Chapter 4: Tony (written from October 11th to October 16th, 2021)
The next day began a dry tranquil morning that lifted the sun from its horizontal peeking. The air was crisp enough in the Valley to see the smallest of insects hopping between blades of grass. For the first time in a while, the grasses lacked their sparkling dew. There was not a cloud for miles, not one whose fluff would be flamed into striking vibrancies. An uneducated wolf would not think with such a plain start that a level of tension lurked, ailing the packs with contorted stomachs.
Today was the day that the pack leaders of the East and West agreed to meet. Peaceful meetings between both sides were rare. The war did not end with either side being able to claim a definitive win, and the ceasing of hostilities was purely declared to halt the devastating losses due to both sides' strategy of attrition. More than half of the population shared by them had perished during the roughly two-year conflict. The war would have completely destroyed the packs if a treaty was not secured. Nevertheless, the alternative of anxious rivalry was far from ideal. The two packs maintained a strong border watch. An Eastern and Western line of patrols paralleled the Dividing River, and there was a lot of talk of what would be the thing to spark another war. A famine in the East had led to a chain of events that prompted the Westerns to secede and attack. If a famine happened again, what was to stop the same chain of events? History's notorious repetition prowled under the boundaries of earth and sky. Winston had grown knowledgeable enough to sense its wispy presence. He had never met this Tony, the one destined to succeed Bronx, but he considered a good relationship with him to be imperative if this cold war had any chance of thawing. He would try. He saw it as his duty.
This was the first meeting since both pack leaders' pups had been born, and the pack leaders had agreed to bring them. There were to meet in a hidden area that their predecessors had chosen as a meeting place after the treaty was ratified. It was a canyon split into two by a crossing stream. One side was Western territory. The other was Eastern territory. The Eastern side of the canyon was an island created by the flow of the Dividing River that split into two creeks before reconnecting a few miles downstream.
Winston and Ross approached the western creek. Bronx and his two sons were already on the island part of the canyon. The three of them waited calmly on their side, close to the stream's bank. Walls of jagged rock shadowed large portions of the canyon's bottom. The stream plummetted from the northern wall, sending modest flurries of mist. Excluding the waterfall and the occasional raven call, the area was eerily quiet. Winston wondered if he was in the jaws of a monstrous earthbound creature as the tops of the canyon cliffs resembled serrated teeth and if that was why few critters came there. His father, meanwhile, blended cleanly with the ominous environment. He walked sternly, each step projecting a steadfastness that forwarded his profound distrust. His tail was as stiff as a moose femur, and he carried a squinting glare that often cowered the Alphas in his command. It was unequivocally aimed at the rather handsome brown wolf known as Bronx who was steadfast in a different kind of way, asserting dominance in a more subtle manner, which annoyed Ross to no end. While Winston's father glared, the Eastern chief remained unfazed. He rolled his eyes disappointedly and seemed to pity the Western leader. It was a level of maturity that Winston did not realize his callous father lacked until now, when the contrast became evident. Had Bronx been aware of Ross's obsession with the East as Winston and Randall had? Was the Western Pack the cause of the cold war's perpetuation? The questions hung behind Winston's apprehensive eyes. He dropped his bottom to the ground but quickly returned to standing after his father gave him a fierce cuff. Facing him was the pup whose brown carried a slight reddish shade. As his chest and abdomen were pale, the shade covered everything else. Nervously hiding behind this pup was another, his younger brother whose fur was mostly egg white. The sound of the stream that split the two families was not enough to muffle the anxiety ringing in Winston's head.
"My Eastern counterpart," he whispered very quietly as he and Tony locked in each other's gazes.
Then his father began.
"So... we meet again, Eastern. How does treachery suit you?"
"Good morning to you too, brother," Bronx replied in a snarky tone. He wished the Western leader would be more polite during their meetings, but he knew such wishing was futile.
"I am not your brother!" Ross snapped. "You flatter yourself. I had two brothers once, you know—to think you would compare yourself to them! They died as pups in the last battles of the war that your pack started, that your father, Isaac, failed to prevent as a consequence of his egregious complacency."
"Enough of this talk of the war... The war is over! I cannot speak for my dad who committed suicide... before I was born..." The brown wolf almost choked at the mention of Isaac. Winston could detect a soft shiver pass through him as though a ghost roamed about. Indeed Isaac, the scapegoat of the war, was known to be a terrible weight on Bronx because of the link with the infamous River Curse, and Ross relished utilizing the weakness. He had once suggested to Winston that Bronx was the embodiment of the curse, either its reservoir or its current configuration. However, Bronx was more competent than he let on. "As I said last year," he continued after regaining firmness, "we should allow our packs to recover, to heal. You know as well as anybody how much blood was split from our predecessors' conflict. Allow your Omegas to relieve the tension as I have. You ostracize them, treat them as subpar citizens when they have as much heart as any wolf." Even when raising his voice, Bronx spoke in a much softer tone than his rival, a feature of his superior maturity.
"Pfft!" Ross sniggered. "Omegas... They should be grateful that I even allow them to live in the West! What good is a peacekeeper if they are lazy? Good-for-nothing freeloaders I say!"
"Speak with care, my friend. Your tasteless remarks would compliment Vincent."
"Oh, Vincent is doltish. His senseless selection of coaches may never yield a win for him." Vincent was the current pack leader of the Northern Pack. If there was anything congruent between Ross and Bronx, it was their mutual aversion towards their shared northern neighbor; however, they disliked the North for completely different reasons. While Bronx despised the North's ideology of Alpha superiority, Ross found them to be generally unintelligent and awkward as a pack. He viewed them as oafs who took themselves too seriously with their excessively prideful songs and corny chants.
The three packs of the Valley competed annually in the Great Wolf Games, and the Western Pack was the most successful. While the Northerners expressed their boisterous pride with songs and chants, the Westerns took pride in winning and only winning. And this was threatened according to the red and grey combination known as Ross. "So... I begin with my accusation," he announced.
"What is it this time?" Bronx replied. His words were interlaced with a sigh.
"My senses indicate that you have employed someone to spy on my team." Ross now spoke in a calm voice, but his son recognized the greater pattern. It wasn't unusual for Ross to commence his confrontations with a relatively forgiving attitude. And Bronx could see that it was mere pretense in order to guilt him into admitting a purported truth. He would not take the bait.
"I have done nothing of the sort. I understand that formal training for the Games is due to start soon, but how low do you think of me? Has there ever been a record of cheating from the East? We both know a record of cheating from the North. They have been known to corrupt our refs, the Northern Geese. Perhaps your conclusion of who is spying has been misplaced. Your senses are so compelling when detecting my surreptitious activity, yet you were not able to detect my spy who would have had to step into your territory to report any findings. Tell me, my friend, how do these supposed facts harmonize?"
"Don't play dumb!" Ross yelled. "It's not a wolf you have employed, otherwise I would be presently hearing your pathetic pleas for releasing him from my jail dens. No, I am certain it is an owl you've employed."
"Ross... have trips to the berry patch given you a form of delirium? Owls do not exist in the Valley and never have they been here."
"So they say. It's the perfect cover for a spy, isn't it? Wolves can't find what is supposed to not exist."
"I'm done with your antics!"
"Oh, son of Isaac, you would know a lot about antics. After all, you are the successor of Peter who was once an Omega. And Omegas... Such a foolish lot they are."
"For the last time, I am not Isaac nor Peter! I am Bronx, the start of a new royal line that embodies the Eastern identity! I was directly elected as the start of this new line since Peter bore no heirs, which gives me more authority as a representative. You shall give me respect!"
"I have no respect to give. It was lost when I learned as a pup that the Easterns started the war," said Ross derisively. Bronx stood up and finally gave his own glare. Then he felt his son, Owen, cower behind his hind legs. He realized he needed some alone time with Ross. Ross thought the same. "Owen. Tony," Bronx called. "Go to the adjacent canyon and speak with Winston there. Get to know him, for you will have to."
Winston turned to his father.
"Permission to sequester with them?"
"Granted," Ross replied swiftly.
In the span of ten minutes, the three pups had met in the rough center of the adjacent box canyon that was much friendlier in appearance. The walls had smaller teeth and weren't as steep, permitting taller grasses to grow in the more abundant sunlight. Even Tony was much less intimidating without the Eastern leader. There seemed to be a consensus that things should be more causal now that the sparing adults were out of sight. Owen spoke first.
"So you're Winston?" The white pup suffered a voice crack. So meek he appeared that Winston found it hard to believe that he was chosen to become an Alpha, a rank assigned to wolves who tend to be self-confident.
"Yes, I am Winston. And you two are Owen and Anthony, right?"
"Yes," Tony answered dryly. "But please, you should not know me as Anthony." Winston then took the opportunity to distinguish himself from Ross.
"Forgive my father. I don't know where he gets this owl business from. I assume you've seen no owls." Tony shook his head.
"I have not, but it's okay. I think he means well."
"You do?" The reply took Winston by surprise. His father had just accused Tony's father of spying, a serious allegation that could threaten the peace. Was Tony suggesting that it wasn't such a big deal?
"Of course. He's only trying to protect his pack. It's understandable."
"Yeah, I think that makes sense," Winston lied. It did not make sense to him at all, but he didn't know what else to say. Presentiments were beginning to bubble up in the swirling soup of thoughts. There was one question that managed to get through.
"Suppose you were convinced that I was spying on you. What would be your course of action?"
"War," he replied threateningly. He let the word stretch and linger before witnessing the same shiver that Bronx had had, and just as Bronx had done, Winston recomposed himself, but Tony wouldn't let him off so easily. "Look, I'm not like my dad. I won't let Isaac's Curse define me. I will do everything in my power to help my pack. I do admire Ross to an extent, but he's stuck in the past. I don't care about our history nor do I care about the treaty. When I rule, I advise staying out of my way, Western." Simply referring to the heir of the West as just a Western insulted Winston as intended, but the dark grey pup opted for ignoring it. Instead, he attempted to appeal to Tony's sense of compassion if it existed.
"Can't we be gracious? Must we still be rivals? I, for one, would not just threaten the peace if I saw you spying. It is stated in the treaty that accusations must be brought to the Central Region—I assume that's where the C.C. resides—so an independent investigation can bring the facts to light. Hurling us into another war... I... I can't imagine how awful our citizens would feel, how awful those who fight for us, our dear Alphas, would feel."
"You do you, but I will not hesitate to speak my mind, and unlike your weak Alphas, mine are prepared to fight at a moment's notice, regardless of the costs. As I said, I care not about the treaty. Wolves have always cut corners with policy. Perhaps... there will be something we can compromise on, but I have no patience with prolonged discussion. If you wish to maintain your peace, as I said, I advise staying out of my way in addition to keeping your mouth shut as I also have no patience with nags. I leave the choice to you."
"My peace? My choice?" Winston muttered. Who did this amber-colored pup think he was? Winston had never felt so irked. He took a brief look at Owen who still trembled behind Tony. It was not the West that the little pup was afraid of. It was his brother, Tony, who was not at all like their father! He was closer to Ross but smarter. One would think Winston and Tony switched parents soon after their births. Suddenly, it dawned on Winston that the future would not be pleasant. Tony had subscribed to the archaic way of pack ruling which meant infrequent diplomacy, careless threats or retributions, and aberrant undertakings. And since Tony was about the same age as Winston, this was likely to be a lifelong problem. Oh, how he wished Randall was in the canyon to ease his mind. The Sigma always knew the right things to say.