Word Count: 326
“They found out about us. They’re coming.” They were the words the kingdom had feared hearing for thousands of years…
They were the words that rang in Adalpha’s mind once she returned to an empty and devoid forest. She hadn’t thought that the story was true. The werewolves had lived in the Dark Forest for generations, unbothered by outsiders.
But now…now everything was gone. And all that was left was the remains of a few dens, and…
She covered her face with her hands and ran back into the woods blindly. She found a small hollow spot underneath a log and spent her night weeping for the death of her people.
In the morning the sun glowed a soft coppery gold, melting over the tops of the trees and spilling across all flora and fauna. Adalpha laid in her hollow, deathly still, too exhausted from her vigil to cry any longer, yet also to tired to close her eyes and sleep. A small chickadee flitted down in front of her, and looked at her cautiously before seizing a small beakful of stray fur and flying off to build a nest.
In her grief she had torn loose clumps of fur from her tail and ears. There were now half bare patches in her smoky brown fur interspersed periodically.
She almost got up to groom herself, but then merely sighed and let herself melt further into the undergrowth. She should not bother herself with such things now. It would be vain and selfish to make her fur look more presentable when her people were wiped from the face of the land.
They were a people no more, for it took more than one to make a people, and she was all that was left of the Dark Forest Wolves. She sighed, shuddering, and stood up weakly.
There was a sharp pain in her shoulder, then chest, and then…
The last of the Dark Forest Wolves was gone…
They were the words that rang in Adalpha’s mind once she returned to an empty and devoid forest. She hadn’t thought that the story was true. The werewolves had lived in the Dark Forest for generations, unbothered by outsiders.
But now…now everything was gone. And all that was left was the remains of a few dens, and…
She covered her face with her hands and ran back into the woods blindly. She found a small hollow spot underneath a log and spent her night weeping for the death of her people.
In the morning the sun glowed a soft coppery gold, melting over the tops of the trees and spilling across all flora and fauna. Adalpha laid in her hollow, deathly still, too exhausted from her vigil to cry any longer, yet also to tired to close her eyes and sleep. A small chickadee flitted down in front of her, and looked at her cautiously before seizing a small beakful of stray fur and flying off to build a nest.
In her grief she had torn loose clumps of fur from her tail and ears. There were now half bare patches in her smoky brown fur interspersed periodically.
She almost got up to groom herself, but then merely sighed and let herself melt further into the undergrowth. She should not bother herself with such things now. It would be vain and selfish to make her fur look more presentable when her people were wiped from the face of the land.
They were a people no more, for it took more than one to make a people, and she was all that was left of the Dark Forest Wolves. She sighed, shuddering, and stood up weakly.
There was a sharp pain in her shoulder, then chest, and then…
The last of the Dark Forest Wolves was gone…