Mischief in the Stars

𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵

Channing pounced around the woods in his wolf form, his tongue dangling out and tail up. The cold snow below him crunched as he moved, the frigid Valsaire air nipping at his fur. Other lycastrals were running with him, gleefully moving through the woods. A few creatures watched from the slick trees as the wolves ran past. Various animals flew through the air, a couple joining the wolves on their run for a few moments.

At only eleven-years-old, Channing was surprisingly strong for such a small wolf. His clean white coat complimented the snow around him. His fur was completely unblemished and flawless. Most wolves had some sort of scar from an accident or fight but his was perfect. It made it easy for his parents to spot him in the crowd. The pack was looking for food, being very specific about what they would eat.

Channing had just leaped over a fallen branch when something caught his eye. He paused mid-stride, one paw up and his ears raised. His head tilted slightly as he tried to decipher what he saw. A glimmer of light rushed past him. He scampered back slightly in surprise, leaning down in a prowl stance. He bared his teeth and let out a small growl.

He could hear the rest of the pack running off without him, but he couldn't be bothered to catch up now. When the glimmer of light appeared again and disappeared into the woods, he followed immediately. Channing hurried off in the direction of the light, losing his pack in the process.

Channing dodged trees and rocks as he chased after the light. It kept a simple path as it led him astray. The only sound filling the air was wolves howling in the distance and the snow crunching beneath his paws. His eyes remained fixed on the light, ears perched up in curiosity. He tried barking at the light but it only kept on moving.

Eventually, the light halted completely, almost as if telling him where to stand. Channing, not expecting it to stop so abruptly, frantically tried to slow himself down from his run but fumbled over his paws. The young wolf slipped on the snow and slid past the light and hit into the tree in front of him.

Channing huffed out and shook his head, some snow falling off his fur. He pushed himself off the ground and fixed his stance, standing tall now as if nothing had happened. He glanced back to where the light was and noticed it was still there as if it was waiting for him. He immediately dove at the light and hit his paws at the center, nose digging into the ground.

Nothing.

Channing pulled his nose out and raised his head, tilting it with curiosity. The light remained around him, he fit his entire body in the small circle. He glanced around him, unsure of what to look for. Eventually, he turned behind him and noticed the tree that he had slammed into.

Immediately, Channing bowed.

The tree stood tall in front of him. All the trees in the woods were slick and looked almost like metal. This tree could not be any more different. It had a brown, scruffy base that stretched out at the top into twisting branches. Green leaves sprouted from the branches, dangling around, blowing slightly from the wind. Small bugs moved around in the ridges of the tree.

At the center of the tree was something even more peculiar. The face of a wolf was carved into the tree. The wolf looked fierce and strong, it's large eyes watching over it's forest. The wolf had a thick fur coat, carved as if the wind was blowing through it. This tree was thought to be sacred. Many had tried to cut the tree down or take its face, but all had failed. It was impermeable to any form of harm. Nothing could hurt the tree- not a blade nor fire.

The wolves worshipped the tree, they often came to it for everything from celebrations to times of pain. The wolves found peace in the tree. It was when they saw the wolf's eyes glow that they began to treat it as sacred. Growing up, they were taught to respect the tree as if it were their ruler. The tree brought them good luck and happiness when they've needed it most.