In the light of the full moon, an adolescent she-wolf was running. Running for her life. She could hear the bays of the pack behind her, and even though they were not the sounds of pursuit, she did not slacken her pace.
Some five hours later she slowed her stride to a cautious trot. Scanning the forest around her, she finally found a hollow tree to curl up in for what she knew would be a long, cold, and lonely night. As she settled in, her breathing still heavy and labored, she closed her eyes and thought back on the events of the day.
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Rose had always been the scapegoat of the pack. The one blamed for everything, guilty or not. If the pack got lost, it was because Rose had been doing something or other to slow them down. If the pack did not make a kill, their irritation and wrath was released on Rose. No matter how hard she tried to please, the teeth of the other wolves were always at her throat.
This had been going on since Rose was born. Her father, Prince, was Alpha male, or leader of the pack. But Prince had a weakness. He believed in things being proper, and that a wolf that did not act as such was to be harassed, outcast, and humiliated. One of the key things he looked at in a wolf was not their ability to hunt, or even their skill at tracking. It was the color of their fur, something which no animal has control over. If it did not consist of solid coloring with the occasional light tummy, they were not considered a wolf in Prince’s mind.
Rose was born blind and deaf, as every proper wolf should be. She was a bit smaller than her brothers and sister, but not quite a runt. Nothing unusual there. Then you got to her fur. She was a silky midnight black, from the tip of her shiny nose to her small puppy tail. Except for the white streaks on her ears and her left forepaw. To other creatures, Rose was a beautiful and unique specimen of her species. But to Prince, those white tufts and streaks were as ugly and obvious as chalk marks on a dirty chalkboard.
When pups are born, it is the way of nature for the mother to give them a name and hence, an identity in the forest. Normally these names reflect things that a wolf loves, like food, items in the forest, and activities of wolves, like howling and such. No one was quite sure why Prince’s mate named that little female pup what she did, but Rose was a most unusual name. It was something special.
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Waking with a start, Rose whimpered from her hollow in the great tree. It had begun to rain, and soon lightning and thunder accompanied it. Even though she did not miss the snarls and bared teeth of her pack-mates, she did miss their warmth and comfort at night. Lowering her head back onto her paws, she drifted off to sleep amidst the pitter-patter and boom of the night.
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When Rose was about half-grown, her mother got very sick. Soon all of the pups got sick as well. They were always thirsty and tired. Strangely, Rose started to get better, but the other pups and their mother did not. Finally, after having strange seizures, they all died, one by one. With each death and the fact that Rose was recovering, the hatred for her grew inside Prince, feeding the fires of his eyes. He snarled at her when she tried to eat, snapped at her when she tried to sleep next to him.
One day, about a year later, the tension just snapped Prince in half. Rose had found a wounded elk, trailed it, and brought it down on her own. Trying to please, she had even called the rest of the pack to the kill, as she was the bottom of the pecking order and usually ate last. For some reason her success fed the flame in Prince. When he and the pack arrived at the kill, he couldn’t believe it, and lunged at Rose. Within minutes the rest of his pack-mates had joined in, trying to tear at her. Rose had broken free and run. She didn’t know where to, but somewhere she would have a chance of survival, which was certainly not with this pack.
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BOOM!!! Rose jerked to attention once more, and then sighed, wondering what to do. It was hard to think when her stomach was growling so loud as if to match the thunder. Guess the first thing I’ll have to do is get some food once the rain stops. She thought glumly to herself. She had not received one measly bite of her hard-won elk. Rose knew that she was going to have a hard time feeding herself, as she was still just a young wolf with very little experience. Plus, she was slender and thin to begin with, so she might not last as long on her own as a normal sized lone wolf. The thought made her heart drop down to her paws.
Soon the rain stopped and the sky slowly cleared, revealing hundreds of stars in the nighttime panorama. Rose waited until the leaves stopped dripping, then pulled herself to her feet. Even though she was not wet, she shook herself off, perhaps trying to shake off her old memories. Without even glancing south, where her old pack lay, she trotted northward.
She needed to find a more permanent shelter, and of course, food. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten for a couple days. Food, she decided. Food had to come first. Meat had been scarce this season.
Shelter was also going to be a problem. Rose would have to take care not to wake a slumbering bear or angry badger, as it was the beginning of hibernation for some. She could walk into what appeared to be a deserted cave, when all along a bear was sleeping in a chamber off to the side, its scent undetectable. And, as most creatures do not appreciate being woken up, she would certainly be torn to shreds.
Suddenly she froze mid-step. She had heard something, a creature hidden in the thick forest foliage. Normally, Rose would have simply sniffed the air and known in an instant what it was. But the rain had not washed all the blood off her nose, the gashes tokens of her loving pack-mates. The scent of blood dominated her otherwise keen sense of smell. Plus, her sniffing had broken the scabs, allowing them to bleed anew. Rose held as still as she could, becoming no more than a breathing statue. She fervently hoped that the creature was either harmless, which she doubted, or would pass her by.
She heard it moving again. It was limping by the sound of it, and it was definitely bigger than her. An injured animal is always more dangerous than any other.
Rose crouched low, bracing herself for whatever was going to emerge. The animal was running now, and in her direction. All of the sudden, a small flurry of fur was right in her face. She jerked back, then almost simultaneously leapt forward, pouncing on the creature and killing it with a strike of her broad paws. It was a squirrel! Meat was rare this far north, but even so, Rose didn’t spare any second thoughts. As she bent her massive head to consume her prize in a single bite, she heard it; A rustle in the bushes. This squirrel was not what she had heard.
Although she was scared to death, Rose knew she could not let this, this thing have her kill. She needed this food so desperately, that she did something she had never done. She defended her kill. She stood over the squirrel, crouched low, and bared her teeth. This was a dangerous position, for as some might see it as a defense stance and move on, others could interpret it as a challenge.
She heard a limping gallop, flicking her ears forward to catch the sound. Suddenly, it was there. It sailed out of the bush, landing right in front of her.
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