FicWad

Chapter Five
Ulva woke first the next morning. He woke to find himself blinded by the sun that peered over the horizon, almost hesitant to throw itself up any further into the pallid blue sky. The air was fresh and pure with no scent but that of the mist that lay over the Upland Meadows.
It must have rained last night because, as he stood up and shook his glossy white coat, large droplets of water flew from him and landed on the sodden grass.
He looked over his shoulder and called, “Mother. Mother, it is morning now. Wake up.” He trotted over to her as she, too, stood and rid her fur of the water.
“Good morning, Ulva,” she said to him, licking his muzzle and forehead for a moment. “It is a bit foggy, but we can use this to our advantage. Let us hunt.” Without another word, she trotted past her son in the direction of the river.
“You have grown up fast,” Mother started as Ulva caught up with her. “Your teeth have developed into fully-grown adult fangs and so, you are now allowed to join me when I hunt.”
The white wolf jumped and yelped with happiness.
“Calm yourself. The herd will sense your presence,” she warned him and he instantly stopped, continuing to walk normally again.
“When will we reach the herd?”
“Now,” Mother replied, creeping forward with her eyes locked on her target: a small, injured elk cow. Then she leant over to Ulva and whispered in his ear, her voice like a snake’s hiss, “That one is the weakest. It will not be able to run as fast as the rest and, if you are lucky, you may be able to catch it.” She paused and took a few breaths. “You will not attack the elk today. This hunt is merely to practise chasing. You will pursue your victim until you have caught up with it, then you will stop. Do you understand?”
Ulva’s heart was in his mouth and as he breathed, his throat burnt. “Yes, I understand,” he replied at last, gratefully sucking in the cold morning air, which gave him confidence. “Shall I go now?”
“You will not hide from your prey. Confront it head-on. Show it that you are not afraid. Then, when it runs, follow,” she told him, her eyes glowing bright.
Noiselessly, without replying, Ulva darted from the bushes and took massive strides across the cropped grass, his toes pointing as he bounded towards the elk. His eyes locked on the cow as the distance between them slowly shrunk and he took larger strides to catch up.
Never before in his life had he ran this far or fast, and it had given his muscles strength and stamina.
His sensitive pads collided with the soil but did not have time to slip or slide as they were airborne again, toes pointing as he stretched out his legs. The cycle continued until Ulva found that he had come closer to the elk. It was only a leap away and he would be able to sink his teeth into the meaty, tender rump.
He then remembered what Mother had told him and came slowly, carefully, to a halt. He stood panting short, shallow breaths and watched as the cow trotted out of sight, into the forest on Aspen Heights.
Mother suddenly appeared beside him. “Well done, Ulva!” she praised him, her eyes welling with tears of pride. “That was impressive for a first attempt.” She knew he would have turned out like this: intelligent, elegant and particularly remarkable for a wolf his age. As she looked at him now, she saw his broad shoulders and long, slender legs that were built for speed. Short whiskers sprouted here and there on the sides of his grey muzzle and his eyes were now a tempting ocean of sapphire that gazed inquisitively at whatever he came across.
Ulva was living up to his name; he was, at last, becoming a wolf...
*
After many lessons, the white wolf set out to hunt by himself. This was the day he had been dreaming of for moons. It would, if he should succeed, be his first kill by himself.
He whined quietly as he arrived at the hunting ground and already, he could smell the elk. They were near, he knew, and one of them was very weak.
Ulva uttered a muffled bark but all trace that he had done so was absorbed immediately by the bushes and foliage around him.
He walked with a deadly precision and concentration, taking care to avoid stepping on twigs and the leaves of the autumn. His ear twitched, searching for any trace of his prey: there was the familiar sucking sound of hoof on damp ground as the elk moved over the flood-plain.
The rainstorm that had passed over a few nights ago had causing Slough Creek to break its bank and spill its water over the flat grassland on either side.
The ground on which Ulva walked upon was fairly dry and unaffected by the floods below, but the hunting grounds had been, and that was a serious drawback for the young hunter.
However, over the six moons of practice and preparation for this moment, he had grown impatient and hungry to kill for himself. He felt as if he would tear his own tail off if he did not kill today.
And his time was now...
He poked his head out from under the cover of the bushes and looked out across the Upland Meadows. A cloud of mist rose from the moist ground and drifted up and out until it was practically invisible. About twenty lopes away from where he crouched, was the herd. It was a massive herd; led by the largest bull Ulva had ever seen, with antlers reaching out to touch the clouds and hooves almost as big as a wolf’s head.
The white wolf trembled with a mix of excitement, anticipation, eagerness and fear as he looked at the herd. “Confront your prey. Show them that you are not afraid,” he told himself out loud.
There were no bushes or plants on the plain that he could hide behind, so he improvised.
Ulva stepped back out of the bush, clumsily tripping over his heels and landing in a heap. He soon righted himself and trotted further north, until he was out of the cover of the trees.
The herd was far behind him and from where he was, he could not see them.
He doubled back on himself quickly and continued along the edge of the forest, just staying in front of the trees.
It was only then that he noticed how much he stood out against the brown of the ground, the green of the grass and the black of the shadowy forest. He had the worst disadvantage of any wolf: a shaggy coat of long, snow-white fur.
However, Ulva knew that he could pull it off.
Like a timid mouse concealed in the long grass, he crept along, making slow progress inch by inch and soon the elk were in view again.
He felt his legs shiver with keenness and exhilaration, his breathing now fast and heavy. His ears flicked this way and that, listening for the bellows of the huge bull that led the herd. After a few seconds, he heard it call out over the Upland Meadows: that was his cue.
Within a second of the bull’s roar, Ulva was out of the bushes, taking giant strides across the grass. The herd came into view suddenly and he quickly picked out a calf, half-hidden by the cows that guarded it.
The bull quickly spotted the hunter and cried out to the others, “Wolf! Run!”
In the panic and confusion that erupted among the elk, cows fled in every direction with most trailing after the bull, leaving a stunned and stranded calf.
Ulva eyed his prey with satisfaction: barely a few hours old, the young thing was still unstable on its hooves and stumbled clumsily this way and that. He licked his lips, his stomach growling hungrily, and pressed forward.
The calf stepped back uncertainly but there was no use.
The white wolf charged and sprang like a coiled wire onto the back of his prey. Immediately, the weak thing gave way underneath him and the noises that followed, of snarling and tearing and crying, echoed through the forest on Aspen Heights, out across the Upland Meadows and beyond.
Ulva ate ravenously, as if he had not done so in months, and picked the rib cage clean like Mother often did after she made a kill. Then, with his belly sagging, he staggered away back towards the den clearing.
When he entered and walked onto the brilliant green grass, the brown she-wolf trotted over and greeted him with a great frenzy of short, sharp barks. “Was your first hunt successful?” she asked him, her eyes flashing in the light of the fragile winter sun.
“Yes, very,” he replied, padding over to the rocks with a joyous bounce in his step. “I managed to single out a young calf. After that, it was simple enough.”
“I am glad to hear it, for tomorrow I shall join you and we may bring down larger prey,” Mother said, sharing his enthusiasm and shifting her weight from paw to paw with anticipation and eagerness.
Ulva turned to look at her. Already, the beautiful russet she-wolf was beginning to develop vivid but dull grey hairs around her eyes and muzzle. Her ears, too, were becoming paler, but they were still as restless and active as they used to be. Mother began to pant, revealing her fangs, which were now blunt and had lost their sharp point. Nevertheless, she was still the same Mother.
She bowed to him, stretching out her front legs as far as she could, and the muscles on her flanks quivered. “Even though evening is not yet upon us, I am already tiring. This kind of weather is unusual, especially for winter.”
He said nothing in reply, but it was obvious that he agreed with her.
Mother lay down beside the dark grey rocks, which gave off a stifling heat. Her tongue lolled from one side of her mouth, flicking like a snake’s at the air, and she swept her tail over the grass that was littered with brown and yellow leaves. She looked up at Ulva, and seemed to sense his mood. “You seem nervous. Is everything alright?”
“No, Mother. All is not fine,” he replied frankly. “I have been listening to the birdsong in the early morning and it has become quieter and quieter every day. I fear that something is causing them to act this way.”
She glanced up at him with relaxed eyes. “Do not be unnerved by this. Perhaps some have flown south to spend the winter in warmer parts. This habit of theirs is normal and they have done so for generations. Do not worry.”
“I cannot help but to,” he persisted. “It feels as if there is something watching us, even now.”
“Oh Ulva,” Mother sighed, patient but amused by his innocence. “You must not be speaking about such things. You are still young – a pup – and should be playing and hunting.”
He looked at her and felt annoyed. She always seemed to prove him wrong, and always called him a ‘pup’. Even though he knew he was not yet fully grown, he liked to be referred to as an adult wolf, and given all the privileges that came with it.
“Anyway, what made you think of such a ridiculous thing?” Mother’s voice cut across his thoughts and made him jump.
“I heard something – moving in the bushes – and I saw its shadow in the trees. I must have panicked,” he replied.
“Our eyes play tricks on us sometimes so I suppose you could have.”
Ulva hummed an answer, but Mother had already drifted away into a deep sleep. He thought it best not to disturb her rest, as she had not eaten in over two days and was becoming weaker. She would need all of her strength for tomorrow.
*
The next morning, as the shimmering glow of first light enveloped the forest and a mist settled among the bushes, Ulva was woken by the ear-piercing cry of the eagle in its tree. He sat up and shook his head and his ears flopping wildly.
The wind howled through the trees and made the bare branches tremble with excitement. It was this eerie echo that was to eventually stir Mother from her slumber. She stood up and stretched her slender, elegant legs.
He walked up to her and licked her muzzle. “Good morning,” he said to her.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, holding up her ears and listening. “The mist gives us an advantage, but we must hunt soon or else we shall miss our chance.” She brushed past him and exited the clearing, with Ulva right behind her like he always was.
Mother put her head to the ground and sniffed at a broken twig. “The prey is close,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper.
Through a gap between the leaves in a bush ahead of him, Ulva saw a flash of brown and came to a halt immediately, his muscles tensed. Mother stopped with him but only a moment later, they were racing after the elk.
Only then did the young wolf realise that they were chasing the bull elk. He felt a trace of hesitation and nervousness but quickly ushered it away. He began to take longer strides and flew like an arrow over the grass.
Once the gap had closed, Mother was the first to attack. She leapt at one of its hind legs, which thrashed out wildly as her teeth sunk through the thick layer of muscle.
The bull came abruptly to a halt, causing Ulva to dash past. Mother, however, was still clinging on to the prey. The elk looked as if he had given up hope, but as Ulva approached with his head down and lips curled up, it lowered its antlers and charged.
Taking a step to the side, the white wolf skipped across and casually dodged its attack. He stood for a moment before noticed that its stomach was exposed. He jumped forwards and his teeth found a grip on the stiff, wiry hide.
The bull stood up taller before bringing its great head down and round to hit the wolf on the side. As the tips of the antler points poked through his thick white fur, Ulva’s eyes widened and he felt the pain as they pierced his skin. He yelped, releasing his grip, and staggered back. He turned his head so that he was looking at his flank. About half-way down the length of his body, he saw the blood seeping into his fur, staining it slightly.
He looked back up to see Mother hanging from the bull’s throat. She was holding it expertly and no matter what her prey did, it could not make her release it.
Ulva watched, awestruck by the she-wolf’s skill, until another bellow from the great beast woke him from his daydream.
Again, he trotted forward and took a clump of the bull’s short fur. The coarse pelt felt uncomfortable as it touched the roof of his mouth but his hunger overcame his discomfort.
Within minutes, the animal was almost too weak to stand. Mother took its throat again and dragged it to the ground. It fell with a thump and landed flat on its side with its legs flailing uselessly in midair. The bull roared its final breath to the rest of the herd, who had long since left him to die, and faded away into the Otherworld.
Ulva and Mother waited for a while, standing still, panting, before starting to eat. As she had lived off of berries for the past few days, Mother ate ravenously, savouring every mouthful of the life-giving meat. Ulva, once he had had his fill, stepped back to let her help herself to the rest.
The bull was massive and had plenty of fat, even though it was the middle of winter, and both were satisfied by his reserves.
Both with their pot-bellied stomachs hanging down to the ground, they waddled back to the den.
The rock den was becoming smaller and smaller as Ulva grew into a fully-grown wolf. Now, at ten moons of age, he was almost as big as Mother, and the puny cave seemed to be shrinking.
“Mother,” Ulva said to her as she crawled down into the dark hollow. “I do not mean to complain but the den is too small. We must move.”
Mother considered for a moment, her bright amber eyes glowing like fireflies. Then she replied, “I suppose you are right. We shall run under the cover of night.”
Her eyes disappeared as she padded round in a circle and settled down with a crunching of dry leaves. Ulva crawled down after her, his legs trembling under his weight.
Soon, he was cuddling at Mother’s side, remembering memories of when he was a pup, and slipping into a dreamless sleep.