He was running through his forest. He had changed and his powerful werewolf form was taking him easily over the land. He was eating distances and he felt no pain, no fatigue, just the pure joy of the hunt. He was surrounded by his pack, and they were running downhill. He looked to his right and keeping pace with him there was the old grey wolf that he had defeated so long ago. The grey was running with his tongue hanging out, not very dignified for a wolf but he knew the grey was just enjoying the run.
He looked to his left and running ahead of him and gaining speed was the black she-wolf. He could make out her white starburst on her chest. She looked back at him the familiar piece of denim hanging from her mouth. He gave a short bark. The bark was repeated by the old grey and soon the entire pack was barking. The sound filled the night forest. He smiled and ran faster. They were the kings of the night, and the forest was their playground. No one and nothing would challenge them here. He was the alpha and the pack was safe. He felt the pure rush of joy surge through him, a joy at being free that very few humans would ever feel.
He led the pack around a boulder and off to the right. He knew the river was just ahead and he wanted to hit the ford at a dead run. The water that would be splashed up by him and his pack was always amazing. With his wolf sight he could make out the river through the trees. He smiled and howled as he crashed through the underbrush and ripped through the calm moving river ford.
His pack was strangely silent, but it didn’t register to him. He was lost in the intricate sounds of every water droplet as it splashed back down into the river. The symphony that the water and he made was beautiful. Each drop making its own unique sound and pitch as it sprayed his fur or pinged off the nearby rocks, or as it splashed back down into the river itself. It was like listening to a thousand different wind chimes all at once.
He crossed the river in a few long strides. His smile froze on his face as he realized that none of his pack had crossed with him. He skidded to a halt and looked back. His pack was stumbling and hobbling toward him. His eyes brought him horrors that he wished he couldn’t see. The old grey clearly had a broken leg and his hind left leg was missing. The bloody stump where his leg should have been was trailing a grotesque amount of blood behind him. His one good eye looked up at him. He could see unbearable pain but also, he saw the unspoken accusations of the grey as he hobbled toward the river. The grey was dying and he blamed it on him. In his mind he heard the wolf speak to him in a gruff, muffled, pain filled voice. He had never heard this voice before but he knew it to be the old grey wolf speaking to him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
‘You did this to me,’ the grey was saying. ‘When we needed you most you disappeared and left us to the mercy of those humans.’ The grey was walking slower but determination would not let him stop. ‘You were our alpha and you abandoned us.’
He reeled back in agony as the voice was joined by others.
‘You left us to fend for ourselves.’
‘What good are claws and teeth against guns?’
‘How could we have known?’
He fell to his knees at the mental bombardment. He held his head in his hands as tears fell freely from his eyes. “I didn’t know. How could I have known this was going to happen?”
His pack, mangled and half dead continued to walk toward him, their blood staining the ground behind them. He saw the black she-wolf with the white starburst on her chest. She was sitting upright on a rock on the far side riverbank. She was looking at him with hatred in her eyes. She was accusing him as well. She spit the denim from her mouth into the river and the river turned a frothy red with the blood that had soaked through the material.
He watched the piece of denim float down the river and then looked at the she-wolf again. What was hidden behind the piece of fabric that was now exposed was a charred hole in the middle of her chest. He could see her heart slowly beating and the white of her ribcage. Blood flowed freely from the wound and ran into the river.
‘You left us.’
‘You abandoned us.’
‘We died because you weren’t here.’
‘You’re no alpha.’
‘Deceiver.’
‘Usurper.’
His pack continued to drag their wounded and dying bodies toward him and he knew what they wanted. They were coming for him. Without the pack the alpha is nothing, without the alpha the pack is nothing. He had left them without a leader, without direction. Now, they would exact their price for their pain. They would take payment for their lives with his.
Tears streamed from his eyes as he stumbled to the middle of the river ford. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” He sank to his knees in the cold water. He begged for forgiveness but his pack was not in a forgiving mood. The old grey was ahead of the other mangled wolves. The river water was red with their blood. He left himself open and the old grey lunged at his exposed neck.
He barked out a cry of pain. Another wolf lunged at his outstretched arms. If the wolf had been a little stronger, he would have ripped his arm clean out of its socket. He howled in pain as the rest of the pack descended on him ripping and biting into him. Their claws and razor-sharp teeth torn into his exposed flesh. He looked down in horror as he saw he was no longer in werewolf form but his frail, pink, painful human form. He cried out as the pack pulled him off his knees and ripped into him, his back pinned down on the frigid riverbed. He looked up reaching out for something or someone. Sitting there on the riverbed rock, not having moved at all was the black and white she-wolf. She was watching him being torn to pieces and he saw her smile down at him in the moon light.