Day 13 (Butte): Howlings in the Night
A deep, rumbling growl like low thunder trapped in the clouds. Fangs flash yellow. Snap. Gnash. A pitiful yelp. Their flesh soft and sweet as blood trickles down. Drip. Drip. Drip. Claws rasp against stone. Thump. Another body falls into the dusty, cold air. The Mother watches over with approval, shining her pale light from above. Hot breath, painful strike. Teeth clicking. Snap. Gnash.
The pack scatters as they lose the fight, running down through the hollow paths in the rock face, tails between their legs. Cries of dismay fill the red stone and it returns them a hundredfold; mourning the great loss just the same. Echoes of the fallen reverberate through the tunnels, pouring off the sides of the cliff like water and evaporating into the chilly night air. The victors stood high above, keening their song of triumph to the Mother as she shone her light down upon her blessed. But those less fortunate fled for their lives; their home was lost.
Those remaining fled north. Further and further still into the dusty night. Their paws thumped in unison over the arid plane as the stars twinkled overhead. The Mother was blanketed in a cloud - too ashamed to brighten the path of her wayward children. They panted with effort; tails lashing, nostrils flaring. Those too injured to run were left behind as the pack vanished over the hills and onto the northern expanse. Here to seek new territory in return for the home they'd lost. Behind them their foes sang a song into the night from the Great Stone that carried for miles. But these ones would not sing. Not tonight.
Exhausted, they rested beneath a rocky overhang. The scarred, silver one with vibrant yellow eyes looked over them as they slept. Their leader. The one they chose because he alone remembered a time before. He was old and strong and wise - but it was not enough to save the Stone.
We will never sing again.
Thus was his edict. And when the sky exploded into lightning and the stones turned to strange darkened shapes filled with glowing light; when the Endless Storm came for them, they did not sing. In this strange new land, the Mother never once shone down on them. The silver one watched and waited, protecting them. Until one day he too would never return home.
Author's Note: So this is connected loosely but it's something that I may have pay off, later. If you've played Dawntrail you may be able to guess a LITTLE of what's going on. This is just from the POV of a pack of wolves, inspired by a song I was listening to.
