The Songbird and the Wolf

[ X ] Sins of the Father

The forest devours the Wolf from sight. 

Branches whip at him as he runs, heart thundering as he pushes his legs to a faster and faster pace, paws sending a shower of soil and dead leaves flying in his wake. 

At the treeline, another Wolf appears. The pack entering the forest at a trickle at first. 

Soon the dam bursts, however, and the horizon is barely visible but for the frames of Wolves in the distance. 

Shrouded by the shadows and flanked by green, cutting off an exit in the direction he had come from. The only chance he stands now in the world ahead. 

At some unheard signal, they enter the woods at a run, as a single body. 

Their howls aren't the sound of Wolves on the prowl, instead they are the bay of bloodhounds. Beasts who have caught hold of the scent, and won't stop until they have tasted blood. 

The thunder of their paws quickly catching up to the race of Quinn's heartbeat

He doesn't turn to take in the sight of the Pack on his heels. 

His gaze fixed only on the horizon, where the last of the afternoon light is just visible over the hills and through the trees. 

The Wolf pelts through the forest, tearing through hedgerow and bushes as he goes, leaping over roots and dodging through trees. 

Quinn was always one of the faster wolves in the pack. 

But after three years out of practice at running, and more years than he cared to count out of practice in his four-legged form, he can feel his legs beginning to lag beneath him.

The distance he keeps from the wolves on his heels stays reasonable, but he doesn't know how much longer he can keep it up. 

In the woods ahead, the ground parts. A near dry river-bed meandering through the forests at the bottom. 

He skids to a stop barely in time to avoid skidding down a steep descent, with a pant he backs up a few metres and lunges across the gap. Landing on the other side with a slam, skidding in the dirt as he finds his purchase again, and presses upright again. 

Only a moment to catch his ragged breath, before he turns again and sets off once more. 

He can hear the excited howls of the Wolves in pursuit, feel their anticipation on the air as they bear down on him, getting closer and closer with every step. 

The Wolf devours the distance at a preternatural speed, but that is not enough. 

He is blindsided by a shadow tearing out of the darkness on his right, ploughing into his left flank, sending the both of them flying into the dirt. 

Quinn barely has the chance to regain his paws when the stranger is on him. 

Fangs tearing into him, claws shredding his fur. 

He is no more elegant, fighting like a bat out of hell trying to get his fangs onto any piece of flesh they can find. He is smaller - always had been, and his exhaustion plays against him. But speed is in his favour, dodging in and out of the other Wolf's desperate attempt to pin him. 

This newcomer fights for the glory, to bring home the forgotten, abandoned son. 

Quinn doesn't know where this will to survive has come from, but it is what drives his battle. 

However, no amount of willpower can defeat the fact he has spent the last three years in chains. And his paws drag to demonstrate that fact, his wits slower, his brain taking longer than it once might have to calculate and strategize.