Runt [ManxMan]

Chapter Three

He stretched a bit, still half asleep, only to whine as his body voiced its grievances with what it went through the day before. His side burned, and his bum leg ached more than usual, cuing him in even before he opened his eyes that he would find a fresh blanket of snow on the ground outside his den. He'd hoped spring was approaching, but it seemed winter had at least one more gift to give before it came.

Dim, early morning light filtered into his den through the small opening to his den, mostly concealed now by snow, telling him it was too early to be up and about, and too cold as well. Any other day he would have risen anyway, off to search for something to eat.

Today, however, he chose to stay in the little den he'd found the night before. His meal the day before had been enough to sate him for now, and he didn't want to aggravate his injuries any more than necessary. In a day or two he would have to hunt again, whether his wound was healed or not, but for now, he was content to curl back up in the back of his den and dream of warmer days.

He successfully dozed away most of the morning before the sound of footsteps roused him from his stupor. His ears perked up, but he wasn't immediately concerned. It was unlikely they would notice him, and if they did, they weren't likely to care about him.

Except it sounded like a pair of animals and judging from the size he guessed they might be wolves. It was unusual for rogues or lone wolves to live in groups, but he'd certainly been within striking distance of pack land while he was hunting the day before. Which direction had he run when the lone wolf attacked him? He couldn't remember. He knew he hadn't stepped foot onto pack land, they certainly would have noticed him before now if he had, but it was entirely possible he was close enough for patrols to stumble upon him.

He cursed himself for straying so close to pack land in the first place. He had survived as long as he had partly by avoiding packs. After watching them take his brother away, kicking and screaming, from his hidden spot in the underbrush, he'd been more than a little wary of them.

He could hardly imagine what they must have done to his brother, could only assume it had been something terrible, judging by the scars on some of the lone wolves he'd encountered over the years. Packs were bad news, and he did his best to stay away.

As much as he wanted to blame the lone wolf for attacking him the day before, it was his fault he was so close to their territory to begin with, but he'd been tracking the deer herd and had been desperate. He would have still been beyond the range of their scouts, even with his blind run the day before, if he hadn't stupidly walked himself closer to their territory than he'd been in years.

Now, all he could do was hunker down in the tiny den he'd stumbled into the night before and hope the fresh snow obscured his scent and tracks well enough for the scouts not to notice him.

The two wolves moved closer, and the omega held his breath, afraid the slightest sound would alert them to his presence. Nothing to see here, move along, he thought at them, hoping somehow it would influence them, but knowing it would do him no good.

They grew closer, and closer still, until he could feel himself start to shake, his heart racing somewhere in his throat. No amount of willpower would keep him still. He had been scared many times in his life, spent more time afraid than not, but never like this.

These were not lone wolves or rogues like he'd encountered before, who may show aggression but seldom had any interest in causing him any real harm and usually only attacked to protect themselves or their food. No, these were pack wolves, patrolling the outer reaches of their territory. They were more aggressive because they had something to protect, and between them being better fed and having more numbers, loners like the omega didn't stand a chance.