A Wolf Story by James Byron Huggins

emerged, defying the power of Night. Then, with a single movement, the great gray wolf moved boldly over the edge.
    Like a thunderbolt Gianavel fell through the darkness, finding quick, narrow steps in the night, certain that his foot would not slip nor his courage fade, coming down from the mountain.
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    two

    A lone in the white wilderness, high on a moonlit ridge, Aramus rested, searching for life in the forest night. Silent and still, he watched, and waited, while dark winds waved the shadowed trees and the pale moon cast frosty light across his high place.
    After his journey south the Deep Woods had come alive with fiendish howls echoing long through the night. Dark wolves, enraged and vengeful from Baalkor's defeat, had quickly enclosed him within the forest. And the hunt had begun, a hunt that would never end until he was dead.
    Aramus understood the deadly game, and for past nights his cautious skills had evaded the demonic search. But it was a game that could not last. Sooner or later, he knew, he would make a mistake and they would trap him, as they had trapped his father long ago.
    Often he had heard their vengeful howls pursuing his trail, and with the iron endurance of youth he had run relentlessly in ever-widening circles, crossing over his own tracks and circling again, exhausting and confusing his pursuers until the frustrated cries had faded into the night.
    Afterwards, weary with his efforts, Aramus had thanked the Lightmaker for his escape, knowing that the spirit of the Living God had stood by his side, strengthening him. And knowing that survival depended on returning home, he had tried each night to slip through the wolf packs guarding the border of the Deep Woods. And each night he had failed, driven back again to the south by that killing zone.
    Aramus breathed once, deeply, as he rested, and thought solemnly of Saul. He had never truly known death until that fateful night in the glade. And it troubled him still. He had carried the grief with every step he had taken to the caves by the brook, where he had laid Saul. And when his promise to the old hare was finally fulfilled, the pain had become a deep wound in his soul, an inescapable emptiness within him. The wolf ’s heart weakened to think that never again would he speak with the old hare. Saul was gone, a life left behind. Now Aramus would have only what the future held.
    Despite his faith in the Lightmaker's promise, Aramus knew that each time he allowed his mind to return to those final few moments with Saul, he would know anew that sorrow of separation, a wound that would grow dim with days but endure for a lifetime.
    Silver eyes closed as his heart gazed upon the lonely sight that had greeted him at the southern caves: the sight of the small, forlorn hares gathering sadly about the body of their fallen king. Aramus had watched the scene from a distance, his promise kept, his heart at peace.
    The colony had stood a long time, solemn and weary, holding one another to ease the pain of their loss. And then, silently and strangely, they had parted, as one larger than the rest emerged from the caves. The big hare's dark fur was streaked with half-healed wounds, though he bore his pai n bravely. And the others separated respectfully as he knelt beside Saul's still form, bowing their heads as one.
    Even across the distance Aramus could see the sorrow that struck the massive figure. And here, he knew, was one who had loved his king much; a worthy son, a noble heir. A long time the big hare rested, silent and broken, his great form cloaked with his grief.
    But as Aramus continued to watch, the hare suddenly started, as if sharply awakened from a dream, and raised his head. Aramus saw the bold, suspicious eyes quickly scan the glade and surrounding woodline. It took only a moment before the creature searched him out atop the distant hill. Then the hare stood up on its hind legs, instantly defiant, dark eyes focusing intently.
    Aramus held the