Whitefish River A fire in the attic, proof of the prize

The alpha had ventured from the borders, following the river until it lead him into the flatlands. It was late, and he knew most of the pack was asleep, but since their run in with the bear, he hadn't been sleeping very well again. His nightmares had returned with a vengeance, terrorizing any moments of sleep with the haunting eyes and giant paws of some dream world monster bear. 

If that wasn't bad enough, he had started getting frequent, horribly painful headaches. He couldn't figure out what triggered them, but a couple times a day, seemingly out of nowhere, he was overtaken by the sudden feeling of a thousand knives piercing through his skull and into his brain. The pain only lasted a couple minutes, but it always forced him to stop what he was doing and stand frozen with his eyes closed until the throbbing subsided. So far, he had been lucky enough to have always been alone when it happened, but he knew it was only matter of time before someone found out. He assumed his mate would probably be the first to witness it since he spent most of his time with her, especially since the bear attack. The smell of her blood still stuck in his mind as if her were smelling it again, and he was having a hard time shaking the idea that he could have lost her. She had sustained a fairly large injury down her back that was a constant reminder for him. Other packmates had been injured as well, including himself. He had pretty deep gash on his head and a slash across his chest, but he was alive and so was everyone else, so he had something to be thankful for.


These were the alpha's thoughts as he walked the length of the river, white flurries collecting on his inky coat before melting. At some point, he stopped and shook the accumulated water from his fur before resuming his pace. The snow was starting to collect on the ground, and his steps left large wolf prints behind him as he continued his late night walk.