Sant moved through the dark woods at Mara’s side. A thin veil of snow drifted down in silence, as if even the wind was holding its breath in that part of the forest.

Mara broke the quiet with her light voice:

“It's been a while since I last went out with you, little brother.”

Sant turned his head toward her. Her brown fur — the same tone Scar once had — caught the moon’s silver glow. The scar running across her face, a childhood souvenir earned in a disastrous fight with a porcupine, seemed even deeper at night.

Mara was his sister only by adoption, but she had been the first pup to stand by him when he took on responsibilities no young wolf should ever bear so early.

Sant couldn’t help it — he started laughing.

Mara frowned, confused.

“What?”

“I just remembered how you got that scar on your face…” Sant answered, still laughing, his voice shaking.

Mara bumped her shoulder against his, laughing too.

“Shut up, you idiot!”

Their laughter drifted softly among the trees.

When the sound faded, Sant drew in a deep breath and began telling the story…

He adjusted his stride through the snow, a nostalgic smile creeping onto his face.

“I was six moons old… and you had just turned eight. You woke up so early the sun hadn’t even risen yet. You poked me until I got up.”

Mara let out a small chuckle.

Sant continued:

“You wanted to train. I just wanted to sleep. But, in a once-in-a-lifetime event, we actually did train… since our mentors were still snoring.”

He shook his head, smiling at the memory.

“Then you spotted that animal running by and decided that if you hunted it alone, your mentor would make you a warrior instantly. You didn’t think twice. You took off after it and dragged me along. We spent half the day tracking that creature because you wanted that one and no other.”

Mara lifted her muzzle with exaggerated pride.

“I was extremely confident… and you were trembling like a skinny squirrel.”

“I was,” Sant admitted. “And when we finally found it, we discovered it was a massive porcupine. And you, not even knowing how to fight properly yet, charged at it alone.”

Mara snorted.

“And you? You panicked and got your claws stuck in a tree.”

Sant coughed, pretending to hide the embarrassment.

“Well… true. But you, fighting that giant ball of needles, ended up covered in quills… and that’s when you got that deep cut on your face.”

Mara raised a paw proudly.

“But I killed that animal.”

“You did,” Sant nodded. “And because we left clearing territory, we were grounded for an entire moon.”

Both laughed, their voices echoing through the silent trees.

As the laughter faded again, Sant lowered his muzzle and sniffed the ground. Mara followed.

They soon found the fever herb Liral needed — small round leaves with a fresh scent. Sant picked them up carefully, and the two began heading back toward where the pack was resting, the moon nearly at its peak.

They had taken only a few steps when the growls began — deep, sharp, reverberating through the forest like broken thunder.

Sant handed the herbs to Mara without a word. She sprinted back to Eldros, while he bolted toward the clearing, muscles tensed, each step sinking in snow.

As soon as he emerged from the trees, he saw the chaos.

Moc, Bork, and Tuja were half-circling Lyara and Ravik. Lyara kept Loona and the little human — Mika — tucked beneath her chest. Ravik stood half-crouched, baring his teeth, ready to kill or die.

“What are you doing?!” Sant roared, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. Authority flowed from him as naturally as breath.

Moc spoke first, growling like a choked thunderclap:

“HUMANS, SANT! TWO HUMANS! CLINGING TO YOUR MATE AS IF THEY WERE HELPLESS PUPS — AND SHE AND RAVIK PROTECTING THEM!”

Sant advanced slowly and steadily, like a river before a flood.

“I know your hatred for humans, Moc,” he said, voice firm but not hostile. “But these two are allies. They’re under our protection. And I won’t allow anyone to lay a claw on them. They’re part of our pack now.”

Moc barked, losing control:

“THEY’LL BETRAY US! LIKE EVERY OTHER HUMAN! THEY’LL HUNT US, CORNER US, KILL US!”

“They won’t,” Sant replied, solid as stone. “They’re both pups — Loona and…”
He inhaled quickly, inventing the name on the spot. “Mika.”

Moc bared his teeth, neck tense as a rope ready to snap.

“YOU HAVE NO PROOF. I WILL NOT RISK MY LIFE FOR HUMANS!”

Sant stepped forward again, now face-to-face with him.

“Then don’t risk your life for them. Risk it for the pack. That’s what we do.”
He locked eyes with him without blinking.
“And you’ll see… they’re one of us. If the day ever comes when they betray us…”

Moc interrupted, voice low and deadly:

“I’ll deal with it myself.”

Before Sant could reply, Ravik let out a roar fierce enough to freeze even the strongest bear.

“If you touch Lionel’s daughter…” His eyes blazed with murderous promise. “I’ll rip your tail off with my own teeth.”

Silence weighed heavy for a single, intense second.

Then, in the distance, a thin, feral howl tore through the night.

The sound of hungry predators.
Jackals.

Sant lifted his head immediately.

“Brown jackals… on guard!”

Varrock stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever — calm enough to make everything even more frightening.

“They heard all this nonsense. The whole forest did.”

Sant spun on his paws.

“Pups, Roses, and elders in the center! Warriors — battle formation!”

The movement was instant and coordinated:

Elders limped toward the center, pups stumbling hurriedly behind them. Pregnant females were shielded. Warriors ringed the core, forming a circle of claws and teeth.

Lyara held Loona and Mika tight against her, while Ravik took position right beside her, chest puffed, growl already vibrating in his throat.

The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.

No rustling.
No wings flapping.

Even the wind had gone still.

The prey — owls, hares, even deer — fell silent as if the smallest sound could summon their own death.

Two kinds of hunters stood there:

The pack…

… and the brown jackals.

Bork, the fattest warrior, slowly turned his head, ears trembling. He saw the entire formation: solid, united, firm as an ancient wall. In the center, squeezed between the females, were Moc’s pups — a male and a female — shaking like leaves in snow.

Beside them, Hada stood protectively. She always had. Ever since Moc had nearly lost his life defending the pack. Ever since Moc’s entire family was hunted down and dragged away into the snow, night after night…

And only these two pups survived.

Bork felt his stomach twist.

He remembered that night.

And he knew Moc remembered too.

Only the heavy breath of his friend beside him revealed how much it still tore at him.

All warriors were in position. Claws half-buried. Teeth exposed. The air felt charged with sparks ready to explode.

Naja, beside Ravik, wore a strange smile.

A very wide smile.

Too calm.

The kind of smile from someone eager for battle.

Sant, behind the last line, was the only unmoving statue. His gaze cut through the forest like spears, scanning every shadow, every root, every twisted trunk among the snow.

The silence grew so deep Loona could hear her own heartbeat echoing inside her skull.

Until suddenly—

A dry crack.

Then another.

And then… footsteps.

Light.

Quick.

Erratic.

Like claws scraping ice.

Ravik growled low. Varrock raised his tail. Lira dipped her head, ready to strike.

Sant did not blink.

Then, in the midst of that suffocating night — when even the air itself seemed to freeze — a raven croaked a sharp, ominous crack. Everything froze for an instant.

And then one of the jackals burst from the shadows, snatched the bird, and began devouring it with razor-sharp teeth. The wet, horrible sound of flesh tearing filled the clearing.

Amber eyes watched the scene for a moment… then lifted, cold as iron, directly toward Sant.

The voice that followed was low, hissing — a mocking whisper sliding through the night.

“Hmmmm… little wolf, little wolf…” the voice crooned slowly. “You’re walking on my land.”

Sant stepped forward, his body taut as a drawn bowstring.

“We’re heading north. We don’t want trouble,” he said, voice firm.

The owner of those eyes let out a snickering hiss.

“You bring more than wolves. You carry pups with… interesting scent.”
He sniffed the air as if savoring a promise.
“Two humans, is that it? Hmmm…”

“Oh, of course. Pass through, I have no problem…” the voice shrank into a macabre laugh.
“…just be careful with your pups.”

The laughter spread through the trees like poison.

Varrock did not remain quiet.

“Brown jackals,” he muttered, voice grave. “They heard false words. If we start walking now, they’ll track us. If we stay… they may surround us.”

Sant exhaled slowly. The fur along his neck rose. It was the old dance: advantage and risk, urgency and defense.

Ravik stepped closer, predator’s eyes burning, ready to tear the world’s throat out.

“We need to fight now,” he growled. “If we try to walk, we’ll be tired when the battle begins. If we run, the elders and pups won’t keep up.”

Varrock looked directly at Sant, serious.

“The decision is yours, Alpha.”

Sant lifted his eyes to the sky.
The pale, frozen stars offered no counsel — only silent witness.
He heard, somewhere far in the woods, the whisper of the forest, the weight of history gathering around the snowfall. Responsibility settled on him like a mantle.

While the warriors prepared, Loona pressed her face into Lyara’s fur, her voice trembling:

“Why is Moc so aggressive toward humans?”

Lyara closed her eyes for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice carried an ancient sorrow, as dark as the roots of the forest.

“When Moc was four moons old, his pack was hunted and wiped out.”
She scented the air, as if calling memories by smell.
“Scar found him. Took care of him. Moc grew up with hatred and wounds inside him. He married Naja’s sister — and then the hunters returned. They killed his mate and three of their five pups. Only two survived, thanks to Hada. That’s why he is the way he is. I cannot blame him.”

“But I will protect you both,” Lyara whispered, licking Mika gently, forming a warm circle around the girl.

Sant then let out a long, sharp howl that sliced the night — the command to prepare for battle. Warriors aligned like rising spikes; Varrock moved to the front, barking low instructions; Ravik locked the flanks; Lira and Naja shifted into mobile stances, ready to slash and ambush.

“Stay together,” Sant ordered. “Pups and elders in the center. Warriors in two lines. Don’t let anyone break the line.”

Varrock added with a hiss, “They hide between the trees. We don’t know how many. But here, we have the advantage if we hold position.”

The pack held its breath.
The moon, now high, painted silver over claws and ears.

At any moment, the first jackal would leap from the shadows —
and the night promised blood.

Then, in a matter of seconds, hell opened.

A jackal lunged.
Then another.