It's been two weeks since Jack took out those hunters and there's been no sign of any people pursuing us, the longest gap between fights in the 3 years we've been rogue. Normally, it's at least one or two duels per week, sometimes more, sometimes stronger opponents.

This is bad Isobel. They must be planning something big or working with werewolves to catch us. Human hunters often undertake the responsibility of tracking down rogues like us.  We must be on our guard.

I, for once, agree. The feeling something is coming hasn't gone either.

Even so, we have to hunt. They will probably do something later rather than sooner, so we should use that time to get stocked up on energy in case the energy is much more powerful than normal opponents. 

I internally grimace. I know what she means by stocking up: she will be tracking down the large herd of deer that roam the valley, and considering the size of the animals, they will be very messy to eat. No matter how accustomed I am to her brutal hunting methods, I can't help feeling guilty about the animals we kill.

It's part of my nature to hunt those below us on the food chain.

But not mine.

I never said that it was.

After taking a large draught of water from the fall, she treads towards the entrance of the cave, testing the air for unfamiliar scents and signs of a trap. Finding nothing out of place, she steps out of the entrance, wary of ambushes, still sniffing for foreign smells. Everything is quiet, tranquil almost. She suddenly bounds forwards out of the cave and straight into the forest, hot on the scent of the local deer herd.

We soon come across them drinking at the river, the younger ones under the watchful eyes of the wary adults who gaze around, waiting for our inevitable appearance. The oldest of them have experienced our attacks before and know better than to linger too long around water sources when in our valley, some of them stomping, a frequent sign that they are ready to bolt if we make one wrong move. Placing herself downwind, Jack selects her target with care, an old buck with a slight limp, inflicted by us in our last foray, a month ago maybe, maybe more. He will be easy to bring down.

She us about to break cover when a rustling nearby alerts us to the presence of some unseen animal, startling the deer who scatter. Not pausing for thought, she takes off, dashing through the woods, away from the noise, aware that the noise could have been the rustling of someone lying on wait for us. We have been ambushed before.

A loud howl slices through the air. Her instincts were right: we need to run. If they howled, they are alerting other wolves to their position meaning there are others on the area who now know our general location and will be coming to find us. There is the heavy tread of numerous paws pounding on the ground behind us, getting nearer, their loud pants drowning out all but the blood rushing in our ears, and there is a change in step suggesting one is about to pounce. Pushing ourselves harder to escape, Jack goes into a full out sprint, using all the energy gained in our large hunt yesterday to fuel our flight, a loud thump close behind, indicating someone sprang but missed.

We are rewarded for our effort, the snarls of the other wolves fading away behind us. The instinct warning us we are in imminent danger refuses to abate however, and it is confirmed when a small pack of wolves burst out of the woods to the side of us, picking up the chase, taking over from our previous pursuers. We're going to have to kill them if we want to escape.

Hurriedly, Jack lunges and breaks one of their necks, finishing off the other three in record time, desperation driving us to our limits as we keep running, blood dripping from our jaws and splattering on our fur, no doubt leaving a scent that is easy to follow. There is an opening up ahead, a clearing with subtly built up fences on either side of the animal worn track, creating a choke point. It's a trap.

Sprinting off to the right, Jack clears the fences with a mighty leap, heading back down towards the river in an effort to get to the water and make our trackers lose both our scent and that of the blood on our fur. We encounter no one on the way down. Clearly, they expected us to get caught in the trap.

She wades in the fast flowing river and heads upstream, fighting the current until we reach a large waterfall, and she scrambles out, scaling the rocks to the side of the waterfall, our body shaking with the exertion as we cling to the slippery rock faces. One wrong step and we could go plunging do our death on the unforgiving rocks below. We reach the top and she settles down on the cliff ledge, head resting on paws.

Good job Jack.

She silently acknowledges me and I block some of the pain I feel from our muscles to help her out a bit. She's exhausted, she needs all the aid she can get. There is a howl off in the distance but it is faint and it is the kind used to signal to end the hunt and give up rather than to persist in their current venture. Our body relaxes in relief; we made it. They didn't capture us. We're safe -for the moment.

Slowly, our energy returns, the ache in our muscles lessening, the pounding of our heartbeat in our ears quietening down to near silence. The day is cold, the cool air leeching through our thick fur into our bones, freezing us to an icy statue and exacerbating our exhaustion.

We need to keep moving.

I'm so tired.

No, we have to find shelter. Unless you want to die of hypothermia.

Fine, I'll move, I'll move.

Jack forces herself to her feet and heads towards the side of the gorge, searching for a cave to hide in. We soon find one and she dives inside without hesitation, weariness making her forgo all usual precautions. Thankfully, it's empty. We're safe. Jack collapses to the ground instantly, shattered from the day's events.

Thank you for making me move Iz.

No problem. I'm quite attached to life if you haven't noticed.

She gives a small laugh in her head, one which I join. It's good to talk to her like this again, like equals. I hate being at odds with her, yet I refuse to agree killing is always the right thing to do like she does.

You misunderstand. I kill because it is the only way to survive out here. If I didn't, we would have been captured at least three times.

There's no point arguing with her because she's right and there's nothing to be gained from a dispute between us. We both have to sleep, to regain our energy to hunt. This time, when everything fades to black, I too sink into the welcoming depths of sleep.

The next morning, the bitter-cold sun streams into the cave, forcing Jack to open her eyes, forcing us to awaken.

Hunting again today?

We need the energy. The risk is redundant at this point. They will catch us if we remain here. Why did I choose a cave with only one entrance?

I reluctantly retreat to the back of her mind; I wish we were part of a pack. If we were, we would never have to go hunting just to survive. We could be eating cooked baked goods, warm food. Food which actually tastes nice. Clean water. Have a proper shower and a wash - there's only so much you can do in wolf form to stay clean. I spend a good ten minutes reminiscing of my old life, remembering what it was like, the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow.

In the outside world, Jack stalks a deer, taking it down easily, slaughtering it the way she always does, going straight for the throat, and she eats her fill, the nourishment satisfying our crippling hunger. The wind suddenly changes direction, blowing downstream, towards the location of our previous chase. A loud howl pierces the silence, echoing around the valley; they know we're here. Taking off at a run, she loops around so the wind is no longer whisking her scent around into the noses of our pursuers but instead, making their's blow to us. Jack lifts her head in confusion.

What's wrong? I ask.

They're not moving.
Comprehension spreads over her thoughts and she dashes to the river banks and dives in without hesitation, hoping to lose our scent in the water.

They already know where we are.

Another howl echoes around the trees, closer; much, much closer, confirming her theory.

The scent of the dead deer must have drawn them here.

She ducks her head underwater and frantically swims upstream, heading for the waterfall we climbed yesterday, only rising for air when our lungs are near to bursting from pain. Each time we have to stay above the surface longer, further exposing ourselves to attack, but we have no choice. The plunge pool is in sight when a loud growl comes from our left. We peer right to see no one, a relief: they haven't found us yet.

She inhales deeply then dives under again, ignoring the ache in our muscles from the constant effort of paddling, and swims for the edge of the pool. Carefully peeking above the water, she spies nothing unusual and slowly steps out of it, water pouring off our coat, the fur soaking from the second heavy dosing in two days. Sniffing, she smells only the forest. Not that that indicates anything anyway; the wind is blowing away from us. Her legs are shaking, struggling to support our weight, and she nearly collapses to the floor.

Stumbling, she painstakingly scales the waterfall again, reaching our new cave home and falls to the ground. Her body refuses to move, the exertion having taken everything out of us. I am mute, sharing in her exhaustion.

We have to sleep.

No, they will find us if we do that.

And they'll find us if we don't.

If we're awake we can fight them off.

We don't have enough energy to fight!

We do, we just need to rest our paws. And arguing with you isn't helping.

I shut up, leaving her be.

Just wake me up if I'm about to sleep.

Sure.

I can feel her mind starting to drift off but she's desperately clinging onto consciousness. However, she finally gives in to the demands of our body and gives up resisting: we tumble into the trap of sleep.

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