The Bracken Woods Night of the Red Moon

The red moon sat in the sky, lonely amongst the hidden stars as the overcast sky swelled. It looked like rain was coming, even the scent of moisture was in the air as the clouds rumbled somewhere over the south towards Frostfire Ridge, clearly they were heading this way and it wouldn’t be long before they arrived. The night time storms were the most dangerous, likely formed by fronts that came down from the north but this one was approaching from the south. An oddity on the wind for this time of year was typically clear, just a random storm or so it seemed. It was getting late, any wolf with a head on their shoulders would have found shelter hours earlier, but not this one. This one was lost, though he knew exactly where he was. 

But where was here exactly? 

A darkened forest with little to call a game trail, covered in ravenous weeds wielding needles - this was no place indeed. Though still, he stood atop a fallen log, it was rotten and moist beneath his pads, the moss inflecting his fur with the wetness of its work. He stood alone, staring into the distance where the rain drops conjured and the winds sprang up to assail all within reach. Twitching, his nose caught the scent of something peculiar and his ears moved in order to seek out this new occurrence. The smell was rife with copper and a lick to the air tasted blood. He was young, sure enough, but even he could identify the smell of a wounded animal. 

With keen senses, extremely keen compared to most, he captured the scent trail. If there was food to be had then he would find it and hopefully before that storm hit for if it did then once more he would go hungry - the rain and wind would wash away the trail and whatever wounded animal had given him their flavor, it would be gone forever. 

His belly quaked and rumbled, when had he last eaten? Somewhere in the far north, if he could remember right. A riverbed where he’d scavenged the remnants off of an ursa’s meal. It was pithy, the good meats were gone leaving only fat, grizzle and bones to crunch on, but he’d filled his belly and managed another day. Unfortunately though ever since he’d been traveling through this wood, lurking in the shadows and trying his utmost to seek the daylight beyond. This place was a far cry more strange than where he’d come from - far south and to the east of here where the salt filled the air and the brine mixed in the water though it was humid and damp, a marshland of sorts and then as the young pup, for reasons he didn’t understand, he recalled moving the long trail into the tall hills where food became scarce though they’d managed a living of sorts. 

Then as the moons passed by and he became nimble on his feet, the pack had sank to low numbers and with few hunters to feed the pack, as an adolescent he’d been charged to join a hunt only to return to the horrors of a scene of battle’s aftermath. During their move they’d found themselves in the territory of another large and territorial pack, they’d shown no mercy - killing the males and females and eating the remaining pups. On that night there had also been a red moon in the sky, hiding behind the clouds. He knew it was the way of things, but moving on had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. There was no revenge to be had - a pack well outnumbering the hunters left within his own couldn’t hope to overcome the odds. Instead they were chased from those lands and scattered into the wilderness abroad. He knew very well that he would never see any of the remnants of his pack. He was on his own and there was only one way to go - forward. 

With nothing left to go back to and nowhere to turn, Redmoon would seek the only thing he knew. Survival in the vagabond’s way.