[Firefoot]

The sounds of fighting, not too far distant, reached the ears of a wolf pack. They had tracked the short two-leggeds this far in hopes of being led to an area of more plentiful game. Two-leggeds did not make good meat, unless and the wolves did not eat them unless no other choices were available. The wolves were reaching that point now; usually by this late in spring the effects of winter had been entirely erased, but not this year. Game had been scarce, and the gaunt wolves were hungry.

But fighting: who was fighting their short two-leggeds? It was a matter of concern for the wolves, and bore checking out. The alpha male, a rangy wolf with tan fur, rose from his relaxed position with a growl and a few yips. Come. We find what happens. The rest of the small pack, numbering six in total, loped after their leader. As they approached, they crept up a low rise on their bellies to observe the scene below them.

The wolves were quick to grasp the situation; once they did, hackles were not slow in raising and low growls escaped their throats. These short two-leggeds were their quarry, part of their territory, and their fates would ultimately be decided by them. The alpha male’s growl changed pitch: these two-leggeds go too far. They must pay.

With a snarl, he sprung from his crouched position toward the fight, about a hundred yards distant. The other five leapt after him. Instantly the focus of the fight switched from short two-leggeds against big two-leggeds to two-leggeds against wolves. One of the short ones flung a stone at him, which connected solidly with his muzzle. While it was not enough to inflict real damage, it still hurt, and infuriated the leader wolf. He forgot for a moment that he did not intend to hurt the short two-leggeds and attacked the one who had thrown the stone. His miscalculated his victim’s reaction, however, so instead of taking a solid chunk out of the two-legged’s face he only gashed its arm, albeit deeply. Ah, but it was good to taste blood again!

Now, however, the two-leggeds had recovered from their initial shock being attacked, and they had taken out their bright steel weapons. He felt one cut across his side and snarled in pain, turning on his attacker. You will pay, two-legged. You will pay.

~*~*~*~

Sondo

With Marroc’s help, Sondo had managed to cut free all the horses save the last when the first snarls were heard. The horses had not gone far once free, but now, hearing the wolves, they fled in a blind panic. The last horse, finding itself held captive, reared against the restraining reins with a frightened whinny. Marroc forgot for a bare moment that only he was holding Sondo up, backed away instinctively from the dangerous hooves, and lost his balance, causing Sondo to fall hard. He put his hands out in front to break the fall and the moment he hit the ground he regretted it. Pain seared up his left forearm from his wrist. He had no doubt that it was sprained, at the least.

He had no choice but to ignore it for now, though. He sprang to his feet. “Forget about the last horse,” he said, keeping away from the panicked animal. “We’ve been too long; we need to take what we have and go. It sounds like they’re in trouble.” Sondo wondered if it was the wolves he had heard some nights. A shivver ran up his spine. That could get bloody.

Rory hefted the smaller of the two loads up on his back while Sondo, careful of his wrist, helped Marroc with the more unwieldly one. They went as fast as they could carrying the stolen supplies and dropped them off around the side of the hill where Marroc had hidden earlier as they comprehended the horrific sight before them. Quick as a blink, Sondo stooped, picked up a stone, and hurled it at the nearest wolf's head.

"Come on!" he urged the other two. "We need to get them away from here, and leave the wolves and Big Folk to each other."