Wolf

Cyrus sat alone atop the ridge which ran through the middle of his packs territory.  Fifty kilos of bone and raw muscle; he was old and weary. His coarse grey fur flecked with snow-white strands, kept him warm from the chill winter winds.  He had been the alpha male for ten years. Over the last two months he had faced three challenges to his leadership. The result had been costly to the pack. His two rivals had been injured and for a moon they had been unable to hunt. The last battle had resulted in a death and injuries to him, a long cut along his flanks and a torn ear. He knew he did not have the strength to survive many more disputes.

His one good ear pricked up with the sound of someone approaching. From his high vantage point he could make out the distinctive coloring of his mate. Her coat of pure black shimmered silver in the morning light. With care, she maneuvered through the twisted trees and climbed up and around the scattered granite boulders to lie with him. They lay in silence. The sounds of the forest flowed around them and the rays of the sun warmed them. It was Saskia who broke the stillness.

“You're not to blame Cyrus. It wasn't in Shen’s make up to admit defeat. Courage and obstinacy run in your line."

She moved closer and began to lick the blood from his ear. He leaned into her and squirmed with both enjoyment and pain at the gentle ministrations she was inflicting on him.

“Shen had no choice. He recognized I am slowing and that my decisions are becoming more cautious. He did right by challenging me; but I will never relinquish leadership of the pack. I intend to fight till the end. A new leader should rise victorious over the old for the pack to have confidence in him.”

Cyrus tensed and pulled away from Saskia. His hearing had alerted him once more. Something was wrong. He focused on the sounds of movement below and spied the shadowy outline of a white wolf; battle-scarred and as large as he. The wolf moved in a sinuous manner through the dappled light reflected from the trees.  Saskia had also sighted the interloper. She raised her muzzle to the heavens and let out a long sustained howl. Ten others, unseen, joined her chorus from many scattered points of the compass. The white wolf froze. Surrounded, he assumed a relaxed position and waited.

They negotiated the path to the forest floor to greet their “guest.” Cyrus drew to within five meters before stopping. They locked gazes. From the surrounding trees, ghost shapes appeared and drifted in until the pack encircled them. Low growls emanated from the watchers. The white wolf showed little concern. As Alpha, it was up to Cyrus to speak for the pack.

“Welcome. What brings you to our territory?”

Ignoring the others, the white wolf concentrated on Cyrus.

“My name is Tyree. I come from Baltazar”

The forest stills and the sun loses its warmth. It is a name spoken in whispers. A name used to terrify cubs and make all wary of shadows; a name of a conqueror and destroyer.

“My Lord Baltazar has decided to honour you with his protection.”

Cyrus’s mind processed the words that the white wolf had spoken. There had been many rumors of late whispered on the winds as it whistled through the trees; of territories being overrun and control of the packs being handed to Baltazar.  He was forging an empire; thousands of wolves and many hundreds of square kilometers of land. If what he had heard was true, his pack would be wiped out and become but a memory. His peripheral vision showed the shocked expressions exhibited by the rest of the pack at this declaration. They bared their fangs at this harbinger of threats and destruction to their way of life.

“Why has your master decided to turn his face in our direction?”

“Yours is the last free clan this side of the mountain. Ren to the north and Filip to the south have capitulated. Otis to the east and his followers said no. They are no more.” Cyrus’s voice was unemotional.

“So our choices are few. We either live under your command, or die!”

Tyree answered with a simple, “yes”. So much meaning packed into one word.
Cyrus sat on his haunches and thought; his eyes though, never left Tyree. He must not let this happen. His pack must survive, no matter what the cost. What alternatives did he have?

“How long do I have to think about your kind offer?”

“Till the sun rises high and casts no shadow.”

“What is to stop us from tearing you apart and scattering your body to the four corners of our territory as a warning?"

Tyree did not flinch at this threat. The sides of his mouth turned up into a lazy grin. Taking a deep breath, he let loose a howl that reverberated and echoed through the trees for kilometers. It reached a crescendo and stopped. There was silence. An answering howl gave voice in the distance. Then another…and another…and another, till the forest was alive with the sound – then there was silence once more. He realized Tyree would make good his threat if they did not capitulate.

Cyrus closed his eyes. He was tired beyond belief.

“Is your master an honorable wolf? Does his word hold true?”

“Yes and yes.” Tyree looked hard at Cyrus. He put his head to one side, trying to work out where this conversation was going.
“Then, I challenge Baltazar for leadership of this pack.”

Eyes swung to Cyrus and then back again to Tyree. Tyree looked amused.

“Baltazar will not fight you. I am his champion and I will fight if we must. If I win, your clan will bow before Baltazar. If you win, your clan will be free wolves; untouched and free to live life as you will within your territory. Do you accept these conditions?”

“I accept your terms. Go now and tell your companions on what has transpired here. When you lose, will they honor the terms we have decided?”

A chuckle escaped Tyree's throat and he grinned as he answered. “They will.”

“Then go now. On your return we will settle.”

Tyree stood up and with a salute of his tail, headed back the way he had come. Cyrus watched until he disappeared. He turned to Saskia. From the droop of her tail and the down-turn of her ears, he could sense the sadness within her. The others from the pack now closed around him pressing close; offering comfort and strength to their leader. They knew the odds did not favor Cyrus.

Time passed.
Cyrus sat at the front of his pack. He appeared relaxed. The others of his pack had taken up station behind him; outwardly showing every confidence in their leader. Tyree walked into the clearing followed by two huge black wolves. He gave a rumble deep in his throat and his companions retreated to the outskirts of the clearing. He moved to stand before Cyrus.

“It doesn't have to be this way. You can instruct your clan to surrender to me. They will not be ill-treated in any way.”

“No. It is their only chance of living free. Are you sure your master will honor of what we spoke?”

“Yes. I have brought two of my commanders to witness the outcome. Win or lose, what transpires here will be respected.”
Cyrus, in a low voice growls; “So let us begin.”


With no hesitation, he flung himself at the white wolf. Tyree managed to avoid the first rush and countered with a snap of jaws at Cyrus’s leg. Spinning, he managed to extricate his paw with minimal damage, but first blood went to Tyree. They faced each other. Ferocity etched on each other’s face; neither giving ground to the other. Guttural rumbles echoed from the throats of both as they charged and meet in mid-air. Claws slash and jaws struggle to find a solid grip on the other’s throat. Cyrus stumbles and falls on his side. Tyree follows with his full body weight, trying to pin the struggling wolf to the ground. A veteran of many fights, he manages to roll away from the younger wolf. They stand and face each other once more. Their chests are heave as they struggle to draw breath. Again and again they launch themselves at each other; each trying to achieve that vital clamping of jaws about their opponent's throat. They separate. Tyree is bleeding from a rip across one eye. Cyrus has fared no better. The blood is flowing from multiple minor scratches and a damaged leg now has rivulets of blood coursing to the ground. He knows he cannot continue the fight much longer. He staggers and his leg collapses beneath him. Tyree sees his chance and rushes in to finish him; just as the old wolf had planned. Cyrus quickly rolls under Tyree’s attack and comes up beside him. With a mighty closing of his jaws he manages to hold to Tyree’s throat.  Heaving and tossing, Tyree struggles to break the hold, but to no avail. Cyrus’ jaws clamp even tighter. He will not let go. The struggling wolf becomes weaker and weaker. A low whimper of submission slips from the white wolfs throat. Cyrus releases him and staggers back to his pack, who rush to surround him; nuzzling and licking his wounds.

The two black wolves stand over Tyree as he struggles to rise and face the pack. He raises his head high, finding it difficult to speak.

“Well fought old wolf. Your packs destiny is not tied to Baltazar. This territory is yours to control with no interference.”

Cyrus labors to get his words out. “Are you sure Baltazar will honor the outcome?”

A wry grin spreads across the face of the wolf known as Tyree.

“I know this for certain; for I am Baltazar.”

With that, he turns and moves off through the trees, never to be seen again.

……….

Cyrus lived for another two years and led his pack well, before he was ousted by his son. Baltazar controlled his empire for five years and then suddenly disappeared and his name fades into legend…But that’s another story.

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