Under the Moon (Another wolf story)

[Gemini]

Alright, so I got advanced again and decided to write about my experience as a wolf. I have written a previous story (as a wolf), but I wanted to do it again because its fun ;D

The first thing that really alighted in my senses was the sweet, warm smell, rich against the straw. It was contentable, alluring and comforting to my tiny little nares, which seemed to press against a soft feeling. It was easy to register the life around me, my siblings, nestled in the bowels of the den. I was still too young to even open my eyes, let alone hear the mewling coming from my maws and the soft murmurs from the figure at my nose. This lurking frame, curled around the nest, provided a secure and comforting feeling deep inside, allowing myself to nuzzle up on her belly and next to another pup. It seemed to be like this forever, cuddled next to four individual aromas, and the one smelling of milk and other various scents, from which always seemed to grow stronger each time she came back. And then one day, I could see her. A fuzzy, dark side laced with hints of steely gray and tan. Tenienon*, my mother. Surrounded by Chetan and Apollo, my brothers, and Sierra and Wennia, my sisters. Wennia was the smallest, cowering at my mother's large paws. She was easy enough to pick up, even on young, unsteady feet. So was Sierra, but already I was tackling and Apollo and Chetan, chewing on their noses and ears, pinning them. However, there was nothing more captivating then the bright, crooked circle that shone down onto the nest. Roots blocked it partially, but there was enough room for Tenienon to wriggle out and dissapear, often for hours at a time. It always perked up my siblings and I when she returned, covered in mysterious scents from the unknown. However, she would always pull me down when I tried to escape, struggling to find footholds on the dirt walls. So I kept to a strict routine of play, sleep, and milk.
It only seemed when the soil under the nest gradually warmed without being slept on did activity in the den increase. Our teeth had grown in, allowing us to tackle chewed up vension or even the occasional bone. And finally, did we meet our father Howlingwind. A hulking frame, a lot bigger than Teneinon, and completely black. Even his eyes were dark in the light of the den entrance as he slipped down the passage and came to sniff each one of us. Immediately, feeling prideful, I leapt on my father and tried to push him to the ground with ungainly paws and a fuzzy body. Of course, he did not give way, but in days to come in the summer heat I would push my father down and have first rights to whatever meat he brought into the den. All of us were moving quite easily now, no longer hindered by puppy fat but growing bones that made our legs long and our ears on the point of bat-like. And now, my mother finally didn't stop me from clambering out of the tunnel and into the world. The first thing I was to see was the towering cliffs that rested under a massive sky, reaching down to the ends of the plains, reflecting a large body of water down the hill from the den. The wind blew pale green grass, elk moving slowly through it on the boughs of the plains and lake, tall pines in the far ground. It was an amazing sight to me, and a fine place for a wolf pack. I slipped back into the den, content to revel in my sights while nestled between Sierra and Chetan.
The summer was drawing to a close, and it was evident that us pups would be leaving soon. Tenionen came less and less, and Howlingwind stopped by only to groom us. Chetan, the smallest of the male pups, often cowered at the edge. Apollo and I would bully him out of any scraps he would happen to pick up, and our sisters were no less merciful either. As the season grew long, Chetan wasted away until he was no more. He was the sustainment his siblings needed until we reached full maturity.

Four of us jostled each other to reach the den entrance. We were barely yearlings, but it was the season of changing leaves and Howlingwind had called for us. It was time to join the pack. As adults, we would hunt alongside each other, protecting the strip of grassland and lake, guarding the mountain den from Kaieri’s pack to the west. I ran out alongside Wennia, tail wagging lowly to greet our father, who stood down the hill among the boulders. My ebony muzzle was about to touch his lower jaw when he snapped, snarling and fur bristling. My immediate instinct was to respond to the challenge, but my father’s standing was below me. I had fought for his rank and taken it as a pup, all the while heeding his natural status as a disciplinarian and leader of my birth pack, but I wasn’t meant to be in it for my life. He had probably feared that eventually I would take over and force him away in his later years, driving him into solitude without younger wolves to look after him. This was probably true, I had no intention of keeping around weak links in any group I had. Turning away, I ran out across the plains, ignoring the low howls coming from my siblings. My paws lead me north, to new territory.
Thick forest lined the edge of the plains, covered in the call of bluejays and little sparrows, singing and flittering through the branches. I did smell a stale scent marker of a fae, but I had no intention of starting a pack. I decided to stay in the northern lands for awhile, exploring the new terra and splashing through the cool river. For a year I lived in solitude, straying from any chance to run into my kind. I hunted small prey and scavenged the catches of other predators, creating a small circumference of which I patrolled each day. It covered a waterfall and small plateau, away from the forest and in sight from grandeur mountains capped with snow. When the color of the trees of the river forest began to turn again I scoped out a place suitable for a young family. My mind was filled with ideas of raising a pack from birth, alongside a pretty silver fae, kind and just as inexperienced as I was. The cold drove me to fend off other lone males, fighting and scrapping over the littlest things. The only apt mate in my range was Whiteleaf, a recent widowed from a pairing with Owera, an older wolf. She was tough, often ignoring me when I would track her down the woods. Whiteleaf seemed more partial to Frosty then a two year old, who held the most dominant title. I planned to hunt him down and take that rank and prove worth to Whiteleaf, who was a lot older and wiser than me, not to mention I barely reached her shoulder.
However, I managed to take her as a mate and lead her back to the waterfall den. She seemed reluctant, and often hovered above the northern stream as I tried to coax her into the hole. Finally, Whiteleaf entered it at the end of the winter, a low growl in her chest. But our tiny pack was never destined to have the next generation. It was early spring, and I was lying on the peninsula between the waterfall creek and large river, underneath the single spruce tree on the bank. To the west, past brush and a small dip in the land was the water tumbling over rocks, boulders shading the den I had dug last winter. I had have been troubled by Frosty, who was slinking around my tiny territory, but nothing could distract me from the prospect of having a litter and continuing my young, nameless pack. And it was devastating. Whiteleaf slipped out of the den, right where I could see her, and climbed the waterfall rocks to disappear across the thawing meadows north. I jumped up, running across the water, tail curled in anxious curiosity. Frosty and Whiteleaf were greeting each other joyously, and were already traversing the gorge when I reached them. Angrily, I howled, but the two were across the canyon and slipping into the forest. Later I found out that Whiteleaf never gave birth to surviving pups, most likely stillborns or abandoned in the pines. I turned away from the rocky ledge, growling. I no longer had a pack, and I set my direction south to the lakes and its’ surrounding lands, leaving the waterfall territory behind.

In the warm time of summer, I collected several older males in a small and goalless band. Semo and Frosty (different Frosty) were loners and didn’t really seem to care about my little pack, but they were good scuffling partners to gain fighting experience. We roamed around the lake, taking down small bobcats and foxes. At one point, I managed to get a hold of a young goat calf, dragging her to a small enclave on the rocky lake coast. The mother was extremely upset, chasing after, but it was too late and I had pinned the baby out of reach. Gloating, I toyed with the goat, stupid enough to realize that it was able to escape. From then on, I was harassed by the goat’s mother and the herd, including the calf. A hoof managed to strike me on the muzzle, leaving a permanent scar on it. From then on, I strayed away from goats.

In the late season, I lead Semo and Frosty towards another wolf family. Kaieri and his mate Ursa were busy hunting and caring for five healthy offspring. His pack was always brimming with pups, it seemed. Malicious, I set Semo and Frosty on Kaieri while I snuck around in the tall grass, slipping into the den. Ursa was still in there, biting and snarling, and I tried to turn around in the confined space, only to run into Kaieri. I barely managed to escape, running out towards the lake. I was then met by my unloyal followers, who challenged me for my rank, even while I was bleeding and nursing horrible bite scars from my encounter. Infuriated, I disbanded the pack, leaving the older males near the lake and headed north again.

I spent most of the fall healing and keeping low, sulking the forest. Young wolves from other packs would come and investigate, but











not done-

[NatureHeart]

Oh. My. Gosh!! This is so much better than any of my stories! Have you wrote any books? Must track down your other story! *Zooms off*

[Foxesrule]

WOW! This is a brilliant story so far.

You are obviously one of the many talented writers on WEO.