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// Chapter 8: The Pack 
// Story: Blood Moon 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
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He had never been happier in his life than now.  The finding of a family, and the near instant acceptance he’d received from them all weighed greatly to his mood.  With the last vestiges of snow melting away and spring entering in full swing, there was great excitement among the pack as they began to hunt in the better grounds and lived in a better place.  The cave had, indeed, proven as the perfect home for the pack, as it allowed them to stay sheltered, but have plenty of space to teach the pups, and even instantly accessible water.
His place among the pack was very quickly determined by the alph, his mate, and the two older kin.  He was a hunting juvenile, old enough to be relatively independent, and even allowed to hunt on his own, considering his size and mobility, but still below the mother and alpha.  He would also train the pack on the terrain and general knowledge he’d attained about the landscape.  This proved quite useful, as it allowed the pack leader to draw out their territory and collectively decide that there would be no leaving certain areas about the hills.  There was also a general acknowledgment of the overall superiority he had over the slightly older, but less intelligent juveniles.
As the spring progressed into early summer, his position was slightly transitioned to that of protector and teacher of the pups, as they grew big enough to hunt the smaller creatures of the forest.  He took great joy in this, enjoying the company of the small ones as they tussled with him.  He taught them to howl proudly, and how to navigate around the crooked forest on the other side of their home.  He was also effective in teaching them the dangers of the road to the north, the terrible, unnatural structure that meant other unknown enemies. 
After the summer passed away, the eldest male went on his own way, leaving the pack as he was meant to.  He was sad to see the male go, wishing that he could stay, but knowing that this was not the way of the packs.  As well as teaching the wolves about the dangers of the forests and hills, the wolves taught him the dangers and traditions of other wolves.  The juvenile male had reached his second year, he must leave the pack and find his own mate and make one himself.  So, in the half moon light that lit the forests, he left, and he knew that they would never cross paths again.
After the summer and its sorrowful ending, there came the rush of autumn, when hunting was prime.  Animals were fattening up for the coming winter, and this meant that they tasted better and provided more food.  This, in turn, eased the work of feeding the pack.  Seeing as they were still the only pack in the area, there was a great abundance of such food sources.  The fall also marked the time that the young pups became juveniles, old enough to join in hunting.  This caused a great excitement among all, and they celebrated with long howling and a longer hunt, tracking down an elk almost twice the alpha’s size.  
The amazing beast they brought down only marked the success of the hunts to follow, and the great amount of food accessible during the autumn months.  Their coats grew long as they fattened themselves, becoming much more rounded in preparation for the swiftly approaching winter.  
When the snow and cold did hit, they were more prepared than any of the other winters, well fed and warm with the great hot water and steam that provided comfort to the pack.  About the same time winter rolled in, a young male stumbled into the pack’s territory.  While at first there was great tension between the pack and the individual, the juvenile female soon took a liking to the male, as well as the den mother and younger juveniles.  Before long, he was a member of the pack as well, and mated the older juvenile female.  From there, the winter passed without much occasion, mostly resting or pacing the den as the snow stacked up and trapped them in their home.
When winter finally did pass away, it was to a strange sight.  As they retreated from their den, they found themselves facing new hills.  The hills themselves were still the same as ever, but it was what remained to them.  The snow was tred over, in some places stained unnatural colors of red and brown, and even remnants of stones and steel hidden beneath the layers.  This concerned them, because it meant the mark of ponies, ponies that hated wolves and travelled away from their dangerous roads.  In a moment of panic, the pack considered moving, but he remained resolved against it, reminding that he himself had lived for four years now in these hills, never once having encountered a pony beyond the road.  With this, the decision was to stay and, if necessary, defend their home with great ferocity.  
Along with the mark of ponies, the spring ushered in new pups, as both the den mother and the new mated couple provided litters.  The den mother provided four new members to the pack, while the younger mating couple brought in five.  This change also marked the beginning of worrying among the alpha and himself.  The pack nearly doubled in size from the time they first moved into the den, and while it was certainly spacious, there wasn’t enough room for seventeen grown males.  So, the decision was made to assist the younger breeding couple to find a new home in the summer months, when there was the least danger and most daylight.  The couple agreed to this plan, as they were concerned with starvation from the large amounts of the food they would need to feed seventeen individuals.
As promised, when the summer months came, and the new pups were old enough to walk, they journeyed south for several miles, farther than even he had been before.  There, they found a small mountain range, and on the side of one of the smaller ones, was a hospitable cave in which the alpha of the new pack would reside.  The mountains were nearly infested with both large and small game, and it was agreed that neither pack would go beyond two miles of their territorial boundaries, leaving at least two miles between the two packs.  With this, the packs left each other happily.  
The tranquility of life would soon pass for his pack, however, when the new autumn passed in.  As the leaves’ colors turned, there was a sudden migration of ponies from the road.  They brazenly left the cobbled path and tragedy over the hills, heading straightaways to the rivers that the pack would visit from spring to fall.  Within a moon’s passing, they had established wooden buildings upon the hillsides of the riverbed.  There were dozens of them, easily ten times the size of the pack.  
Of course, with the newcomers came new troubles.  Their new town cut their path to the gentle forests in which they hunted.  This caused a great deal of trouble for the pack, as it meant either they had to pass around the town, or they’d have to hunt in the terrible tangled forest.  With the two options considered, he gave a third.  Seeing as he once remembered ponies, having encountered them before, long ago, he would walk through the makeshift town and attempt to gain their favor.
So, on the eve of winter, in an attempt to secure some of the bounty they needed to survive, he entered the town.  He followed the dirt road that led in, and walked right to the center of the place.  At first, he wasn’t noticed, as the sparse population were elsewhere, but it was one of their young that first spotted him.  It screamed as it saw him, and escaped to one of the buildings, which brought the adults of the ponies to the scene.  They cried in fear, surprise, and anger.  He began to retreat from the ponies’ dwelling, but found himself cut off by another group of adults, this one armed with sickles and pitchforks.  
Seeing that only death and violence were to come from their engagement with the ponies, he howled into the night, calling on his pack to assist him.  As the armed ponies engaged in combat, he stood on his hind legs, something he hadn’t done for the longest time.  He struck at those that came too close, defending first.  However, when one landed a sharp blow to his back, he felt his blood boil, and his vision went red.  Before he could resist, he became a savage beast. 
Turning sharply, he extended his claws and struck one of the ponies across the head with the attack.  The pony’s face was shredded by the blow, and he could tell that they were killed instantly.  This caused great alarm amidst the violent crowd, as they continued their attack, and he continued his defense.
Still facing a group of around ten adults, seven armed, he charged boldly, ramming into two and catching another beneath his monstrous paw.  Without hesitation, he put all of his weight on it, crashing the stallion beneath him brutally.  Using the momentum, he struck at another, knocking the pitchfork from its mouth, then enveloping the pony with his own maw.  Biting down forcefully, he detached the pony’s head at the neck, spitting it out as he withdrew.  
There were cries of horror and fear as the massacre continued, ponies either charging him valiantly or running away fearfully.  He took a chunk of flesh out of the side of another stallion that had charged, leaving him dying with his vitals exposed.  He broke another’s spine in his jaws as he used his large tail to ward off an attacker from behind, before tossing the limp pony body at one of the retreating foes.  Yet another pony was felled as he charged, his throat torn wide by his mighty claws.  
By now,  all the ponies that had been behind him were dead or had escaped, and the ponies in front were otherwise engaged.   It wasn’t until he took a moment to rest that he recognized the howling of his pack accompanying his growls and short howls.  They were striking at the ponies who threatened him from his backside, and were successful in holding them off.  However, there was only the alpha and the mother fighting the ponies, and combined they hadn’t yet downed one of the enemies.  
He turned and stepped up behind the alpha, growling fiercely at the challenging opponents.  They should not have dared to settle here, where the greater beasts hunted and lived peacefully.  This fighting and death was brought on by their own ignorance of those that they disturbed with their ambitious colonization.  Ahead of him, the alpha charged, and he was right beside the alpha in a breath.  
They fought viciously together, unafraid of consequence as they struggled against the threat.  The alpha and his mate stayed paired, covering each other while they took turns biting at the legs and throats of attacking enemies.  Meanwhile, he rampaged through the other defenders, tearing them apart with his teeth and claws, and crushing them under his weight.  Now and then, a strike would land, but his hide had grown thicker than the blades could pierce.
By now, the juveniles also had joined the fight, but this proved to be obsolete.  By the time they had arrived, he had torn through all but the young, who he smelled cowered in one of the larger structures.  The smell of blood hung in the air, the bodies of ponies strewn about the town.  Thirty eight, he counted, lay dead, though it was hard to tell with the different pieces scattered around.  He remembered killing all but one of them.
The battle was over, but there was something grim to the air.  As he rechecked the bodies, he found two figures lying side by side, two figures distinctly not ponies.  The alpha and the den mother were dead, the male pierced by a pitchfork, and the female sliced in the face and chest.  
There was mourning among the pack as they sat by the bodies of their fallen parents, whining and howling sorrowfully as they reminisced in their presence.  Finally, after the moon reached midway across the starry sky, they left the bodies and the town behind them, retreating in a defeated fashion away from the loss.  When they arrived at the den, it was near immediately decided that he was the new alpha, as he was both the eldest and most knowledgeable among the shattered pack.  
Their numbers had been trimmed greatly since the summer, and now he felt the noose of winter tightening.  They still hadn’t acquired an adequate amount of food for the coming cold, and there was barely time left to the season before the snow would come.  So, the next day, despite their weariness from the battle and sorrow from their loss, they left for the gentle forest.
They passed the town with solemnity, sadly glancing to the bloodstained town and the bodies strewn around the hilltop.  While he didn’t quite see the gray bodies of the alpha and den mother, he knew that they lay there, among the bodies of their enemies.  This angered him, but he didn’t leave the pack to retrieve them and place them somewhere better.  He was the alpha now, and he couldn’t break off.  They needed to hunt now, or else they wouldn’t be able to mourn the lost pack members.  So, with a new resolution, he led them to hunt in the gentle forests.
They came back without any food.  The season had become too late now, and they hadn’t secured enough food by now.  The next day, they ate the cold corpses of the ponies, which only lasted the week.  By the end of the next week, snow had fallen, and by the moon’s waning, they were encased in the den.
That winter, they starved.