In the three decades of my life, I had come across many kinds of hunters. Some preferred small game that they could catch in cleverly placed traps. Others were poachers, who cared little for the thrill of the hunt, and only sought to feed their families. There were those who hunted the hunters; sabercats and bears and wolves. Many of them braved dangers that sane men would not, traversing icy land and freezing cold to find something worthy of a kill.

I don't think any of them have ever hunted mammoth packs.

I'm sure some would be willing, with great planning or numbers, to pick off a smaller mammoth at the edge of the pack, but I don't think any of them could or would be mad or drunk enough to attempt to hunt an entire herd and the giant guarding them. My sworn mate and I were not mad or drunk. We were werewolves, which to my mind was far worse than anyone touched by Sheogorath and Sanguine combined. Hircine was our lord, and it was so much fun.

Serana and I had watched the herd from a safe distance; in human form, of course. Our wolves would have been too tempted to spring for the obvious prey with little regard to safety or planning. For a week we watched and waited, following the herd and their guardian. The mammoths were herded near a swift-running stream every day at noon to drink and eat the grass that grew there. There were five, one male, three female, and a youngling. There were also, more importantly, slaughterfish in the stream. The giant stood between the herd and the stream to keep them away. With that information, we were ready.

At dawn, we extinguished the fire that marked our camp in the center of a clearing north of the stream, and set out as wolves. Though we couldn't speak with jaws full of fangs and lips more suited to snarling than speech, we could communicate clearly enough. The beasts that shared our hearts spoke through gestures and varying tones in growls and grunts. It was still a bit of a work in progress, though, so it was good that we coordinated before we changed shape.

The trek there took less than half the time, since we could run. Serana ran downstream, to a safe place to cross, and scaled the rocks that overlooked it. I waited in the bushes a little ways from a log that stuck halfway out of the water and halfway across. The sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, and at its peak, the mammoths arrived. As planned before, Serana waited a little while for the herd to settle.

And then the hunt began.

She let out a howl that split the skies and frightened the beasts into a run, trumpeting their panic. I bounded out of the bushes after them, leaping across the log to spring at the giant's back. It was so busy trying to calm the mammoths that it had no time to react before my fangs were in its neck. The body of the giant pitched backwards, and I barely had time to jump away before the corpse hit the water and the slaughterfish began their frenzy. The frothing of the water and a silver-eyed monster in their midst decided something for the mammoths that even the bloodcurdling howl of my mate had not, and they began to stampede.

I ran up to the side of one of the beasts and snapped, jaws clipping together over air and coarse, shaggy fur. The mammoth trumpeted shrilly and swerved to the side, careening into another. Serana covered the distance between the cliff and the older female lagging behind the herd. She followed my lead, snapping at the heels of the beasts and keeping them panicked, and we began to herd them into a small ravine.

At the end of the ravine was the small pass that the giant normally herded them through. They knew the way, and getting them there was simple. But it was no longer an escape to freedom; it was a trap. The night before, we had gone to the top of the ravine and pushed boulders over the edge. The mammoths didn't know that, and rounded the corner at full speed. We dispatched those that weren't immediately killed by the impact, and when the dust settled, we stood surrounded by several tons of flesh, bone, and fur. A very successful hunt.

For a wolf, the thrill of hunting and killing were almost identical to lovemaking. Werewolf packs were known for drunken revelries after a slaughter, that lesser men were known to die from, though honestly that was probably the drinks rather than the wolves themselves. Still, these were times of celebration, when inhibitions were low and energy high. We had no pack, yet we celebrated, and it was nearly dark before we came back to ourselves. The cool of Evening's Star in the east of Whiterun Hold only made us curl closer to each other.

It had been a very long time since any werewolf I had met had been one I'd run with as a wolf. Even Aela, who as a human I was more than happy to drink with- especially if she was buying- was not a wolf that I got along with. Both my wolf and I often felt she was more of a spoiled pup that enjoyed being the biggest and pulling the ears of other whelps. She revelled in the power of what she could do, of rending flesh on a whim rather than the sheer beauty of running through the trees with no fear, or singing to the moon.

Serana was different. Very different. The power was similar to that of what she held as a Daughter of Coldharbour, though she very rarely chose to wear the demonic visage Harkon had delighted in. She still lived much of her life as a hunter of men and mer, and she had a very healthy respect for the power she held as long as she had control. Only, for a werewolf, control could be hard to attain. Even more so if you weren't ready for the intensity of it. Sometimes, in fights, I could see the wolf in her fighting to the surface. She had to learn to control it, and soon, before another drunk Nord decided to pick a fight with her in some desolate town.

Serana seemed to notice the change in my mood, and leaned up on one arm to frown at me. "You're not usually this quiet. Is everything okay?"

I chuckled, a husky sound in the back of my throat, and shrugged as well as I could with my hands behind my head. "I'm just thinking. You know how difficult that is for me."

Her lips quirked, and her hand found its way to my hair. "What of?"

"Alduin," I lied, not wanting her to worry.

Though, that was only a lie by half. Ever since we had destroyed him the year before, shortly after dealing with Harkon, the fight had been on my mind. It had been a particularly grueling one despite the help of the warriors of Sovngarde. There had been moments where I was convinced I was very close to death, and worse moments when I thought she was.

Her silence was thoughtful. When it broke, her tone was comforting. "He is dead," she told me quietly. "You destroyed the World Eater entirely, I saw it too."

I drew myself up to kiss her, not wanting to discuss it, and ended any attempt at speech for a time.