The Pack by Sean Hart 2009©

I stare off into the distance. The cold, glistening distance. The white, frozen water has fallen, allowing me to cover my entire being as I slowly walk through my territory in the forest where the white circle is above. The opening I venture forth into has something of great need to me: a small hare. I duck my head, feeling the frozen blanket brush up against my neck. The hare is soon joined, one by one, with its kin, as am I with my brothers and sisters. As the smell of food entices me, I begin to grow anxious, licking my lips as I taste the air. I look to my right, noticing a brother whining softly with impatience. I growl lowly and he soon calms himself. Another growl, and my siblings, more obvious then I, begin to traverse along the opening, creating a wall decorated by different shades of gray, showing off both power and grace as they block escape. When our positions are taken, one hare raises its ears, turning them and twitching its nose as it notices something is amiss. I bark, and the attack ensues. Barking and growling commences, and soon my brethren collide with our prey, as do I. The hares scramble, screaming and dashing about, but none are able to escape as they are slowly picked off one by one. When the attack has finished, blood has stained the tundra. I hold the final hare in my jaws, and quickly break its back, the taste of blood filling my mouth. I place the prey on the ground; dip my muzzle into the white water, emerging clean as I shake off my white fur. I raise my head in a howl of victory, my pack joining me. When the call is finished, we take the meal in our mouths and travel back to our pack to feast.

The moon shines delicately, accompanied by the stars’ glow. The cicadas are out, singing their harsh song as their short lives are lived to their fullest ability. A bull frog croaks, echoing along the distance as its call reaches my every corner, my every edge. Lights along the hill to my side began to dissipate one by one, soon joined by more and more along my perimeter. Vehicles traverse my boundaries, parking at their homes for the night. The bull frog and the cicadas soon stop for a moment, and for once there is complete silence… until a sound breaks the barrier of peace. A motor rumbles on my wall, making its way slowly to the center of my face, Ripples on my surface have enticed one man to catch his next meal. He casts. Nothing. He casts once again. Nothing. Hours upon hours of casting, rippling, jerking, and nothing fruitful appears from my depths. Then, with a stroke of luck and a gust of wind on his side, the perfect cast produces a smash on my surface. The glass is broken with jumps, leaps, dives and swerves until a monster is stolen from my care. But that is life. Humans need to eat as well, and my vast options keep them here, swimming, fishing, and hoping for the next big fish to appear again.