She was beautiful... gorgeous. She was lean, fast, and smooth; the best hunter in the pack by far. She was favored by many. Wolves are not a lonely creature by nature, but she needed time away. And so she ran off in the moonlight one warm summers night for a bit of piece and quiet. She knew better.
And being a hunter herself, she knew when she was being hunted. There was no doubt. She could smell the boy, his body laden with sweat from hunting all day.
Not for food though. No one hunted wolves for food... especially not these days. Not for fur either, for he was far from a fur trader; he wasn't but a teenager. No, this boy hunted for the adrenaline of the kill. He'd already killed off three of her pack's members this week, and left their body's to rot... to waste aways in the heat of the day.
She was careful, though. She was cunning, and crafty. She thought she could outsmart him. He was only a boy. But he had a gun, and that could be to his advantage.
Guns killed quick, but one misfire and your prey was gone. Her swift light paws, and amazing reflexes were much better. She was designed by God to kill. The gun was assembled by men, aand machinery; flaws were iminent. But she was perfect.
She heard the leaves rustle behind her. She turned cautiously. She saw the boy aiming his rifle. She turned and ran as the boy fired the shot. It rang out around the forest warning animals within the area of the threat. Telling her pack that she was in danger; that she needed rescue.
She swiftly dashed throughly the woods on nearly silent paws made for running after prey, not running from predators. She was meant to hunt, not be hunted.
The boy pursued, amazingly keeping her in sight. She dove through bushes, and swerves around trees attempting to lose her pursuer, but to no avail. 1
She had no idea which direction she was going now. She had turned so much that she had the faintest idea where she was going, nor did she have the time to find out, for the boy was light and fast. Although, the rifle slowed him down, he still managed to keep her in sight.
And in a flash she found herself bound in clearing, surrounding by sheer walls of rock. She should have paid more attention. She would have known. She might have lived, if she had.
The shot rang out, and sadly it was the last thing she heard.
She fell. Her beauty, her swiftness, her cunning, her skill, matter not now, all because of one mistake. And her blood poured out of her body around her, soaking into the dirt, staining the ground red.
The boy lowered his rifle and walked over to the dead wolf. He kicked her with the toe of his boot and examined his kill smiling. He looked into her glazed over eye, and the smile faded. Remorse perhaps for his cruel deed.
Her pack arrived to late to save her. They surrounded the boy snarling, and baring their teeth. He had taken now four members of their family, and now it was their time for revenge. He shall take no more.
The boy held his gun at the ready, but knew that their were far more than he could kill alone. He knew it was wise not to fire his gun, and thus end up provoking the remaining wolves. He could only kill one at a time after all.
The pack leader approach him. A big black male, with shining yellow eyes. He circled the boy a sniffed him. He could smell the boy's fear. The boy had killed the female wolf... this wolf's mate, and mother of their three young wolf pups. Without their mother the pups would most likely not survive. But they may.
He snarled one last time and then howled his command to the rest of the pack. They retreated.
The boy killed members of their family, but nothing could be done to bring them back. Killing the boy would make no difference. They would not stoop to man's level. They refuse to become what we have. 2
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