bit further.'

Before I can twist my body and drag the blade through its rotting flesh it slaps me down onto the hard snow. I feel a dull pain and the warm blood seeping out of my shoulder, clenching my teeth I circle behind the beast continuing were I left off, unleashing my claws and digging them into its shoulder. 

It doesn't howl in pain, 

'expected these things are barely even alive.'

I use my left hand as an anchor and raising my sword, straightening my elbow as I drive the sword through its neck. 

The beast falls and I fall with it landing on its still body, I drive my sword through its chest piercing its heart.

Letting out a gasp I continue to follow the sound, manoeuvring past soldiers fighting these beasts as I did and commoners attempting to, I go unnoticed. My pace quickens when I see the origin of the scream. 

A young boy no older than twelve hunched over a dead wolfs body,

'why is he even here?'

My thoughts are interrupted by the wendigo unlocking its jaw lunging at the boy, I won't make it in time in this state. As if on cue I feel a sharp pain from my shoulder the poisonous claws not allowing my body to heal itself. I seize the only option left; the moon still hung in the sky covered by the foggy winter clouds, I feel the silver rays' cascade down willing my muscles to tighten tingling slightly from the familiar sensation. A primal growl escapes my lips as I surrender to the call of the moon, a surge of raw power causing my human form to contort and twist. Bones shifting and muscles rippling beneath my skin as my true werewolf form emerges. Like electricity my fur tingles and stands upright my grey coat shimmering. The reconnection to the land, the moon, the air every element giving me the grace and agility to attack with precision.

In an instant I lunged forward tackling the wendigo down and ripping out its throat. 

Shifting gives a wolf great power but only alphas can shift at will, whilst other wolves can only at specific times during the moon phases and if done excessively your just whittling down your own life.

Not wanting to waste any more time I grab the young boys shirt in my mouth and swing him onto my back. 

"Hold onto my fur, tightly" I mind link to the boy who is obviously still in shock but thankfully he listens. I start sprinting towards the gates,

'This wasn't going to work, we'd die fighting.'

Those demons had breached the front lines hours ago in the deep of the night and now as the sun rose all the generals including me had been dispatched as a last-ditch attempt. The morale had been at an all time low, we were all tired but that's no reason for a child to be here.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

As I ran the gravity of our death toll was evident, my people's bodies littering the ground blood drenching into the once green planes mixing with the soil and snow creating a muddy river of death. I ran for what felt like miles filling me with some sense of security. 

'Those demons still have a lot of ground to cover before they reach our doors.'

Reaching the gate to the Kingdom of Helirica I caught sight of my father, 

"Your grace!" usually a wolves shout would be just some inaudible barks and howls but thankfully due to my alpha blood my barks were comprehensible enough to other wolves,

"I need an audience with your grace!" 

A bright blue tent with golden tassels stood by the large gold gates of my pack, my father's now navy eyes tainted with swirls of black and silver hair littered with strands of charcoal.

'He was just as tired as the rest of us.'

The war had been raging on for what felt like decades, but this was only the third year of this bloodshed. It started slowly all those years ago, wolves being kidnapped at the outskirts of the outer gates then dismembered bodies left hanging limply on our watch towers. Till finally the first winter night of the lunar year they appeared, endless troops of wendigos charged at our door, and we were thrust into a losing battle. 

Stopping in front of the infirmary tent a few metres away from my father I knelt down and let the young bow dismount, 

"Head into the infirmary tent and stay there." I linked to the child whose brown hair had matted to his scalp, eyes bloodshot from crying. He staggered slowly, aimlessly heading in the general direction. 

I shifted back into my human form with a heavy sigh a nearby stable hand now turned infantry soldier handed me a lump of cloth, 

'If he's this far away from the action he's probably some duke's son',

the thought came and went as he handed me some cotton pants to put on. 

The one advantage we had was that even as the winter persisted us wolves were unaffected by its harshness; my mother said it was one of the many ways the goddess protected us. 

'Personally I'd rather she stops this fucking bloodshed',

but this thought would be blasphemous if said aloud, especially in this grim hour.

One of the nearby generals ushered me into the tent were my farther had retreated into and I followed adjusting my eyes to the warm candlelight that surrounded me. 

"Your grace… let me go" as quickly as the words left my mouth, I was met with the cold gaze of every wolf present, the air growing denser under my father's tired yet vicious stare. 

"Is that why you decided to waste your energy shifting to tell me this" father could not hide his displeasure and he wasn't trying to, as he changed the topic. 

"A young boy somehow made it onto the front lines, I wasn't sure how he even made it through the gates… I didn't want him to die." All their faces stayed still, if this was in the first year of this hell on earth my reason would've held some weight but after so much death I didn't even see anyone blink. 

"What's done is done, if it requires I'll shift and join the men" father stated as he stared intently at the map of the battlefield, his round metal glasses dropping to the tip of his nose revealing his tired eyes further. 

Sir Charles almost fell to his knees when he heard fathers remark, " Your grace excuse my boldness but under no circumstances can you join the battle you are a man adorned by the goddess I'd rather have all the literary master fighting before you do...". Charles worried rambles went on for what felt like centuries but as per usual my father simply ignored his strategist and shifted his gaze back to me. 

"Father if you allow it I can take a horse alone and seek out the guides maybe... maybe their is something we are not seeing or don't know." I didn't mean for it to sound like such a desperate plea but it did, looking at the state of our forces where less than half were military trained was enough to make even me want a miracle.

"Young prince I understand your desperation, but those hags will do nothing but create more problems." The unwanted response came from General Faulke. Unlike his oversized bravado and confidence General Faulke was a short man with a protruding stomach, his squishy body stuffed into garments made of rich fabrics adorned with medals from wars no one has ever heard of. It wasn't that I hated this man I simply just despised him, a noble that would rather send untrained commoners into the front lines than his own personal Calvary. 

I chose to ignore his interjection.

"Father! We are dying and fast, I not sure how much longer the troops can withstand, once they breach our strongest line of defence. We. Are. Finished." I tried to recompose myself but admitting impending defeat was vastly different from having your doubts. 

The tall figure to my fathers right stood back straightened, his militant attire, though now shredded and stained with blood, still carried an air of authority, each tear and stain a testament to the battles he's fought and the sacrifices he's made. General Gustov, Gustov's features are weathered, his face marked by scars earned on the battlefield. His eyes, sharp and piercing yet this time they looked on me favourably, 

"Your grace, the prince is right…" the once proud warlord adverted his gaze to the large wooden table littered with maps and strategies that sat between them as he continued his tone curt. 

"We won't last much longer, and morale is falling… once our men completely lose the will to fight, we are done. Sending the prince helped momentarily but it was never meant to be the solution." My fathers gaze darkened as Gustov spoke the other noble and strategist made no attempt to add any further comments. 

I waited for what felt like eternity watching my father clench and unclench his jaw, before straightening his back.

"Abel you will ride out to see the guides much to my regret we no longer have any other options." My fathers voice rang throughout my head the force of King tying the task to my soul. 

I gave a curt nod and quickly turned away and out of the royal tent before my father changed his mind or anyone objected. 

As I felt the cold winter wind brush against my cheeks again and my silver hair be brushed back, a moment of peace over came me, or was it hope. Only time will tell if my hope would serve to be futile.