Wolves do not count days like men. The months and days do not matter to them, only the slow turning of seasons, and they have their own signs independent of the count of days. So it was that Almonihah could only guess at how long he had been with the pack from the fact that the summer days were still long and hot. Now, however, it was night, and the wind was cool on his scales and in the fur of his friends.
He looked at the pack, thinking on the days and weeks he had spent with them. That first day he’d gone hunting with them. Or rather, tried to go hunting with them. After chasing the big female and then following the pack, he’d been too exhausted to really do anything useful. Slowly, however, he’d learned to keep up with the wolves without tiring himself so badly, as well as simply built his endurance up.
Hunting with the pack was wholly different from the way he hunted on his own. Instead of using weapons or traps or tricks, he worked with the pack to bring down prey, using his own claws and teeth just as the wolves did. While he didn’t think he’d do it when he was on his own, Almonihah felt that it was… right, for this time.
Of course, there had been a couple times when he had drawn Zithrandrak. Several times he had stayed with the pack’s cubs and the adults left to care for them, and twice they had been attacked by some of the more dangerous creatures of the North Forest. Both times he had driven them back with his blade.
Those had been the only times he had done something the wolves couldn’t do, though. The rest of his stay had been spent doing everything they did do. He did, however, still retain his separate status, traveling with the pack, but not truly one of them. The one thing he had not joined in with was exactly what they were doing this night—howling together, yelling their companionship to the moon overhead.
With a bit of a grin, he decided he’d quit being such a stranger. Stepping out in the middle of the pack, he threw his head back and roared.
The next morning, the pack was gone.
He looked around briefly for some sign of their passing, but the clearing was as untouched as if no animal had ever entered it. Shaking his head a bit, and wondering what exactly Naishia was up to with him, Almonihah turned south and west. He could feel it was time to move on.
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I debated a bit on how to write this part, and I eventually decided that I liked the feel of writing it from the perspective of Almonihah’s last night with the pack. I didn’t think it would have worked to give a continuous narrative of his time with the wolves.
Another consideration is that, quite frankly, Almonihah didn’t want to tell everything. I don’t think he left anything major out here, but… well, keep an eye out for things. You may be able to figure out when some things happened that he didn’t want to speak of.
Chronicles of Draezoln 