Chapter 1: Birth of a Hunter (written from February 11th to July 3rd, 2024)
October 16th, 2009
A cloudless forenoon descended on the blushing territory. After weeks of unremitting fog, the colors of the forest sloughed off their dull hues. Angelic light spilled through the canopy, inflaming the arches that hung serenely above the time-honored trails. Within the brilliance of two intersecting beams perched the Eastern chieftain, Tony, his right forepaw stroking the long, coarse hair that grew off his lower jaw.
An hour ago, he rallied his Alphas for a coordinated slaughter. They were hard at work tearing up the shrubbery, where shrews, mole-like creatures indigenous to the East, foraged inside. The melancholy of the season would return soon. Once the report of shrews came in, Tony shook the crack of dawn with his deep throaty howl. The early risers of the pack, the hunters, then ran their noses through the ubiquitous leaf litter. The shrews barely put up a fight. Despite being easy pickings, no Eastern took the smallest scrap of food for granted. A year of famine left an indelible mark, and with winter edging ever closer, chronic desperation crawled its way up the wolf hierarchy. Ensuring all pack members had a bite to eat became part of the everyday routine. The hunters, who bore the brunt of the famine, didn't hesitate to answer Tony's call to action, but it surprised them to know that Tony couldn't answer it himself.
"You go on ahead. I don't think I'll be joining you," he informed one of his captains. "I'll keep watch over the rendezvous."
"Something wrong, sir?"
"My back. That darn disc is acting up again," the chieftain lied. At worst, his lingering back pain inconvenienced him. He lacked a shortage of issues, from the famine to the longstanding rivalry with the Westerns, but thoughts of his only son, Garth, were what truly afflicted him. For too long, Garth's future wallowed in uncertainty. The chieftain chose to sit out his own operation in hopes that basking in the sun would take the edge off his anxiety or, at the very least, clear his head.
Garth made the most of the Eastern Den Grounds. As soon as his turquoise eyes unsealed and he was able to break into a run, the neighbors likened him to a fox, a reddish-orange ball of energy that bounced across the meadows. He often scurried through the enveloping greenery, ears pointed forward until a faint rustling convinced him to dive into the ground. He crashed into small burrows in search of critters to call his own—if it could fit in his mouth, it was ripe for the taking. Piles of leaves strewn over the forest floor turned each chase into a thrill, but alas, each morsel seemed perfectly adept at slipping away. Poor Garth.
He had yet to catch a cricket, let alone a mouse. The rate at which other pups achieved their milestones raised the chieftain's hackles to no end. Roxana and Dulmore practiced hunting formations, Luke gnawed inscriptions on bones, Alex caught fish, and Garth's cousin, Stormfast, relayed messages by sprinting from one side of the territory to the other without tiring. Indeed, the fox lagged behind his peers, who were keen to put their abilities to use. Garth's only recognized achievement was his appearance at the Great Wolf Games, and even that was an achievement marred by controversy. The Eastern Team's coach ordered Garth to cheat, which resulted in the Easterns being disqualified and subsequently humiliated. In summary, Garth's reputation and, by extension, the pack's fell short of acceptable.
Tony blamed his beloved mate. There were more than two months to go before Alpha School started. Tradition called for Alpha pups to receive lessons four, five, and sometimes up to six months in advance. The pups with the earliest training performed the best and usually obtained the highest scores, but Garth, being the son of a chieftain, carried a bright future regardless of his academic prowess. He didn't need early training to succeed. Poor grades couldn't stop a chieftain from fast-tracking an Alpha's career, but Tony wished to avoid doing so if he could help it, not just because he didn't want to deal with the inevitable outrage that would ensue. He genuinely believed the pack deserved its finest at the top. Unfortunately for him though, his beloved mate insisted on letting their son enjoy his puphood. Tony had no explanation for why he agreed to delay Garth's training other than that Martha was his greatest weakness. The red she-wolf was his rock, his true source of strength that fixed him to reality. Her bearing was rigid, yet her words took on a transmissible softness. She had the effect of moderating extremes, keeping Tony's strongest urges in check. The other Alphas, especially the captains, had gotten used to his softened demeanor, but the educational delay of his son rekindled the belief that his glory days lay far behind him.
Tony couldn't allow doubts in his leadership to take root. Garth's potential was plain as day. Every once in a while Tony caught sight of him sneaking through the fields. Even when the pup came up empty-jawed, he took care not to flirt with resignation. Quitting was not the way of the Alpha nor the way of the Eastern. The pack prided itself on its stubbornness. To give Easterns their respect is to say they are more stubborn than the North Star. They fought against the West to assert their existence. The War of the Divide, as it became known, compelled them to devote their lives to a refusal to budge on most matters. They couldn't escape the famine through relocation as that would mean abandoning their identity, but they couldn't hold out for long if their leader didn't embody that identity, if their leader didn't also dedicate his life to refusing to budge. Tony would personally see to it that his son lived up to that expectation, an expectation on top of the ones every future leader must meet. Tony hoped the pup would show signs of satisfying them in time for the Admissions Test.
"Rise and shine, Garth. Today's the big day," Tony announced upon returning to the den. He licked his son's forehead. The red wolf's eyes fluttered open, prompting Tony to smile. The chieftain was proud to have a son who was so handsome. Despite efforts to fix up his fur, a small lock always curled out of place. It dangled between his turquoise eyes.
"What big day?" Garth replied between yawns. "Yikes, I never wake up this early."
"Get used to it," Tony replied. "We need an early start for hunting. This is when most animals wake up and search for breakfast."
"Wait, hunting? I get to hunt for real this time?!" Garth's excitement grew. "Let's go, go, go!"
"Come on!" Tony encouraged.
The two passed by a peacefully sleeping Martha and exited the den. Once outside, they headed for the nearest meadow. Crowded with long and lush virescent grass, the ground comforted Garth's paws, which took time to loosen up. Garth then looked far into the distance and discovered a few grazing caribou. "Dad, look!" Garth shouted excitedly, inviting his father to strike the back of his head.
"Keep your voice down."
"Oh, right! Sorry! So which one should we go for?" he whispered.
"None of them. You're not ready. Besides, they're too young. We don't go after the young."
"Oh," Garth replied, feeling slightly disappointed.
"Even with a herd as small as this, you can't just go charging in when you haven't learned the basics. As a level three junior, you should already know that. We need to start with smaller prey, or, as I like to call them, level one specimens."
"Huh?"
"Voles."
"Ohhhh! So where can we find them?"
"Over there." Tony gestured to a darkened area of the forest, a place Garth always took care to avoid whenever he prowled around.
"Umm… if you say so, I guess," Garth replied in a nervous tone. He reluctantly followed his father. Suddenly, the brown wolf cleared his throat.
"Umm, Garth. We can find a vole a lot quicker if we, you know, spread out."
"Huh? What…? Oh, right!" The red wolf distanced himself. He had been practically hugging Tony. "Spread out. Got it."
They ventured in. It didn't take long for something to catch Garth's nose. "Hey, Dad! What does a vole smell like?"
Tony had never been asked this before, so he wasn't quite sure how to describe a new smell to his son.
"Well… they smell… kind of… terrestrial." Garth turned back to Tony and made a skeptical face. "You know… earthy… dirty… with a hint of grass. Yeah, that's it."
"Gotcha."
The pup searched. Well, there's plenty of earth, he concluded. Wandering farther away from his father, he eventually came across a variety of earthly smells distinct from the rest. Maybe this is it. They led him to a freshly fallen log, behind which a squirrel jumped out and spooked him. "Ahhh!" he screamed. The squirrel tilted its head. "Well, what do you want?" Garth asked the curious rodent. It then held up an acorn as if offering the pup its food. "Umm, no thanks," Garth responded. "Dad! I found a squirrel!"
"I'll be right over!" Tony yelled back.
Tony approached the scene. The squirrel began sniffing suspiciously. Soon the chieftain's shadow engulfed it, and before long, Garth watched it run out of sight. "Why do they always run away? Can't they see that we're hungry?" he asked innocently.
"It's their instinct," his father informed. "If a prey animal sees a predator or hunter coming toward them, their instinct, or voice inside their head, will tell them to either attack or run away as fast as possible."
"How come the squirrel didn't run away when he saw me but did when he saw you?"
"Because you're not a hunter… yet. Prey animals are very aware of their abilities. The squirrel knew how fast it was and determined that you weren't going to be a serious threat."
"What?! I am too a serious threat!" Garth protested.
"Don't worry. Things are going to change for you, son. One day you'll take my place, so I'm going to make sure you're the best Alpha this pack has ever seen. You have to be if you are to show those Western wolves that an attack against us will be the last thing they ever do."
"I understand. I won't let you down."
"That's what I like to hear. Now let's try again." It took a lot of sniffing, walking through undergrowth, and false alarms, but within twenty minutes, Garth and Tony located a good-sized vole. The tiny brown creature was enjoying a dandelion snack under a lodgepole. It was completely unaware of its imminent danger, demonstrating natural selection at work. "Alright, Garth. Listen carefully," Tony whispered. "You need to get as close as possible to the rear of the animal. Once you think you can't get any closer without the animal noticing you, pounce on it and bite its neck! Got it?"
"What if it starts to run?"
"Simple. You chase after it. I'll be right behind you with further instructions. Don't think too hard. Just let your instincts guide you."
"Right. Instinct. Instinct…" Garth shut his eyes and tried to find his "instinct."
Tony quietly chuckled. "Well, if you want to eat, you might want to start sneaking up on it."
"Oh, yeah! I'm on it!"
Garth crept up behind the tree. He slinked around the trunk and toward the vole as it munched on another dandelion. Within two feet of his savory breakfast, the pup leaped and grabbed the vole with his fangs. He applied enough force to crush it to death instantly. Blood squirted from the corners of his mouth.
"Wah-hoo!" Tony cried. "Look at my instinct-driven hunter of a son!"
"I grot it! I grot it!" Garth exclaimed.
"Hurry up! Let's show Momma!"
"Rrright behinja!"
