Blizzard for years dreamed of this moment his return to Shadow Pack. Always in my mind the image was the same. Warm. Familiar. Alive.
He saw tall black pines blowing in the wind, their shadows cast far out on the ancient stone paths. He saw pups playing in the training grounds, their laughter filling the air. He saw elders in circles which they had sat in for years, passing down stories that had been told for ages. He saw home not just the place but the people which made it whole.
He also felt that which.
That quiet certainty.
That grounding peace.
That which he never found elsewhere.
Southern herbs, coastal rain, desert spice, old mountain stone. But none of that was home. None of it was Shadow Pack.
As he reached the edge, he took a deep breath in, which brought to him the smell of home's smoke.
Instead—
…nothing.
No scent of wolves.
No lingering warmth.
Only silence.
Blizzard paused.
A knot formed in his stomach.
He went on to the old and secret wolf lands that were the Shadow Pack's territory which is also one of the oldest in memory. Few ventured in there, which the Shadow Pack left that way on purpose. For years they had lived in that which was left alone. Also for eons the Shadow Pack had thrived in that isolation.
But now, standing before it…
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
At first everything seemed quiet.
Not peaceful still.
Not night-at-rest still.
A hollow, unnatural stillness.
The trees stood still, their branches rigid instead of moving. No birds took flight. No insects buzzed. The air was thin, cold, brittle like a held in breath.
Blizzard's heartbeat quickened.
This isn't right.
He stepped deeper into his homeland.
His boots broke the silence, too loudly. His steps should not have echoed like that not in a world of the living.
He passed by the first group of huts, eyes on the shadows for motion, for a familiar face, for anything.
Nothing. Sure, please provide the text that you would like me to paraphrase.
He swallowed hard.
Shadow Pack was never still. At dawn or before, there was always movement of training, of cooking, of tending pups, of preparation for the day. There should have been life in everything. Noise in the air. Scent on the wind.
But all Blizzard found was emptiness.
He clenched his jaw as worry crept up his spine. His pace slowed, each step more careful than the last. He had been away for a while, yes but not for long enough that the entire pack just. disappeared.
Then he saw it.
A shape.
A figure by the old council hall.
Blizzard's breath caught.
Relief hit him for a half beat, a storm of emotion.
But then his eyes focused.
And the relief shattered.
The figure wasn't moving.
Not breathing.
Not alive.
Frozen. Sure, please provide the text that you would like me to paraphrase.
Frozen solid -- in the act, at the peak of it, eyes wide, face caught in a instant of fear.
Blizzard's stomach dropped.
He ran forward, only a few inches from the figure. His hands were shaking as he put out his hand to touch the wolf's shoulder. It was cold. Not cold like ice in the snow that was stone.
He leaned closer.
The wolf's coat was still, frozen in the moment everything went wrong.
Blizzard spoke. His voice broke. "No, no, no.
He staggered back, breath ragged. His heart pounded in his ears. He turned around, eyes sweeping over the pack lands.
And that is when he saw also.
Everywhere. Sure, please provide the text that you would like me to paraphrase.
Wolves—dozens of them—frozen in time.
Some standing.
Some sitting.
Some reaching for one another.
Some caught mid-run.
In a flash of fear.
Blizzard was spent.
He whispered that couldn't be it. That. that is impossible.
He fell forward and between the quiet forms of his people. Each one fanned the fire of disbelieve in his chest.
He recognized them.
Everywhere he turned, he found only the familiar faces.
Wolves he trained with.
Wolves he hunted with.
Wolves that had played with him, fought with him, grown up with him.
And now—they were still as statues.
Blizzard stopped short as he came upon the center of the pack the core of their territory.
This is where the fire burned bright. We saw the elders out to talk of the coming hunts. Pups which ran in and out of the place to listen to old stories. This is where life played out.
Now it was silent.
Still. Sure, please provide the text you would like me to paraphrase.
Dead. Sure, please provide the text you would like me to paraphrase.
His heart went into overdrive. He moved on instinct, toward the sacred cave at the back of the territory. Each Shadow Pack wolf grew up to know what lay beneath that cave the reason for their power, their longevity, their strength.
It wasn't a secret.
It was their lifeblood.
Their greatest strength…
…and their greatest weakness.
As he approached the cave Blizzard felt it .
A draining cold.
A heavy pressure.
In the air. A smell of steel.
His knees weakened.
He knew this feeling.
He was brought up to fear it when he was out of the toddler stage.
"…Vrytin," he breathed.
He stepped inside the cave.
And everything made sense.
The ground was ruptured.
In the stone walls which were of a dark material ran veins of metal.
The atmosphere was charged with the putrid energy of the eruption.
A Vrytin burst.
Inside their own home.
Shadow Pack was in the wake of their own fall.
His family…
His people…
His pack…
All of them…
Frozen by what hunted their bloodline.
No. Blizzard spoke again, his voice broke. He put a shaking hand against the cold cave wall. "There had to be a way. There had to be.
In the stillness he found no response.
He left the cave which at first was dark to an overbearing light which made him blink and he looked again at the motion less bodies of those he loved.
Fear took hold of him, constricting his heart.
Shadow Pack wasn't just wounded.
It was dying.
And Blizzard…
Blizzard was the last one left.