Reznya
The softskins had them trapped in the small, loud, smelly box. It shook and roared. It tried to scare him. But he wasn't scared. He was just hungry.
They were close by. They were also hungry.
They were howling for blood, and he was howling back.
Then the box was opened.
The softskins were yapping. They were holding sticks. He had always obeyed them. He would always obey them. He followed the softskin out of the box. They followed him. He followed behind the fence. He would guard. So would They.
He would kill trespassers. So would They.
He would taste their blood. So would They.
Then he smelled something new. Something beyond the fence.
Green.
Trees.
Life.
Prey.
They smelled it too. They wanted to run to it. They wanted to hunt through it. But They obeyed him.
Then he saw. The fence was broken. He could run. They could run. They could kill.
The fence scratched him, but he didn't care. He could smell it. He could smell the Green.
They ran.
The moon shone above them.
The great, beautiful moon.
He called out to it, and so did They.
He was free, and so were They.
He could go anywhere, and They would follow.
They had to follow.
They were his Pack.
And his Pack was free.