Disclaimer: I do not own Wolf Rain and its characters. Only Konutai, the pack, Speirs and Jerry. Sorry for any OOC-ness!!!
A long grey shadow bounded silently through the forest. A starving wolf with hollow sides in a desperate pursuit for food. Kiba and his mate, Konutai, had heard the moose coming half and hour ago when it had still been starlight. Their hearing was acute. The herd had been four kilometres away when Kiba had frozen in mid-stride, barking for silence.
A minute later, they could all hear it - the unmistakable sound of antlers clacking against branches and the soft thud of hooves plunging through the snow. But by then, the pack was racing light-footed after Kiba, their alpha male, their stomachs churning with hunger and anticipation. None of them had eaten for the past five days and nights. And after the long bitter winter, they had all been dangerously weak.
It had been the worst winter Kiba and the pack could ever remember. Food had been scarce almost since the first snows in November. By January, there were no caribou or forest deer to be found. Then in February, new blizzards had come roaring in from the north and dumped two metres more snow over the land. In despair, the pack huddled together in the old den where they had all been born. Three had died then, their bodies rigid as iron in the killing frost. Finally, ten nights ago, Kiba had led the pack out of their old territory and headed south into the unknown.
Now Kiba barked a sharp order and they halted. He looked back and waited for Konutai to join him. The rest of the pack watched. Kiba bared his teeth and snarled at them. Meat was nearby - life for them! They must make this one last effort. Then he was away, scrambling up through the underbrush, his tail streaming out behind him.
The hunt was on!
They chased after, leaping over fallen trees, skirting boulders, scrambling up the steep hillside, their eyes never leaving their leader, terrified of falling behind to face a solitary death. Kiba listened to their laboured breathing and knew just how weak they had all become. He squeezed between two bushes, then stood motionless, hardly daring to move.
In the valley below, the herd of moose pushed through the trees in a clumsy, jostling flood. Their breath rose in a steamy mist that settled on the wolf's tongue, filling his mouth with saliva and longing. He whimpered in hunger. Behind him, he could hear the rest of the pack fretting with impatience. Only their instinctive discipline stopped them from racing down on the herd. Kiba barked an order. In single file, the pack trotted along the crest line, staring down at the herd, searching for a possible victim. The moose soon spotted them and broke into a ponderous gallop.
The wolves followed at a fast lope for the next kilometre, driving themselves to keep up with the herd, and all the time their sharp eyes studied the moose, picking out individual animals and watching for any signs of weakness, age or lameness. Kiba looked over his shoulder and saw the gap opening between Konutai and the rest of his pack. He knew what it meant. Without meat, they would all die some time over the next two days. They were now using up what little strength they had left following the herd. And then, Kiba saw the old bull with the stiff front leg.
The bull was massive. He stood two metres high and must have weighed over four hundred kilograms. His antlers were full spread and heavy. He ran heavily, his flanks heaving, doing his best to keep up and at the same time trying to keep his weight of his stiff leg. Bit by bit, the bull began to fall behind. He began to roll from side to side in exhaustion. Then he stumbled, dropping heavily onto his weak knee.
The moose's heart was bursting. A red film fogged his eyes. Out of it, a snarling face erupted into his own.
Razor-sharp teeth ripped at his nose. The pain was intense, his eyes streamed with tears. The air was full of the snarling and the smell of wolves. There was blood everywhere- all over his legs and pouring out of the hole in his neck. He collapsed, his body convulsing while the wolves climbed over him. Slowly, the light began to fade from his eyes.
Kiba flapped an ear. There was a wasp or something buzzing around. It just wouldn't go away. Lazily, he rubbed a paw over his head. The buzzing was getting louder. Much louder. Too loud for a wasp. Much too loud! The hair on his face stiffened. He sat up and look around, fully alert. Now the whole pack was staring at the strange - looking dragonfly.
There were loud sharp cracks. And then a bullet slammed him down full - length on the ice.
The helicopter touched down on the icy floor. As soon as the engine had been turned off, both pilot and hunter jumped down and grabbed hold of rifles. The hunter, Speirs, told the pilot, Jerry, to wait for him by the helicopter. Speirs made a short trek through the wooded area to the clearing where the wolves he shot lay. He soon found it, and checked the two wolves that lay nearest to him. Both were dead.
Turning around, Speirs stopped briefly to admire the fine specimen of the Gray Wolf that lay before him, before proceeding to check on Kiba. As soon as he reached out his hand, Kiba struck. His long sharp fangs sank into Speirs's arm and caught him totally off guard. Dropping his rifle onto the forest floor, he shouted loudly in pain and fear.
Back in the clearing, Jerry leant against the chopper humming a tune, when suddenly a shout rang out, shattering the silence and startling him. Jerry made a mad dash, pausing only briefly to grab his rifle and some ammo, heading out to the same section of forested area he last saw Speirs disappearing into.
He raced to the clearing and burst through the bushes to find Speirs dead; as a magnificent, two metre long wolf stood over him, slavering and snarling.
Kiba sniffed, looked up and spotted Jerry cowering behind a pine tree.
He howled and leapt.
At the edge of the woods, a group of men stopped.
"Did you hear that?"
Well...How'd you like that? Finally got round to editing this, sorry for the long wait. Reviews are much loved and appreciated.