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Edited on Wed Jan-21-04 05:26 PM by DoveTurnedHawk
The gray wolf is lean and fit, and his pelt shows the scars of many battles. In quiet moments, he is pensive, sometimes even playful, as he lies aside his mate of many years. His eyes shine with the cunning light of one who takes everything in, and knows more than he lets on.
The gray wolf stretched, his muscles tense. Something was not right. The grizzled veteran had thought his fight was over, but the air had become filled with the stench of corruption, and his pack was suffering. The pack was suffering. And the pack was all that mattered.
He nuzzled his mate and padded out of their lair. Instantly, he was beset by a group of jackals who had been waiting for him to emerge. The Gray Wolf stumbled under the onslaught, but quickly recovered, his teeth bared in a sharp grin that did not quite reach his now cold, hungry eyes. His opponents hesitated, for none could match that gaze without quailing, ashamed and dismayed.
They came, then, loping across the wintry snows of the forest. Wolves of all sorts, male and female, old and young, pelts of all colors, their tongues lolling from the effort of their long and determined run. The jackals were quickly dispatched, and the pack surrounded their leader, who, wordlessly and without hesitation, led them to the east.
As the pack streamed out of the forest, more wolves joined them, until the very earth shook from their passing. Other packs were soon confronted, and challenges were promptly issued. The Gray Wolf bested the other leaders in single combat, and they and most of their followers bowed in respect, and were immediately welcomed into the pack with joy and places of honor, for the pack is one, the pack is all. The few lone wolves who chose not to follow were cast out, ostracized and disdained, their plaintive howls receding in the distance as the Gray Wolf led the pack against their true enemy, the source of the stench of corruption that pervaded the entire land.
We are pack. Come now. The Last Hunt begins.
DTH
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