The golden wolf could not bring himself to bare yet another day of Shade’s shit and so he had wandered from his home among the Willows with every intention to hunt - despite his battered facade. It was nice to be out in the open meadow, so nice in fact that he allowed himself to drop his guard... He should have known better.

The scent came to him first. A twisted mess upon the breeze. It set his hackles on edge. So close to the Willows. Too close... A growl grew in his chest as his eyes darted across the snowy landscape, but there was nobody in sight. Perhaps it was an old memory come to haunt him like so many others? Perhaps it was all in his head.

It was the rustling that caught his attention at first. The rustle and the scent of prey. It wasn’t particularly sizeable, but it would be enough to fill his stomach at least. It was a shame the woodchuck’s were well below the frostline. The large rat would have to suffice instead. He moved, quicker than one may expect with his battered exterior and stiff foreleg. A satisfying crunch met his ears as the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. He settled down to enjoy his snack.

He cursed. Loudly.

There had never been a chance of him catching that rabbit —it was clear from the outset that the scrawny little thing was too fast for him. But he was hungry, so very hungry... and the thrill of the chase was the only thing that seemed to appease this hunger. Clumsily he skidded to a stop just outside the hole the creature had flung itself into only moments ago. Because it wasn't a real hunger for flesh and bone and blood like he had had in his past life. No. This was a hunger for the kill, a hunger to incite a riot, a hunger to spread the fear. This was Unelanuhi's task for him, and it was his task alone. He hadn't spoken to or seen any of the other Aniwayan wolves in nearly a fortnight... at least, not that he could remember. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for him to think back any farther than a few hours. Everything was just blurry and painted with red.

While madness had blurred his memory, it had only honed his instincts. Abruptly, the ragged beige wolf stiffened, remaining perfectly still in hopes of hearing more clearly the sound that had only tickled his ears moments ago. Crunching. Blood. He could hear it, he could smell it. A twisted glee fluttered in his stomach and brought a sickening smile to his features. Quickly, he raced towards the source of those delicious sounds of eating.

I'm not the only hungry one.

His satisfying crunching of the small rodent was interrupted yet again by that smell. His hackles itched to stand on end as he downed the last of his boney morsel and rose back to his aching feet. The scars that littered his hide pulled with the cold and his once fractured bones ached with a dull throbbing pain. A grimace was painted on his face as he took in the scents around him. Once, he could put down to bad memories. Twice? He could only hope that he was losing his mind.

The thundering of paws on snow and the crackle of bracken underfoot was enough to alert the unsuspecting man of the direction of the attacker? He tried to spin to face the unknown, but his aching joints just couldn’t move fast enough. The grey and beige beast was on a direct collision course, and all the battered man could do was brace himself for whatever was to come. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, but nor was he the wolf he once was.

The heathen didn't even attempt to get out of the way. Weak. These wolves made Slimtail sick. Almost as if this were a game of chicken, the patchy grey wolf did not slow, nor did he alter his path. Come on, he urged, willing the creature to bawk, to scare, Move, you bastard. But this golden wolf splashed in rabbit's blood, he only seemed to steel himself, to prepare for the worst.

Courage.

The sight was enough to make him sick. Did this wolf think that he stood a match against Slimtail — Slimtail, who was the chosen of the gods? Courage would not save this wolf. He was marked, marked with blood. He would fall, like all the others Unelanuhi called for. Frustration began to boil in the rabid monster who could not instill fear in this pagan. A snarl rumbled through his body.

At the last moment, the slim-tailed wolf sprang up and over the golden man lying on the ground. He landed with a heavy thud as his paws reconnected with the earth, but immediately he whirled about, not willing to give this heathen any advantage. Curdling foam dripped freely from his slavering jaws as he growled, "Hey there pretty boy." Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Now that he was closer, Slimtail could see that this man had gone through hell and back. His face was scarred and torn open, he was a tapestry of battle scars. He had earned this death.

The strange wolf launching over him was enough to put the golden wolf’s hackles on edge and already he knew this would be like no other encounter he had experienced in the Lore before. He took a moment to try and catch the scent of the other but all he could smell was the thick stench of that sickness. The one he thought he had escaped from. It left him gagging for air and incited a fear unlike any other. He wasn’t at home now, an uncle or parent wouldn’t step between him and this danger, and he was in no state to run.

Finally dragging himself to shaky feet, the golden wolf ignored the cutting words of the stranger, still oblivious to their audience. His head remained low while his tail drew level with his spine, tattered lips drawing back from his teeth as his torn ears lay flat to his skull. Narrowed eyes took in the stranger before him, the gathered foam about his lips, the heated maddened look in his brown eyes. The plain colouration of the strangers coat right down to his rat-like tail. There was little indication that the stranger was a pack wolf with the scent of his sickness overpowering all others.

He was torn between trying to flee to save his own hide and the desire to put such a threat so close to his home down... or at least attempt to. It would be down right embarrassing to return to the Willows with his tail between his legs. He would be unable to hold his head high allowing such a threat so close to his lady. No. His forelegs parted to allow him better balance and a low growl of warning left his chest. You are not welcome here. He aimed to hent the stranger about his midsection, hoping to keep his own out of the reach of those foam covered fangs, but even he knew his chances of doing so were slim.

• really going to keep these things short

With eagerness and a sneer, the rabid Aniwayan watched the native wolf climb back on to his feet. There was an effort to it, a fatigue, a hesitance that reeked of fear. And in that instant Slimtail knew he had won. No matter what was to happen next, he had won. Fear would claim them all, in the end.

Madness kept him sharp. Madness kept him alert. The rat-tailed wolf did not miss a beat. He sensed more than saw the broken, gold wolf lunge for him and instinctively Slimtail's body swiveled so that he would meet his attacker face to face. A sickening smile of excitement was stretched across his slavering lips as his jaws opened wide, seeking some thing to grab a hold of, something to tear.

Bleed, fucker, bleed

The sharp cutting of teeth into the loose ruff of his neck sealed his fate. He knew he could never return to the Willows now. They would have to be warned, but he wouldn’t be able to do so. Perhaps it was fate that rested his eyes on the copper coat of Sebastian... or Kiche, or whatever his name was. What was he doing here? But he couldn’t draw attention to the lowly wolf. It was with a pleading glance and a small whine that Kanosak drew on his reserves and pulled away from the vice like grip, forcing his eyes shut as he grit his teeth against the tearing of flesh from between the strangers teeth.

He didn’t look to Kiche again, trusting the wolf would remain low until he drew the others away. His aching leg would make him slow but he could at least draw the grey wolf away. Not wasting time with looking back, the golden wolf ran. Away from his pack lands and away from his pack mate, hoping beyond hope that the rat-tailed wolf would take the bait.