Warm. Safe. I hear the sounds of my brothers and sisters playing as i finally open my eyes for the first time. I feel the cold nose and hot breath of my mother as I look up at the she-wolf's warm, golden-brown eyes. She licks my face tenderly as I wag my tail. More and more adult wolves surround us as we're greeted with tail-wagging and baths from warm tongues. This is when we get our names. The others are anxious, letting out small yips of excitement. The oldest of the pack goes around, looking solemly into our faces and giving us names.
Kala, Nowla, Hunter, Razor, and Larka are the names given to the others, but when it's my turn everyone falls silent. Braisa, the elder, looks deep into my eyes, the gold in hers unsettles me, it showed sadness, not the warmth of my mother's. She takes a deep breath, the pack waits.
She nuzzles me tenderly, "You are destined for greatness little one, never forget that. Remember that we are desendents of an ancient race that is long forgotten Shadow, always remember that." I tilt my head to the side, What does she mean? She smiled slightly, "You'll learn soon enough Shadow, soon enough."
Suddenly there are shouts from outside the den, humans. They bring torches and guns that hurt my ears. They point toward us and suddenly we are running away, my mother is carrying me in her mouth. What's going on? Why are they chasing us? What did we do wrong?
More shots ring out as my mother runs for our lives, the fear for her pups pushing her faster and faster with Braisa carrying Kala behind me along with Aunt Tala and Nowla. Where are the others? I wonder silently, not daring to make a single noise that will give our possition away.
We hid all day until finally the shots stopped and we saw Roran carrying Hunter in his mouth gently, mother wines. Roran shook his great head, not all of us made it through the day. Mother threw up her white head and howled in mourning for all of those lost and we all join in, even the pups with their high-pitched yips and wails.
We're becoming another statistic, another fur rug, another trophy. We are the descendents of an ancient, dying race. Why are the humans hunting us? What do they want? What did we do wrong? Now i know the answer, so simple, yet so important. We live, we breath, we exist. Our pack moves on, we have no choice. We were forced out of the den the day our eyes opened and I can't help but wonder, will i be the last of my kind? Is that why I'm destined for greatness? I shiver and turn my thoughts to a new day, a new hope, and a faint dream of a time when we won't be hunted anymore.
