Chapter 4

Citegrene woke to the thick sound of thunder rumbling overhead. Another noise, the soft melody of rain as it pittered and pattered off of leaves and onto the soggy earth, made her twitch her ears in delight. She shifted her head from the cold, damp ground beneath and nestled it into her belly fur. A long sigh whistled from her nose. Something was terribly wrong. There was no onslaught of pain or waves of memory that usually befell her when she woke.

Excruciatingly slowly, Citegrene cracked open an eye. It took several seconds, but when her vision focused, she noticed that her pelt, once dark with dust, had been completely soaked through. The hairs clung together in a wet mass, a deep golden-brown shade that belyed its true color. The chill that Citegrene should have felt didn't register on her senses at all.

Drearily, she looked upwards towards the verdant canopy. For a split second, a little scrap of black sky became visible through the swaying branches, but then was lost as the gap closed. It was extremely windy.

Citegrene examined her surroundings, a small clearing sheltered by the boughs of tall trees, noting potential escape routes through the underbrush, what could be used for defensive purposes, where she was. Everything was dimmed by the sheltering forest, where only the dark light from the storm filtered through, with the occasional flash of white lightning. Her analysis of her environment's scent came back with damp undergrowth predominating, but there was a strange, cool smell that tickled her nostrils. Citegrene opened her mouth and inhaled deeply, then closed her eyes in serenity. The nature scents soothed her. It had been a long time since she had smelled anything left untainted by humans.

After filling her spirit with temporary peace, Citegrene glanced at the sky once more, to the joy of having a raindrop plop right into her eye. She snorted, shaking her massive head and spraying water all over the damp forest floor.

Irritated, the she-wolf tried to move her limbs, but failed. Lethargy clogged her veins, and her brain was sluggish to comprehend anything. Despite the pangs of frustration within her, Citegrene focused on slowing her breathing, deeply inhaling and exhaling, trying to gather her energy to one point in case of need. It was a technique she had picked up from an old storyteller acquaintence.

A snapping twig made Citegrene whip her head around. She narrowed her pupils at the wolf approaching from the shadows. He put off a strange, cool odor, like the one she had scented earlier. His pelt was black as night, sleek and thick; his eyes a piercing yellow.

The male flashed his teeth in a wicked smile, then padded around to sit a wolf-length in front of Citegrene's sprawled body. "You're awake, at last." His piercing eyes stared at her with an intensity that made her frightened. Almost. She curled her top lip in a snarl and turned her head away in what to the Varg, to wolves, was a very rude gesture. The male didn't anger at all, or if he did, nothing showed.

"So, you are the Gold-Pelted One," he mumbled amusedly, his voice well-hiding his calm curiosity. Citegrene didn't reply and instead contented herself with burning a hole through the nearest tree with her gaze. She was used to such observations, and thus had grown very talented at reading the emotions wolves tried to cover up, though nowadays the times she encountered her own kind were few and far between. If this was how the petty male wanted to treat one of the last of the wolves, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of angering her. She couldn't risk losing the opportunity to gain new, potentially crucial knowledge by blowing a vessel and attacking him.

Coolly, her captor said, "Hmm . . . not too talkative, are you? I thought the First Wolf of the Balkar would be more charismatic, especially in the presence of one of the Draggas under her command." He sneered and rose to his feet, lifting his tail high in the air with arrogance. Citegrene snorted in disgust. He calls himself a Dragga? And why does he keep referring to me as this First Wolf? What does he mean by it?

Almost simultaneously as her thoughts, the ebony wolf cocked an eyebrow, smiled wickedly, and started pacing around Citegrene. "So you really don't know, do you? No matter, all will be explained in due time." Citegrene followed his path with her gaze, noting his haughty step, his body posture. He seemed way too confident for being in the presence of one such as herself. She was . . . a lot different than these wolves. Normally, strangers stayed out of her way, but for one to attack her while she was exhausted and off guard, to drug her and then drag her to Tor-knows-where, a wolf had to have seen her like before, was hardly ever surprised, or else was an insane adrenaline addict. Larger, more powerfully built, she rivaled even this male, whom she grudgingly had to admit was somewhat big and indeed looked strong enough to give her a challenging fight.

That was the thing about most of the Varg. Ever since the humans had nearly driven them to the brink of extinction, the species had almost been entirely wiped out. Some small populations managed to survive in isolated pockets, but over time, they began to develop distinguishing characteristics from the others and adapted to their different surroundings. They became so wrapped up in keeping themselves alive that they either forgot or ignored the knowledge that Varg existed outside of their sheltered lives. Because of this, wolves were very suspicious when encountering others of their kind from another pack.

Citegrene subtly started tensing her limbs, fighting the lethargy with everything she had in her. This black male disturbed her, with his cockiness, with his actions, with his unknown intentions. This whole Balkar thing disturbed her as well. As far as she knew, the Balkar were some far off legend that abruptly ended with the Larka Incident about 1200 years ago. Did they still exist? Had she really traveled all the way to their lands? Was she near the place where the wise Larka lived? Was she in the presence of a descendant of the persecuted, yet noble Fell?

That thought gave her pause. Could this black whelp have ancestors such as Fell and Tarlar? Forgetting the need to be subtle, she openly raised her hackles, closely scrutinizing him, appalled at the possibility. The black wolf must have noticed her, for he stopped his pacing about and gave her an unreadable stare.

"You know, you really shouldn't have left that pretty little silver there to die in the flames." That did it. Her war with weariness paid off as, with an enormous effort, the gold wolf rolled onto her feet, savagely snarling, gathered her limbs beneath her, and lunged at the male's throat. Her flight for freedom ended abruptly as her head thunked to the ground four feet from where she had jumped. Damn, this poison drains me of my strength.

She saw the black wolf's paws getting closer, then felt his hot breath in her ear. "Don't think I don't know about that, Citegrene," he whispered, articulating each consonant. "You left her there . . . to die." His pink tongue darted out and licked her fur, making Citegrene squirm, but she couldn't find the energy to bite his cocky face. He backed off, his eyes dancing with laughter at her incapacity to react. "I like that in a wolf: beauty, intelligence, and heartlessness." He threw her a sly grin then turned his back on her and started to walk away.

"No."

The ebony wolf looked over his shoulder. Citegrene locked gazes with him, not flinching one bit. Her voice held a cold authority that made wolves instantly quiet, and it carried an accent from lands unknown to the dark lupine.

"I didn't leave her to die. She chose it herself."

A grin flickered across his muzzle as he slowly turned round to face her. "Since when does the First Wolf leave someone to die, even if it is their will?"

"Since when does a mighty Balkar act like a neuter pup?" She literally spat the word Balkar out, sickening of the First Wolf references. But she could feel strength slowly seeping back to her, which gave her confidence. She'd show this mongrel who was Alpha.

Her insult struck home. The male's hackles started to raise, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. Anger sparked in his eyes despite his previous attempts to control it. Citegrene couldn't resist throwing another punch at him.

"What's next? Do you walk with humans, too?" The male pricked his ears forward in anger, and his tail stuck straight out behind him. His mouth opened in a wide snarl, showing off beautifully wicked fangs. Memories rushed back to Citegrene; memories forgotten in the momentary rush of adrenaline; memories of searing fire, human screams, and the shadow of a black wolf lunging for her throat, cries for death on her lips.

And then she recalled a road twining around an enormous mountain. She remembered her flight, and then how this wolf had nearly killed her. Confusion seeped through Citegrene: it was the same exact wolf that had attacked her . . . however long ago it had been, but she swore that his eyes had been crimson. Maybe she had been seeing things; after all, she had been exhausted.

Citegrene leapt out of the way just in time as the wolf struck, flying the 10 feet between them. She quickly whirled around, but, misjudging her strength, tripped and fell to the ground. Lucky for her, because the black wolf had sprung again, overshooting her sprawled body. Citegrene quickly scrambled onto her feet and turned to face him as he landed lightly, hackles bristling.

They locked gazes: intense yellow and piercing blue. Citegrene panted hard, but her opponent was unfazed. He growled gleefully at what he considered was a battle already won. The she-wolf raised her head and fluffy tail high in a sign that she would never give up.

He lunged again, and managed to get a hold on her shoulder, biting down hard. Citegrene could almost imagine her blood vessels bursting as she felt the teeth pierce right through her thick coat into the muscle tissue. She yelped loudly and was forced to the ground by his weight.

"What do you want from me?" she huffed, her sides heaving. The male released her, licked his lips, and reared back.

"Paradise," he whispered, a savage twinkle in his eyes. Citegrene almost said aloud, but it can't be opened without . . .

"Eneres," the black wolf whispered. "She is still alive."