What kind of world to we live in,
Where Love is divided by Hate?
Losing control of our feelings,
We all must be dreaming this life away.
In a world so cold...

--World So Cold, 12 Stones

Normally, life was fairly stable in the Aspen Heights.

Puppies were sheltered in the cool, stone cavern that was called a den. Coyotes feared its depths, spreading tales of a giant bear that guarded it, allowing only wolves to make such a home, under the promise that he would be fed his dues once a month. Bears themselves hated it, being too large to nest in it. And eagles were simply too lazy to land.

It was considered the best area in which to raise a family. The flowers growing around the base of it were seen as good luck charms, guarding den and family against unpleasant threats.

But as far as Seven was concerned, he was anything but lucky.

In terms of his color, his palette, he could be considered the ultimate hybrid. Dressed in his mother’s charcoal, his father’s rust peppered throughout, he was considered a beauty in his own right. His only unique feature, the only thing he could claim as his own, were his blazing orange eyes, tongues of flame that told the hardships of three months of life.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Seven cringes at the sound. He eyes look solemnly towards the direction of the cattle ranch, knowing that another foolish wolf overstepped his confidence – and paid for it with his life.

While Seven himself had never seen the ranch, he vowed to never even try and glance a peek at such a place. When he was just six weeks old, just old enough to crawl out of the stoned cavern that was his birthplace, the family was under duress. He and his siblings were the first pups born within the newest generation of leaders; all before him had long died, leaving just him, his sisters, and his mother and father, Saya and Ten.

However, such was not the issue at hand. A mass shortage of elk and food in general was the problem; the youngest puppy, Amaya, would die soon without something to eat, and Saya and Ten hemmed and hawed continuously before deciding to take the ultimate gamble.

One night, both parents left, telling Seven and his siblings that they were to remain strictly within the shelter of the den. Seven was the closest to the exit, with his sisters Surri and Mitea behind him, Amaya taking up the rear. He had no idea what his parents were planning, and the more the time ticked by, the more anxious he became.

Hours passed, with no hints of his parents nearby; no howls, so scents. Breaking the words of his parents, Seven ventured out, Surri and Mitea not too far behind him; Amaya, however, crawled out forcefully, not wanting to move, but not wanting to be left alone either, whimpering pathetically. While Surri, Mitea, and Seven were as hungry as they had ever been, Amaya was starving, her ribs clearly visible in the moonlight. Surri turned back around to stand over the dying, crying female, feeling a strange sense of dread and despair washing over her.
Seven called out in a vain attempt to establish contact with his mother and father, only at the last second realizing his mistake as Mitea tackled him with the hope of silencing him.

But it was too late.

It had been too late before they had even set foot out of the den.

Minutes later, Saya and Ten finally returned home, their stomachs full with food; but it wasn’t without a price to pay either.

The blood slithering from Ten’s leg terrified Seven, and when he tried to ask what happened, Ten hushed him, telling him to never walk the path they just took.

Although Saya remained unscathed, albeit shaken, and his father’s wounded leg was the only injury sustained, Seven pondered if it had really been worth such a seemingly dangerous effort; Amaya was now nothing but fur and bones in the jaws of a coyote; the puppies had retreated to the safety of the den and watched in horror as the hungry predator snatched up her dead body, hearing the sickening cracking and plucking of bones and fur before the coy scampered off upon catching the scent of the alpha pair returning. He left nothing except small tufts of Amaya’s fur on the ground.

Their grieving was seemingly forever; their children had been alive for only six weeks, and already, one child was dead. Their howls carried the song of death and immense grief, the children crying as well. Although only one child had died that night, it felt as if the entire litter had fled to the other side. Nearby packs sang as well; a loss in one pack was considered a loss to every pack.

And it was then that they all realized; life was no longer as stable as it used to be.

Seven had been so lost within his thoughts, his memories, that he didn’t even notice that a small, black female wolf had settled herself beside him. Turning to her, he cracked a somewhat forced smile at his sister, Mitea, as she smiled back, only to frown.

“Something wrong?” she asked, Seven looking away from her as she did so.

“Nothing, really. Just thinking, that’s all.”

Out of the four original puppies, he and Mitea were the only ones left standing by the end of the journey to the rendezvous point in the Douglas Fir Slopes. No longer than two days after Amaya’s death, Surri ventured too far from the den, only to be clasped in the claws of an eagle, much like an insect in the jaws of a Venus Fly Trap.

More seemingly endless grieving, more despair coating the landscape.

Perhaps the pack had been cursed.

Seven nursed that thought over and over, although the journey the day after went by without too much trouble, save for a few voracious coyotes looking for an easy meal. After the loss of two puppies just within two days of each other, Saya and Ten refused to lose another child to anything. They guarded them over zealously, the children being their most valuable treasure. Instead of letting the children walk beside them, they opted to carry them to rendezvous point; since there were two puppies and two mouths, it seemed like the logical choice.

And still, coyotes thought they could simply snap the puppies from their jaws, like sharks in a feeding frenzy. By the end of the journey, the plains were stained with the blood of many, crows gathering from all around to feed on the fresh carcasses. At his age, Seven pondered why they couldn’t simply eat the coyotes themselves. They were dead, after all. They mind as well feed them.

Despite coyotes being our enemies, to feed on another canid is to feast upon our own kind.

At least, that was how his mother put when he and Mitea asked. They couldn’t really understand it; sure, they kind of looked like them, albeit a bit smaller, but they kept trying to eat them. Why not eat them in return, make them feel what it was like to be feasted on like a piece of garbage?

And even now, at three months of age, they still didn’t truly understand the strange workings and customs of the other wolves. Perhaps it was just an adult thing, a silly rule designed to make themselves look civil. While the majority of the wolves they had met seemed nice enough, Seven couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to their friendly orbs staring at them than just sweet gestures.

Couldn’t a smiling face and kind glance hide a cruel grin and bloodthirsty stare?

Seven shuddered at the thought, and slapped it away, preferring ignorance to chance in this delicate moment where brother and sister shared a moment beside each other. There was no play fighting, no arguing over trivial things such as who got the bigger slab of meat; in this moment, they were of one mind, one body.

And they’d be damned if such a moment was spoi-

BANG!

Both wolves yelped as the sound of yet another shotgun resounded in the distance. This one sounded louder, more stronger than the previous one. Perhaps the farmer decided to invest in something a little more formidable in the second round, hoping that it would scare away any would-be hunters in the future.

Seven scoffed, and Mitea snorted, both knowing that such a thing would deter no one. Disease hunger, desperation, and curiosity drove many to their deaths at that place; they did not care what awaited them – all they knew was that they had to see something, to bite something, other than themselves and each other. They either wanted food, or they wanted an adrenaline rush. And sometimes, they got both.

However, Greed is the most dangerous sin.

Still, despite such, they felt a small twang in their hearts whenever they heard the gunshots. They had yet to notice the scent of anyone escaping unharmed from the ranch.

But perhaps it was simply because the blood was too thick in the air to catch it.

Hearing a low, thumping sound, Seven turns to his sister, to see her flopped onto her back as their father towers over her, her tail hitting the ground as it wags back and forth. Seven feels a presence on top of himself, and he instinctively rolls over onto his back, to stare into the white-grey eyes of his mother. Both sire and dam nuzzle the young wolves, before gazing solemnly over at the horizon, in the direction of the cattle ranch.

They too, tire of hearing the noise, of smelling the bloodshed, of the occasional baying of a guard dog; they could only wish that a human hadn’t been so moronic enough to set up camp within the range of not just one, but several wolf packs. It made no sense to them, and it saddened them that man’s hands could produce such weapons and give themselves the upper hand.

But perhaps someday, there will be no humans left on this vast range. Perhaps someday, they’ll tire of this land, and move elsewhere; even better yet, perhaps they’ll just grow tired of raising cattle, and set them loose into uncharted territory, their inexperience of the wild giving wolf, bear, and coyote alike an easy meal; unlike the wapiti, whom knew of the dangers and banded together like brothers and sisters, sires and dams, acting like a living fortress for the sick and young.

But such a dream, such a hope, would take time, and both parents and children knew that. Until then, all they could do was hold their ground, and pray that the humans came no farther into their land, while at the same time hoping that someday, not a single shot would ring out, not a single wolf would ever dare venture into that chamber of death.

Perhaps then, life could become more stable again.

BANG!

But as far as Seven was concerned, calling life even “somewhat stable,” at this point was the biggest lie ever told.