Running Dogs

Hunting

Fresh air whistles past my face. It's nice to be out. The sensation of my fur whipping back as I run on all fours. It's the first night I've been hunting. If I bring back the prey tonight I can go on the Trial. But I have to compete with all these other pups* to earn that right because only one can go on the Trial and it will be me. Sure as the moon I will be on Trial. I hear snarling behind me and look back. It's Castern, the Fool.

I leap over a log that stands in my way and call behind me, "Hello, Fool."

He snaps and calls, "You won't be on the Trial, Baird," he spits my name out like it's a curse.

I laugh and keep going. He can think what he likes but he's forgetting that I am the son of the Denmother. Her offspring are the strongest and quickest, they always go on the Trial and they always become Packleader. Always. There's movement off to my right and the scent is unfamiliar. It's most certainly prey. I change direction and sprint of after it. I can smell the sweat dripping from it and hear it's short quick breaths. There! It's a rabbit Mitol and it's my prey. I leap in and chomp down on her leg. She spins and kicks me with her free foot. It connects with my head and I lose my grip. My hands lash out and catch her waist leaving deep claw marks in her side. She draws out a knife and slices off the top of my ear. Darkteeth's Oath*, that hurt! Weaker species have to rely on such tools to survive and knife is definitely the most cowardly weapon. I aim for the throat and am rewarded with another kick to the chest. Suddenly, Castern knocks her away and snaps down on her neck. My bleeding blinds me and when I wipe it away the Fool is holding the prey. He's going to be on the Trial.

***

I feel awful. Explaining things to the Leaders is fruitless. The weak are forced to survive for themselves. They become the prey that they used to hunt. I'm going to be treated as a loser now forever. The pack never forgets. And the scars add injury to insult. I fought hard but couldn't win. In the eyes of the Denmother, I am a worthless pup*. She'll erase my name from memory and when you're erased you no longer receive training or guidance. The mothers train us and we learn. I'm the first Denborn to fail. Now Caster, the Fool, Caster, is going to do the trial. I watch as he carries in the corpse pridefully. I swear that I'll have his head for what he's done. But no. He's invincible as long as he holds the carcass.

"Step forward," the Packleader tells Castern.

He does so and offers the corpse to the old grey furred Mitol. Darkteeth's Oath! Why did it have to be him? And why is the Packleader honouring. Surely he can see that I've done the most. And then he looks at me and calls, "Baird?"

I step forward knowing that I will be exiled.

"Baird. You have done well to support your Packbrother."

What is he saying? Is he trying to humiliate me further?

"I can see by your scars that you fought to give Castern the opening to kill this prey."

I nod in affermative.

"You think yourself unworthy of a warrior?"

"I do sir," I say but on the inside I'm screaming, NO!

"Your humility and willingness to except punishment is admirable. A quality that not many of us truly have now. Did your Denmother teach you this?"

"No sir," I reply.

"I see. For your honesty you will be known henceforth as a Lone Wolf!"

Lone Wolf? That's a great honour! Why me? I should be cast out. Lone Wolfs are trusted with scouting the land and finding a place to settle should the Pack grow too large.

"Brave, strong but willing to give glory to others in order to achieve the goals. You are a true Lone Wolf. Look well! This is the first Lone Wolf in 40 eclipses! He may well be the last as well. Baird! Now you are the last hope for us to begin to claim land lost ages past. You leave at the same time as Castern in the morning one on Trial, one on Pathgrimage. Let the wind speed your fur and may your teeth and claws be sharp!"

Castern looks at me and grins evilly. I vow that I'll rip his head off. I'll be greater than he ever was. He'll never return from the Trial. And I will likely never return from Pathgrimage. No Lone Wolf ever does.

Notes:

*Pups: A derogatory term for weaklings.

*Darkteeth's Oath: A folk story about a black fur Mitol who swore to destroy ten Packleaders. Dark teeth is considered something like a demon.