Breaking the Ice

by punk-ward2099

A rare speices of werewolf, did not take part in the truce between werewolves and vampires. They were not invited. The Lychen, have a harsh past even with their cousins, the true werewolves. Their war drones on, but this time vampires are against them.

The full moon has been linked to the werewolves. Conversely, unlike 'movie werewolves', real werewolves change shape voluntarily. A real werewolf changes completely, becoming the entire animal rather then the hairy half beast. The full moon business is a dramatic license. In other words, the full moon does not involve the were-creatures at all – in fact only is a dreadfully incorrect rumor. However, the madness level of humans does increase, and the bond between man and beast becomes unusually…strong.

- This is not Twilight. This is not a fairytale.

A pack of quarried wolves balanced on the morning glow of the winter's frost. Boreal forests, stripped of their leaves cascaded over their slim bodies. The alpha male with his gleaming silver coat grunted and snorted out of an annoyance that hovered over him, as he paced back and forth. The members of the small pack watched their leader with wide eyes, filled with impatient – but not inching a muscle from their spot. Coal colored lips were caked in saliva and ivory fangs hung out with toasty warm tongues. Golden hues emitted from the orbs of the pacing wolf, as suddenly his movements froze into place – locking glances with a small winter hare. The alpha male twitches his ears, hearing the quickened beat of the rabbit's heart – it too was frozen with fear.

A moment's pause.

The cold stare between two creatures remained in stone. The remaining members of the hunting pack descended.

Silence.

The hare let its large feet take a small step back.

It signaled itself to death as a hidden member dived for the rodent creature, gripping it between barred jaws. The hare flinched; kicking it is free foot, expecting utmost pain. Eyes were tightly shut and the hare was pinned in the fangs of the possibly starving or bored beast. The loose foot of the hare limply bobbed as the ebony colored wolf with its prize, returned to its leader – and they disappeared into winter's bowels. The hare felt not pain now. Only the tight bond between the jaws of the wolf. It was not yet dead, and would not be killed. It was a gift.