I creep slowly through the underbrush, nose to the air, sniffing for prey. Of course, I catch the scent of nothing. The disease and the humans have wiped the forest nearly clean of food. Even the birds are quiet. More avians are alive than ground mammals, as it is much harder to infect them due to their speed and small size. Though, unfortunately, most of the larger birds of prey like eagles and owls have fled these lands, as all of their prey is gone. Their wings can carry them much farther than my fellows and my paws. The skies seem lonely and empty without their wings.
        I found that I couldn't bring myself to hunt with another Pack member on this day. Whitetail's words of warning keep coming back to me. Who do you think you can trust? He had told me cryptically. Truth be told, I don't know. He told me that I would know soon, but what if I slip up and trust the wrong wolf?                    
        I let out a sigh as I allow myself a break to be alone with my thoughts, to mull over my mind silently. I sit down in a small clearing, guarded by the sparse, windblown pines. The empty area could probably only fit about three wolves at maximum. Good thing that I'm hunting alone. There has been no need for hunting patrols anymore, as all of the large prey animals have either died or migrated to escape the disease.
       I feel so bad for Oak. The poor pup keeps asking when our next hunting mission will be, and I cannot lie to him. He can't go out alone due to the danger, and no adult wolf has time to bring him. He is very crestfallen, but he understands everything that's going on completely. These forests are hardening him into an adult quickly, as they did every wolf in the Pack. Including myself. Out here, you have to mature fast or die.
       I wish it could be anything else, but this is the truth of the wild. I keep my hopes high, praying that some day in the future, pups will have peaceful and long childhoods.
       I realize that mulling over my thoughts is not helping me. It is only making me weaker with sadness. I force myself to my paws, shaking my pelt out instinctively. The skies are overcast, and I can smell flurries of snow on the wind. I can tell that they will begin to fall soon. But it's no storm, so I plan to continue as long as I can. Maybe I'll manage to bring something back.
        The dry snow crunches beneath my paws as I move forward in a brisk trot. I am in the Southern area of Whitetail Valley, where the trees are thinner and small, sparsely scattered across the snow. In the Northern area, the trees stretch to the skies, packed so close together that a large caribou clips its antlers constantly on the branches.
       This southern area of the territory is my favorite. The sparse trees leave the sky open, and many larger animals roam the expanse. Unfortunately, they're all gone now. I'm not searching for them.
       My paws are carrying me to Whitetail Caverns. They are beautiful, long and twisted ice caves that travel deep into the earth like the veins of an animal. With most of the forest empty, I assume there's a possibility that a few animals have fled there to hide. It's very easy to get lost in the caverns, but over the years, we've developed our own techniques. In the past, the great leader Whitetail killed the resident bear and used its blood to mark his path so he could escape again. Unfortunately, there aren't exactly any bears lying around. Then again, I don't ever want to see a bear again after what that grizzly did to my eye.
       I halt in my tracks once my eyes land on the glacier where the entrance of the cave resides. The sheet of ice is tall and imposing, but the cave dips far below it. No wolf has ever reached its deepest chambers, and I doubt any ever will.
       The mouth of the cave is situated between the glacier and the ground below, the hole triangular and concealed slightly by boulders and chunks of ice. My ears perk as I pad into the cave. I'm feeling especially optimistic, as it doesn't appear that any wolf has been here in a few weeks. My posture tall, I stride confidently over the thin layer of snow that blankets the first few feet of the tunnel.
      The walls are pure ice, and so is the ground. It slopes downward, and I find my paws scrabbling in an attempt to keep upright. I dig my blunt claws into the ice, but it's been frozen for hundreds of years. The thin scratches from my feeble claws are nothing, as there are so many like it from past wolves. I can imagine even the great Whitetail struggled with this decline, and I can't help but chuckle when I envision it.
      With every step I find it easier to find my footing, and start walking relatively normally after a good fifteen minutes. The tunnel starts to narrow, and long ice stalagmites and stalactites adorn the cave. It is growing darker and darker, but an odd light seems to radiate from the ice, creating an eerie atmosphere. I almost feel like I'm being watched.
       I suddenly find myself in an area where the tunnel forks into several different paths. I take my time deciding, sniffing the air for any animal that may have passed through. The furthest left smells of fox, and I see some thin clawmarks in the ice. It's obvious which I'll choose.
        The entry is very small, but I continue. The top of the cave is pushing my ears down, and it annoys me greatly. But a den of foxes would feed a few wolves, so I continue.
        My Pack does not usually eat foxes, as they're revered as one of the more intelligent animals, and they resemble wolves when judging by features. But in times of desperation, the only thing we will not eat is other wolves. And I pray we never have to go that far.
       The scent of fox grows stronger the farther I go. It must be a den, as I can smell multiple. Only a few minutes pass before I fall upon fox droppings. I'm getting very, very near, and the scent is very strong. I hope that their den is at a dead end, so I don't have to give chase. Running through this place seems like a pain, and my larger size may not be able to keep up with the swift foxes. Their claws are sharper than mine, and will dig into the ice better.
       I inch slowly around a large stalagmite, and my eyes fall on a few foxes curled up together. Fast asleep. Even better, the tunnel ends here. They won't be able to flee. Just looking at them makes me salivate. I'm so hungry. But before I attack, I plan to observe them a bit. One adult, and three adolescents. Perfect.
        Quietly, I creep closer. When the adult's ear twitches as my claw strikes the ice wrong, I decide to strike.
       The kill is easy. These tired foxes do not expect such a large animal to hunt them down, and I attack swiftly enough so that they don't have time to fight back. I'm tempted to eat them all right now, but I don't plan to eat a bite. I've had more to eat than most of the Pack, as I was able to fish a bit at Storm Creek with Dodge. The others are more hungry than I am.
       I have to open my mouth wide to carry all of them, but luckily, they are not too heavy to bring with me. They are unfortunately thin, though. Thinking about it, I've seen no small mammals for a long time. Is it the disease? Or did the humans kill all of them, too? I doubt it was the humans, as the creatures are too small for their guns to hit.
       I shrug off these questions, as I know that I cannot answer them yet. But I am cheerful about this kill today. I haven't had a successful hunt in a long time. Not since I went on Oak's first hunting patrol.
        I continue forward, lugging the foxes in my mouth. Four of them. I'm barely even listening to the cave for danger or more prey. But even I cannot ignore the sudden scent that strikes my nose. It was not here before, and it smells strong and fresh.

                  The scent of death.

      The smell is so familiar, but it takes me a moment to place it. It is the smell of rotting flesh, but with a bit of fresh wound mixed in. Like an animal that is dying, but doesn't want to give in just yet. It smells like the diseased deer, rotten and hopeless.
      My face falls and I prick my ears, straining for any sound. I can't back away, because it'll trap me in the cave. My entire body shaking, I slowly move forward. The scent gets stronger with every step, and when the cave takes a sharp turn, I hear a snarl. I can tell that whatever created it is just beyond the bend. I catch the sound of a nose sniffing, mixed with horrific, gurgling growls resonating through the ice.
     I nearly drop the foxes, but I shiver and clamp down my teeth. Just as I adjust my grip, a shadow slides across the wall of ice. Another fox. But this one is hunched over and emaciated, diseased and ragged.
       I know that it will move around the bend soon, and it is better if I surprise it instead of it doing the same to me. I carefully put down my foxes and creep forward. Just as my snout pokes slightly into the diseased fox's vision, a bark with a bloody twist cuts through the quiet.
       I barely move out of the way when the gaunt, scrawny creature launches itself at my face. The fox was inches away from biting me. And I don't think I could get away with being bitten twice. It's surprising that the disease didn't get me earlier from of the Burmese Mountain Dog, but I assume that it hadn't adapted to wolves yet. But I know that it is strong enough to infect me now. Multiple wolves have been infected at this point.
      The fox's pelt is marked and bloody, with large patches of fur missing. Large wounds cover it, and the majority of them are rotting. It slams against the wall of ice, causing small frozen crystals to fall from the roof. I reassure myself, thinking that this place is sturdy, as it's held up for generations. But I still worry.
       But how do I kill the fox without getting any of its blood in my mouth? I can't bite it, and wolf claws aren't really meant to slice. But the creature is still on the ground, so maybe I can step down on it until it suffocates.
       I leap at it, blunt claws extended, but it lifts itself up and bolts to the side. I land on the ground at an odd angle, sliding into the wall and probably bruising my side badly. I yelp out in pain, ears flattening to my skull. Several maggots fall from the fox's mangled ribs.
        It's amazing that the fox is still able to stand up, as I can literally see exposed bone on one of its hind legs and ribcage. This disease appears to keep them fighting until they physically can no longer move, I assume. No matter how much it hurts them, no matter how much blood is spilled.
        The thing turns to face me, eyes deranged and teeth bared. A growl is directed at me, and I return it with a vicious snarl. The fox launches itself at me again, but this time, I'm ready. My forepaw connects with its face, and the diseased beast goes flying to the side.
The fox hits the wall with a whimper, and slides to the ground. The already weak animal must have broken a few bones, as a loud crunch resonated through the tunnel. It can obviously not move, but it is still alive.
       The red fox is dying. Its chest is heaving, and whimpers escape its bloodied mouth. I stride over sorrowfully before deciding how to put it out of its misery. I raise a front paw, and step down on its head. It doesn't take long to crush it, as its bones are so, so weak. Even I feel bad, killing it like this. But it is kinder this way.
       This battle left me unwounded, not accounting for my aching side from hitting the wall. I sigh, and go to retrieve the foxes I killed before. They may have been the rest of the diseased one's family.
       Leaving the caves is a relief. The sun is going to set soon, but I can most likely make it back to camp before then. Just in time to get these foxes to the Pack.
       I remember when I was younger, I used to plead to be allowed to explore the caverns. Even now, I am curious as to what lies in its depths. But now, the blood of the disease has run there, and the walls will hold it in. My paws no longer wish to stray into the depths of the earth. The tunnels will probably be untouchable for centuries to come, maybe even an eternity.