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15
16 April, Afternoon


The Battlefield
Afternoon of 16 April


Rycharch, a wolf-pack leader

The pungent scent of ripening meat calls to our ravenous hunger; we rush to the nearly-silent feasting-grounds.

I claim a great carcass, snarling to warn my pack-mates away. The still-fresh body lifts its feeble foreleg to slash at me with its glittering long-claw, but I crush its throat till the gurgling stops.

Mobs of night-feathered pests swoop down on my prize. I snap at one, yet drop the bony morsel in favour of the hairless and thin-skinned mound of warm flesh. I settle to devour my juicy meal.

Tonight, glutted, we will howl our gratitude to the great pale-face above.


A loyal steed

Mournfully, I wander, seeking the beloved Rider who reared me from teat. He fell away when the enemy repulsed our charge; to my shame, I lost him in the battle-confusion.

Now, catching his scent, I gallop to him....

A mangy wolf dares to defile my Rider? I lunge its snarl turns to squeal, cut off as its neck snaps.

Too late... my Rider breathes not.

But I must defend him from the ravening of these wretched imitations of our noble kind!

I howl my grief to the sky-vault. Then, slowly and reverently, I honour him by consuming his proud body.

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