I can't believe they made that fool a freaking Alpha. Granted it wasn't like they 'gave' it to him, he did fight, but why he had been allowed the opportunity was beyond me. That boy should have been culled when we were pups when he attacked everyone and tried to show his worth by belittling others. There was no way in hell I was sticking around for THAT fiasco about to happen. I was an ardent believer in standing up for those unable to do so, my rancor at the male still primed and ready to burst. Sometimes I figured it was because I never had anyone to call my own. My dad had been a no show - figures, huh? - and my mother had died with my sister in birthing. I was the only legacy left of a family I didn't even know. A shame. I seemed to think I was rather fetching and it would have been nice to know more about my inherited qualities - was my mother a fighter like I was? My pack hadn't talked about her much. They hadn't really cared if I lived or died but I had been taken in nonetheless and raised with the whelp that was now King.
It felt like many moons had passed since I had taken my leave. I had roamed further than my pack had ever dared to roam and into lands that were unwelcoming if anything. I couldn't say I regretted it. Yeah, food was harder to come by when you were on your own but I kept fed enough to keep up my energy. My long legs stretched out before me everyday as I ate up the miles, pausing a few times to lurk areas in search of packs. While I had never really belonged to mine I missed it; wolves were meant to be in packs. I was meant to have a place and a purpose. Going rogue wasn't the idea of a life that I wanted. Hell, if a cougar caught me out alone I would be mince meat. A wolf pie for such a critter - let's be realistic.
After weeks of travel I find myself coming up against borders at almost every interval, stopping to sniff the scents in search of new information. They all carried loads of scents, packs much larger than the one I had came from and it confused me. Was life here so good that they could afford that many wolves? Sometimes we had to push our own out of the pack because the prey changed each year, dwindling at times and bursting at others.
I pass a bunch of them with my nose constantly sniffing the wind, finding new trails that led me to glades and finally to a large field. It stretched out and away with wheat swaying in a spring breeze. My belly rumbles but I ignore it for the moment, pressing inward a ways until the wheat turns into rolling grass. There is a spot here where I can scent the faded musk of a dead creature. A hare I think. It calls to me, to my weary figure, and I grin suddenly as I drop down on my belly then roll over onto my back. I rub my back side to side, paws in the air and press my face into it, for the moment enjoying marking this land with a piece of me.
reference picture
|
