Out of the Shadows

[Golden Moon]

Light shadows flickered blithely across the stony ground, last remnants of the darkness now that the sign was high. Scattered bushes and sparse trees were interspersed with lofty rock crags, heaps of boulders, indents and caves in the mountainside. It was quiet - welcoming, even. The faces of the boulders shone warmly in the sunlight, and melodic birdsong filled the air.

A dark shadow peeled away from the rest. It raced across the stony ground like a slender arrow, lithe legs pounding almost soundlessly along the mountainside. Before it ran a panicked hare that had been too late to distinguish the black wolf from the other flitting shadows.

After a brief chase, a slash of fangs quickly and savagely ended the creature's life.

Nightshade straightened and surveyed his surroundings with disgust, his maw stained with the blood of the hare. "Pathetic rabbit," he snarled, crushing its skull with a quick swipe of his paw. Even in the sunlight it was an easy catch. Everything was so bright, unlike his quiet, deadly realm of nighttime, and so stupid. He longed for a challenge, something he could stalk for days in secret, slipping out at the last moment to use the full extent of his lighting quick skills - imagining his agility sending his prey into wild throes of confusion, and then his fangs slipping out for the kill -

Suddenly his imagination changed. His own fangs were bared, yes, but over the body of a thick tawny wolf, which then changed into a light smoky gray -

Nightshade winced and barely managed to contain his howl of pain. He had promised himself to give up his old sadistic ways - it was what Cobalt had wanted, before.... Once again he attempted to thrust the thoughts from his mind. The black wolf knew how hard it would be. He was too powerful, too feral, and too sardonic toward other wolves to even think he could go back now. They'd think he was evil, wouldn't allow him around their pups. And it was too hard to change.

With a sigh, Nightshade kicked the half-eaten rabbit away, flinging it over the high rocky precipice. It fell too far down for him to hear the satisfying bone crunch as it landed. He would try, attempt to be on his best behavior as he met the Pack wolves.

Just let them pray he wouldn't lose his temper.

[Golden Moon]

A little while later the wolf awoke to a full shine of moon in his face. With a small thrill, Nightshade realized it was dark out - the full moon was climbing in the sky at a slow, almost heavy pace. The dark wolf wondered what had happened to the shining beacon to weigh it down so heavily.

At night, Nightshade knew he wasn't burdened like the moon, banished to the time of darkness to forever light the sky at certain times of its cycle. No - in the black time, Nightshade was free. His dark coat blended in smoothly with his surroundings, and his unique nighttime eyesight kicked in a thousandfold. His hearing, too, was at peace, without the terribly annoying nusiance of birdsong. Cool wind silently slipped through his fur - so unlike the heavy day currents of heat.

After relishing the crisp night air from his ledge in the mountainside, Nightshade stood and stretched, claws scraping wickedly across the stone. He didn't mind the sound. Even though he was beginning to feel the familiar pangs of hunger - a result of him having kicked his only meal in days over the mountain edge - Nightshade wasn't going to hunt. He didn't really know why, but for some reason his paws were tugging him in another direction.

Before he realized it, the black wolf was bounding in fluid leaps down the mountainside. He was like a shadow, blending perfectly with the dark crevices of the jagged stone, slipping instinctively away from the moonblazed faces of rock.

Dimly he realized where he was going. A place where all the wolves were heading at this time - Seven Corners, was it? He could smell them. Their anticipation, their pride at representing their pathetically small packs as they began a new lifestyle. Maybe this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself to the others. Maybe find a pack, a mate - who knows?

Once again, Nightshade was thrusting forward with no thought for the consequences. But he trusted his brilliant instincts. They had never let him down before.

Thinking that, Nightshade felt a pain like a shard of ice had been slipped into his heart. Yes, his instincts had let him down. He had allowed them to be beaten to a line so taut, they had eventually snapped and exploded in a warped fury. Again the wolf thought of a bloody gray heap at his paws . . . and attempted with all his will to push the thoughts away. He would go to Seven Corners. Start a new life. He would.