[Sentinel] Part 2 - The Hunter and the Hunted

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Silverpelt unleashed an ear-shattering howl, piercing the frozen winter morning. Gradually, as more and more wolves woke, they joined in, creating a long, unbroken howl. Lostheart was already wide awake by the time I opened my eyes, studying our Alpha perform the morning ritual. An answering howl erupted, far off in the distance, but it sounded disorganized and mournful, as if there was no Alpha to lead the other clan. Could that be the case? Curious, I watched Lostheart as she stared in the direction of the rival clan. Her almond eyes betrayed no emotion, not even curiosity. The premonition of imminent doom returned, and I tried without success to ignore it.

“Today is when we begin to plan our attack on the other clan. Those who have battle experience, follow me.” Silverpelt barked. Several wolves got up and followed him off his Alpha perch, a rock as tall as a wolf ten winters old, and into the forest, towards the river.

“Granitefur, don’t you have a duty to do?” Fleetshadow, five winters my senior, gazed at me from across camp, a good-natured glint in his eyes. Oh, right! I glanced over at Lostheart, who seemed lost in thought, staring in the direction of the soon-to-be-defeated clan.

“Morning!” I called to her cheerfully. She flicked her ear in reply, but her gaze did not waver. She seemed too mature for her age. Usually cubs a few winters old would be romping all over the place. Maybe the drugged food she’s been given had stolen her playfulness. Perhaps it was just me. “Today I’m going to teach you how to hunt.” I continued, somewhat relieved that I wouldn’t be dealing with an overactive ball of energy, but disturbed at the same time how she seemed like she was already fourteen winters old or something. As if she’d heard the thought, the side of her muzzle twitched, like she was hiding a smile. “Come here.” I called, shoving the thoughts to the back of my mind. It was only my imagination. It had to be.

“Coming.” Lostheart replied, and trotted towards me. I led her away, to the edge of the forest, where an endless stretch of grasslands awaited us. Unaware of the dangers downwind of them, deer grazed, oblivious. Hidden in the tall grass, I began to lecture.

“So you see… our clan can’t hunt like normal wolves, because one deer can’t sustain the entire pack. Fortunately for us, we have more than twice the strength and speed of a normal wolf, so our hunts are always successful, or else we’d go hungry a lot. On average, one wolf eats about four deer every seven suns, when the prey is abundant. Since there is another side to us, we can eat human food as well, but then we’d have to eat daily.” Lostheart nodded, seemingly alert, but when I looked a little more closely, I noticed that her eyes were unfocused. “Lostheart!” I barked. She blinked and looked up.

“Hmm?”

“Why do we need to eat so much?” I inquired, positive that she had not been paying attention.

“Our strength needs fuel.” Came the reply. So she was listening. I heaved a sigh, resigning myself to an unresponsive student, and continued.

The next sunrise, after the morning ritual, I showed Lostheart how to hunt. She watched, as still as a rock, ears oriented towards my prey, as I crouched, ready to spring after the oblivious herd of elk. When I returned with a young buck in tow, I found her playing with a terrified mouse. It scrabbled frantically to run, to survive, but her paws caught its tail, preventing escape. Her face was emotionless, unlike what any cub would be like when they had their first catch. I shook off the returning sense of looming disaster and asked,

“How’d you catch that?” She didn’t look up from her cruel game, and for a heartbeat I felt like the mouse. What was going on here?

“I watched you and decided t’try it out myself.” She murmured. Sunlight struck her pelt, giving it a lustrous glow; the sun had emerged from the clouds. It seemed to shine…silver. I blinked, shaking my head, and when I looked again, it was only a gleaming brown. Just a trick of the sunlight…

“Mice need different hunting tactics.” I replied, too disturbed to be surprised, suspicious, or even amused.

“I guess it was asleep then.” Lostheart lowered her head and snapped its neck. I stifled a shudder, feeling like the mouse again.