The Bracken Woods Night of the Red Moon

The dark pelt’s brilliance in agility was an inspiration to the weary Redmoon, he would have to do well to mimic the actions of this prince and attempt an agile nature of his own. Surely he could do well though not so perfect as the darkened wolf who danced with grace and a savvy that the red pelt could not but help to admire and covet for his own. Such was the mention of his adoration that he sought to recall the dark pelt’s steps and learn from him - the highest form of praise was to attempt to copy and mimic after all. 

On tired limbs he neared the heated beast, its eyes were darting to and fro - the brain was still functioning and alive though the body was dead, heart in its final pumping moments. The life was fast escaping this one and Redmoon only found hunger in his own eyes. This was nature’s greatest bounty, a feast of venison too great for a single wolf to devour. 

Then came the call of the dark pelt, his voice was smooth and telling - very regal in its presentation. For a moment Redmoon thought himself unfit to be in this one’s presence for he was a simple wolf from the southern swamps well beyond the Teekon and far beyond the mountains further than the crow would fly. But the telling voice soothed Redmoon’s worries by an offering of the first bite. Instantly the red pelt’s mind was awash with this triumphant feast to be, mouth watering and his eyes irresistibly locked onto the failing deer’s carcass. Even the blood pooling around the wounds looked tantalizing and he could smell the warmth they held. He hobbled forward, wounds and bruises forgotten. 

Compiling the dark pelt’s words in their finality, Redmoon thought a moment - he knew nothing of gods and spirits but he knew of the Scorekeeper and the Caller. But even who they truly were he knew not. First he knew of the Scorekeeper - the unseen one that tallies a wolf’s life and at the end of the life, should the tally be high enough, the wolf is given a place where he may forever hunt and run. Where he is given honor and glory above all. It was a warrior’s afterlife. Redmoon didn’t ever see himself as a warrior, but he believed in the Scorekeeper enough to wonder of his own tally. The Caller was the reaper of the dead. He came to each dying wolf to guide them home one last time. All Redmoon knew was that if the Caller knew your name, you were deserving of the Scorekeeper’s tally. 

Perhaps the two could be considered gods - Redmoon wasn’t sure. But what he was certain about right now was that he had a heaping lot of venison before him and he need only share with one other and easily enough it would be too much for them both! 

He took heartily to the dark pelt’s generosity and he started by lapping up the fresh dripping blood from the neck. The glorious taste of the red life fluid and its thickness filled his maw and his tail brushed the air. Swiftly he lifted his bloody face and licked his chops before digging into the meat surrounding the neck region. He tore open the neck furiously until the skin ripped away and the firm tendons gave ground, ripping and leaving strings of meat hanging from his jaws. He ate heartily though only three large bites before backing away. 

Desperately he wanted to continue but he found restraint within himself to back out and address the dark pelt. “Thank you, for your help and your kindness. I won’t forget it.” Though something Redmoon didn’t take from this dark wolf was his kindness for weakness, he knew well that behind that calm and regal demeanor was a vicious predator that was capable of bringing down this mule deer in one swift stroke. He would remain vigil though he was sure there was no need to be wary of the wolf, but rather to be wary of what he could do. He swallowed after chomping down some thick meat. “Help yourself.” He offered and moved to the back of the deer where his original wounds had cut deep into the deer’s legs. 

They’d fought and found pain together after a good hunt. The Scorekeeper would smile upon them this day and add to their tally. But Redmoon was not quite satisfied, he held one last thought to his mind that he didn’t know this wolf’s name. “Redmoon,” he lowly mentioned as he looked up to the night sky as the first drops of rain began to fall, there behind the clouds glowed the bright red moon above. He saw its beauty but also recognized its danger.

 “They call me, Redmoon.”