Of The Pack
I am of the pack. But I live by my strength, my speed, the sharpness of my teeth. None will help me, weak as I am. None will care for me in my injury. That is the way of the pack. If I survive, I shall return. If not... I shall not.
And yet here is prey which approaches me, speaks with me, brings me the healing water... Here is strange prey indeed. Perhaps she is not prey. A distant memory that tugs at my brain, of a time before, a time when I became a hunter... Perhaps she is of my ilk. Yes. The blood is gathering within her. She will be a fine huntress indeed. Yes. She will be my sister.
And in time, a very little time, I hear her blood calling to mine, and I answer her call with one of my own. "Come hunting, sister," I cry. And she comes, running towards me... yes, running, we must run free, wild, together, we must display our strength and our speed and our glory, we shall run into forever and we shall be invincible.
We pause, at the place we met, and I call the mounts, and we ride to the smell of blood. She is strong, and wilful, but she has not yet let go of her life as prey, and she talks, and questions, and will not listen to the call of the blood that is the only important thing in the world.
And then she leaves me. A small man, strangely garbed, and she runs to him, hiding her face against him. And as they turn to go, he stares a challenge at me.
What power has this man, to take my sister from me? None. He has power only in that she gives it to him. Soon, my sister, soon you will truly be one of us. Soon you will see, and you shall break from the shackles of your former life and you will be free, to hunt, to run beneath the silver moon and cry your good fortune to the stars. Soon, sister. Soon.