Brother Moon, Sister Sun - Chapter 1

DUX

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"One must have survived..."

Ducita's bark was a level whisper, but the ice in her eyes was colder than the snow that fell serenely over them. 

Dux felt her chilling gaze wash over him, pleading for answers. Three immense grey wolves stood beside him. The last great warriors of their pack, perhaps even their kind.

They were exhausted. The battle had lasted well into the night, and the pack had lost many brothers and sisters. They were heading home to their tribe after what they thought would be the final assault on this district, but if their ears had not deceived them, their night was not over.

A "Belua" had survived, and by the sounds of him a big one. An angry one.

Dux, the alpha male, assessed his troops sympathetically. Feror, their most vicious soldier, bore the brunt of the damage. His coat was matted with blood, a dull maroon glowing in the snow. A large crooked gash streaked from the back of his right ear (which now hung by a few nimble threads) to the side of his neck.

To a civilian he would look close to death, but Dux was a seasoned veteran. There was more blood behind Feror's eyes than what was spilled tonight. His cuts were not deep, and the loss of his ear was superficial. He was ready to fight again, perhaps even excited to.

Dux gave Feror a curt nod, which was returned with gusto. He shifted his gaze to his second in command, Agisteri. The wise wolf showed no signs of damage, on first glance it would seem there was no difference between the wolf that entered their battle fresh, to the wolf that stood before them now. But the eyes do not lie. The cost of avoiding damage is exhaustion, and Agisteri was spotless. Once a bold young Feror had claimed that soldiers without battle scars were cowards. Many years fighting alongside Agisteri had changed his opinion. No easy feat. However, the fact still remained, Agisteri was the most tired of the four. When it came to killing a Belua, Dux assessed exhaustion as a severe battle wound. She was on her last legs.

Dux looked on towards his final soldier, his son, Pectus. The young wolf was a spitting image of his father, if not for his smaller size and lighter coat. He had fought alongside Dux as new warriors do, though three of the four young wolves had perished where Pectus had survived. Whether or not Dux had taken an active interest in keeping his son alive over his other soldiers, was a mental battle he would have if they survived the physical one looming before them. Dux's young heart was beating eagerly, and thought he was inexperienced, his health and alertness were great assets this late in battle. The only wolf in better shape than Dux's three soldiers was Ducita, their guide.

Ducita was not of their tribe. She was an Iberian wolf from the bordering Adcolian district. Sagax, Ducita's alpha, had ordered her to guide Dux's soldiers through the Adcolian wilderness in order to eliminate the Belua horde that had ravaged her tribe. She had led them to the Belua, but had kept a reasonable distance from the battle. Dux didn't blame her.

There was one last wolf for Dux to assess, and that was Dux himself. The gray wolf's hulking figure towered over the other four. From a distance you would swear a young Belua was walking towards you(and many young wolves had run home thinking so).

Up close his appearance was not much softer. Three jagged scars ran from the top of his great head to the tip of his snout, a part of his nose missing, as if his creator had forgotten to colour in his nose completely. His coat was the darkest shade of grey, that at night time he was merely a shadow. If you did not look twice at Dux, you would think him a beast, a true freak of nature. But the eyes of a wolf do not lie. You would find no savageness there. Behind those windows was an endlessly vast ocean. Beautifully tranquil and calm, but an immensely awesome power lay in its waters. Heaven help the fool who provokes a storm.

Dux took a deep breath, and prepared to speak. But before he could deliver his orders, a murderous, blood curdling roar broke the silence again. It was a true monster...and it wasn't far.

"Pectus, on me. We will approach it from the front. Feror, you will run as far East as you can without losing our scent. Agisteri you will do the same to the West. When you hear my signal, Feror will run like the hounds of hell are at his heels, and flank our unwanted guest with all his might."

Dux paused for the spirited (or bloodthirsty) response from Feror that usually followed his orders, but it did not come. He simply began moving East. A shadow of doubt crossed Dux's mind. Perhaps he had wrongly assessed his wounds. It was too late to re-plan, he would have to maintain faith.

He continued.

"Agisteri, I want you to conserve your energy, approach at a slower pace to assess the situation. If it's wounds are heavy, and you can finish him, you must...if we have failed completely, you must outrun the beast back to Domusta, prepare who is able for battle. "

"Understood." 

Agisteri gave a curt nod before heading West.

Dux turned to Ducita.

"This is where you leave us. You must go to Domusta and let my people know of what has transpired."

"I am honoured to have served alongside your warriors," Ducita replied, bowing low.

"Honour me by reaching Domusta in one piece," Dux said shortly.

Ducita bounded off to the north.

Dux moved closer to Pectus. Father and son, shoulder to shoulder. They stood in silence, but with calm understanding. Two wolves silhouetted against the beautifully layered snow, enjoying the small flakes that melted on their tired tongues.

CRACK

A large tree branch had snapped not too far in front of them, and the Belua's stench filled their noses.

"On guard son."

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FEROR

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Feror walked steadily East. He had hidden the extent of his wounds successfully from Dux. And his wounds extended from Adcolion to Domasta ten times over. A particularly vicious Belua had thrust a claw in-between his ribs to what felt like his lower lung.

Dux would have ordered him to go home if he had known, but Feror knew the odds. Agisteri was exhausted, and Pectus too young. That left only one able warrior, Dux, to fend off the attack.

Feror would not let his brothers and sisters die alone, just so he may live. Besides, there was no guarantee the healers in Domasta could fix him anyway.

But with each step, his breath began to get harsher, and a chilling thought began to invade Feror's mind.

What if I can't make it back to them?

The bloodied grey wolf came to a stop. He had a decision to make, and as a familiar smell tickled his nostrils, he would have to make it fast.

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PECTUS

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A strained, ragged howl pierced through the black night to the East.

"Feror?" Pectus questioned his father bewildered.

The young wolf's muscles were tight. His blood hot with anticipation of battle, but his concentration broken. Though he was a bold fighter, inheriting much of his instinct from his father, Pectus was still very inexperienced on the battlefield - improvisation was not his strong suit. He was slightly embarrassed that in this moment, he was relieved his father stood next to him in the snow.

Dux had not yet responded. His gaze was still fixed intently forward, where the tree branch had cracked. Even now, Pectus still found his fathers presence intimidating. He, like Agisteri was free from any battle damage, and he was not foolish enough to believe it was of his own doing. There were many instances where he was careless, not checking his blind spots often in the heat of his attacks, only to turn and see his father dragging an enemy from a hairs-breadth away. How many time did Dux render this service to his brothers and sisters? Dux had certainly kept his distance from Pectus on their way back home after battle.

"Should we go to hi-?"

"It's is moving away from us...to the East," Dux interrupted.

Pectus concentrated his efforts to his senses. It's scent was certainly fainter, and no longer in front of them. The snow had stopped falling. The night turned eerie. Like a bated breath before a plunge from a waterfall. He hated the water.

Suddenly, Dux bounded from his post. Galloping full speed to the East. Pectus only hesitated for a quarter second, before following his leader.

His muscles were tight again, his blood hot, and head steady. The chase was on.

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FEROR

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The snow fall had ceased. Most wolves would think this ominous, but Feror was thankful. The blood from his torn ear had begun to trickle over his left eye, hindering his visibility. The snowfall only impaired his vision further.

His breaths were slow, and ragged. The howl had overexerted him, but he needed it to carry not only to Dux, but to Agisteri too. He now remained on his haunches, conserving as much energy as he could for his final battle.

In the quiet, Feror allowed his mind to wander back to Domusta. The midnight hunting party would have left not long ago. He longed to join them again. His family. Agisteri, would have brought up one of her theories of how their world came to be, and it would only be a matter of time before the conversation descended into one of their late night squabbles. The thought brought him comfort. Feror wondered whether he would ever see her again, and his mood dimmed.

The stench of Belua had been all he could smell for the last ten minutes, he was getting sick of it. Either the blackness of the night was melding with the shadows of the woods in front of him, or his condition was deteriorating. This wasn't a big problem. The Belua weren't known for their subtlety. He would be able to fight one of this size blind, but he would prefer not to do so.

Just when his calm began to border on impatience, a large shadow started to grow from the edge of the woods. It extended slowly for about two metres, before coming to a stop. It was as if a boulder had rolled out of the trees. If he had fought one as large as this before, he could not remember it. It was roughly three times his height, and at least ten times his weight. The boulder remained deathly still. It was sizing him up.

Feror let out an involuntary whine. His head was now throbbing with pain, his blood hot with fever, and his muscles cramping. This was his end.

A burst of furious adrenaline pumped through his veins, at displaying weakness before his enemy. His bloodied lips curled into a vicious snarl.

"Go on. You've had me waiting long enough. Pig." he barked, with venom.

A deafening roar erupted through the pitch black sky. It came down on him like an avalanche. Within momemts, the Belua was within feet of Feror. The ground began to shake beneath his paws, as if a herd of wildebeest were stampeding his way. He could see it's bone white fangs, six inches long, jagged and cruel. It's wicked claws glinting metallic in the moon light. There was vile carnage in its eyes. Feror's legs began to buckle. His body would not allow him to fight.

Feror closed his tired eyes. The impact lifted him off his paws.

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