EXILE(Joshua T. Calkins-Treworgy) Mist and fog swirled in damp gray pools of moisture through the air, saturating everything with a slick sheen of dew. The grasses under his feet crushed down into the sodden earth, his eyes probing the darkness for signs of the paths he should follow. Faint bluish shafts of lunar light shone down through openings in the jostled canopy of trees above, casting away areas of shadow too dark for his tastes. There were things at hunt and at play in these woods that knew or cared little for the natural creatures who roamed the area. Things that made sport of killing other creatures; things that could use the force known as magic, some of it not of the mortal realm. Yet here he was, walking alone in the woodlands along the paths some such creatures used for tracking the mortals who were foolish enough to stray into the Angohm Forest at night.

The weight of the night sounds and the fact that he was alone began to press down on him. He had no companions, for none now would have him. He had become as feared and hated as the creatures of which he thought at that moment. The high pitched buzz of insects floated to his ears, sending a shiver down his spine. The dank smell of sodden wood, petulant fungi and animal corpses left to rot wafted through the air, infiltrating his nostrils, a hostile collection of unwelcome guests barging through into his senses. A stiff breeze blew through the ranks and files of tall oak and cedar sentinels of the woodland, battering him like a rebuff for his behavior and his solitude, causing a tremor to rip down his spine. Such cold, frigid air this night, he thought. It felt as though mother nature herself punished him, wagged an accusing finger in his direction and screamed 'I know what you've done!' For weeks he had traveled through his native Angohm Forest with such thoughts haunting him, spectral voices with no hosts, no throat to be exposed and ripped out by him to silence the accusations. Why?! Why must I be tormented so? Deeming these thoughts unnecessary of voice, he simply continued to trudge through the woodland, trying to find something to hunt down and kill so that he might have food this night. And as he slunk through the paths of the Dark Beasts, as his kind called them, he sniffed the air to be certain to avoid those who had outcast him. Those who had exiled him from their pack, and their kind.

His name was Annak, a great gray wolf. But among his kind, he had become known simply as Kinslaughterer, the Exiled One.

Annak dreamed that night, as he did most every night, of the event that made him what he was. The moon had been full, and there had been many Dark Beasts roaming the Angohm Forest. Like a knife, the lunar light slashed through the mist as it pooled in thick patches through their hunting grounds, and the pack assembled within a small clearing, preparing for their evening. There had been six of them, Annak included. The Alpha of the pack, a hulking mass of muscle and scar tissue, Branif, stood splay-legged in the middle of their circle. His gray coat was matted with water still from running through the stream, cleaning his wounds. Wild dogs, lesser creatures in the minds of the wolves, were dangerous when gathered in high numbers, as Branif had learned earlier. But they were not a match once the rest of the pack had caught up to offer support. They had torn the wild dogs into shreds, spraying blood and fluids all over a small area in the forest, urinating on the corpses to mark this as their victory, as their turf. The other packs would respect the sheer number of corpses, and leave the area, as was tradition. Packs warred with one another in the Angohm, but there were rules. And the rules were life.

The first rule, of course, was that one did not intrude on territory owned through the Rite of Battle. Areas where a pack had dominated a fight were left alone, regardless of opponent. This only didn't apply when the results of the battle would have been obvious, like say one wild dog versus an entire pack. Such territories went up for grabs all the time. The second rule was that no pack could start their Hunt in another pack's territory. They could pursue a kill into other land, but the prey then became open game. Sometimes the original pack lost their kill to locals, and had to go hungry or try again. The third rule was that inter-pack battles were to be arranged. Special fields were kept free for these battles, and many packs had become entirely extinct as a result of challenges such as this. A member of one pack could not simply kill another pack member without first challenging them, and having the challenge accepted. With the Humans, Elves, and Dark Beasts hunting their kind already, they could ill afford to be constantly battling one another. And the final rule was a rule kept in every pack as sacred; a member of the pack could not kill another member of his own pack, period. Challenging the Alpha male was a sacred tradition, but the battle was witnessed and judged by outer-pack Alphas, and brought to a halt when a victory became clearly imminent. Time was taken afterwards for everyone to recover and heal, before the pack could be challenged.

Yes, this was the great Wild, but there were rules. But Annak was more cunning than most of his kindred, thought almost in the manner of a Human. His dream took him back to that night, so long ago it seemed now, when he had broken the sacred rules, and forever altered his destiny. Branif and his mate, Atreya, had been sheltering within a small cave in the center of the forest, the others keeping watch while Branif recovered. But he had not rested long before coming before them, his head held high. "Loyal pack," he had said in the tongue of all wolves. "There is little time for rest! Atreya tells me, while I have rested, that there are Humans nearby, hunting our kind for skins and pelts. They are trappers, our most hated enemies among the bipeds! We must leave this area, for they shall soon arrive with their crossbows and armors, ready to kill us all as trophies."

"But Branif," another had said, the runt of the pack, Onis. "You are still injured, Alpha! If you run now, your wounds will only open again! We cannot risk it!" Onis was the paniced one always, but he never said anything foolish; his arguments, though sometimes cowardly, always had logic and reason to back them up. Branif smiled, his lips curling back over his lupine snout.

"I am fond of you Onis, and you possess keen intellect and rationality, but we must run. The trappers are both Human and Elven, and our chances of hiding successfully are slim. We need to move out, but with caution and stealth. Already they have taken most of Potera's pack," he said, hanging his head. Potera had been a rival of Branif's pack for years, but the great gray held a mutual respect for the black wolf Alpha. "Potera himself runs this way, away from them. He only has a few hours' lead over them. We will begin slowly, allow him to catch up. He must be offered our aid and protection."

"Alpha," Annak had cried, silent to this point. "He is of another pack! And of another hue! We are great grays, we do not serve the likes of the black furred wolves!" Anger roared through his voice, his indignation at having not one, but two Alphas possibly giving him orders like some pup clear in his tone. "I will not give him aid!"

"You shall," growled Branif at him, bearing gleaming, moist fangs. "By the great Earth Mother you shall, or you shall be branded a coward and despiser! Now, make ready for the run," he said, sniffing the air in search of trappers. They were gaining ground, and even Annak could smell them, hear the creak of their hunting leathers and the snapping of branches and underbrush. Another, more familiar and similarly hated, scent lingered, and was getting close; Potera. The great black Alpha was not just running, but rather charging into their midst. As Branif darted off, leading his pack away from the approaching danger, the hulking black wolf lumbered into their pack, panting heavily, crimson life blood streaking down his side. An arrow shaft stuck straight out of his left flank, the feathers flittering gently as he put distance between himself and his attackers.

"Branif of the gray," Pontera heaved as he redoubled his efforts. Even running at breakneck speed, he could only just keep up with the gray wolves. Annak's kind were smaller than Pontera and the black wolves, leaner and less powerful, but they ran like the wind, and each gray was only using half stride. Adding in the blood loss, Annak figured that Pontera would slow them down enough to get them in real danger. There had to be a way to get rid of him without breaking the laws of the forest! But for the moment, he could think of nothing. He would bide his time, as he always did. The hunt, after all, was not about the kill. It was about the hunt itself.

"Pontera of the black," Branif responded, slowing down to match stride with the black Alpha. "You are wounded, cousin," Branif said, using the term cousin in a kind tone. Annak spat to his side, hearing his pack Alpha use such a term of great respect on the dim brute. Pontera was undeserving of such honor! Why had Branif never used the title with him? He was one of Branif's own! Blind indignation rendered him speechless, but his thoughts continued to boil in the same destructive loop; evade the trappers, get rid of this injured whelp, challenge Branif for the position of Alpha. These words coursed through his mind, a silent mantra that he used to continue the run without having an outburst.

"You, honor me," pant, pant, "with your words, Branif, of the gray. But," pant, skid, stumble, run, "we, have no time, for, pretty words! The, Elves have used magic! They run as fast as we!" Annak, hearing this, risked whipping his head back for a look behind them. What he saw only dismayed him, for the huge black fur was right! Three lean, deeply tanned forms, their pointed ears and slightly slanted faces giving away their race, pounded through the woods after them. Onis, Triok, and Sumna had fallen back, letting Annak, Pontera, and Branif lead the charge. They would have to open the gap between themselves and their predators soon, before more arrows let fly. If they didn't-

But he didn't even finish the thought when young Onis, only just past his pup status, took a wooden shaft through the back of his skull. Blood and grey matter sprayed forth, the glinting metal tip of the arrowhead just visible amid the gore that had become Onis's face. "Oniiiis," Sumna, his mother cried, her voice nothing more than a howl to the pursuing Elves.

"We must run faster, Alpha," Annak grunted as his lungs began to labor with the effort of an extended run. "We must charge as fast as we can, now! Onis is dead!" Branif, his snout crinkling, his lower lip pulling back to reveal his lower jaw and blackened gums, looked back briefly. Onis was nowhere to be seen; they had continued running, but were now pursued only by two trappers. The third had apparently remained behind to do what trappers did to Onis. His only son in the pack was dead, and yet he had to continue to do what was best for the pack. It was the primary law of the Alphas; emotions had no place in situations like these. The greater good of the pack and its survival came first. He would mourn his son later, when he could. If he lost control now, he would be challenged, and this was no time for posturing or challenges for the right to lead.

"I agree, Annak," he said. "Greys, full sprint! Now!" The remaining five grey wolves darted ahead, Pontera beginning to fall back through their ranks. Steam billowed out of their snouts in small white puffs, sweat trailing through their fur, matting it to their sides. They could outrun their pursuit, thought Annak with a measure of relief. They would run, and go to ground for a while to hide, as they had done before. Except, he thought, something was wrong. They ran for nearly an hour, and still they were harried. How, he thought. How could they continue to track the grays? As he turned to check for pursuit, he saw the answer. A thin trail of blood lay in the snow, from Pontera's wound! They would run, but the Elves would find them! They had maybe ten minutes on their trackers, and Annak decided it was time to make a statement to his Alpha. One he would not be able to dispute.

"Alpha, we must stop a moment! I must make a point to the pack!" Already aggravated with the seeming tirelessness of their predators, Branif came to a halt. The other grays stopped, and Pontera, only a minute behind them, caught up.

"What is it, Annak?! Make this brief! The trappers continue to chase us!"
"And they do so because of that," Annak said, dipping his snout into the snow behind Pontera. His face had made an imprint in the snow at the end of the blood trail. Branif stared in horror at the thin red line weaving through the tree-covered hills they had just run through. "We must be rid of him, Alpha! Now!" Annak, the larger of the two grays, had always been more intimidating than his leader, but did not command the same respect or wisdom. He had a talent for cleverness, but usually in the form of guile. Physically, he was a match for Branif, but Branif had been in more scraps than Annak could count on the rings of a cleaved tree. The older gray knew how to fight, and would not go down easily. Over the years, as a result, Annak had developed an affinity for using wit and cunning to degrade and insult his Alpha, wearing him down, trying to goad him into a mistake. And finally, without his interference, Branif had.

But Branif shook his head. "He is wounded, but Pontera is strong. The bleeding will stop shortly. There are mud pits nearby that have a healing quality, Annak. He can roll his wound into one when we reach them, but for now we must flee. He is an Alpha, and though not your Alpha, you shall still give him respect."

"Respect," Annak spat, outraged. How could he?! How dare he?! Every moment in the presence of this brute of a wolf was costing them the chance of escape! "You would ask me to give respect to this barely sentient slab of meat and fur?! I shall not," he roared, bearing his teeth and growling at Pontera, who could only muster a phlegm-riddled gurgle back at him.

"Annak!"

"No," the clever gray rasped, his fur standing on end. "You are making a decision that is best for him, and not for this pack!"

"He is an Alpha," Branif cried.

"Alpha of what? His pack is dead, may I remind you!" A wicked sneer curled across Annak's face. He had the old fool dead to rights on this one, and from the look in Branif's huge, yellow eyes, he knew it too. But the sounds of their trackers had gotten close again. They would have to flee once more.

"We will discuss this later, Annak! Greys, we run!" With that, Branif led the charge once again, crossing out of familiar territory into region of the forest ruled by the bears. Bringing trappers into the land of the great, massive ursines was a dangerous move, but they had little choice. None of them, not even Annak in all of his knowledge, could risk doubling back into an ambush. Through clearings and gulleys they sped, stopping once to check on Pontera. He was losing speed, but his wound had indeed stopped bleeding quite so badly. Still, the trail behind them had blood over it. They sprinted blindly through the woodland, knowing little or nothing of the land ahead of them. Finally, their lack of knowledge cost them. The pack dashed out of a patch of woodland, right to the edge of a snowy cliff. The fall was sheer and would surely end in death, but the grays were all agile enough to stop. Pontera was not. As he skidded through the snow and ice, he left the ground, but was caught by Triok by the tail in his jaws.

"Haaaarghh," Pontera yipped, blood running down his backside. Triok meant well, but his teeth had torn into the black Alpha's flesh, opening a fresh new wound. Still, the effort had stopped Pontera from dropping to his death. Annak's mind raced with the possibilites. Now he had his chance to be rid of Pontera! He moved forward before any of the others could think to act, grabbing Pontera's tail with his own jaws just below Triok's own.

"Kee ack," he managed to grumble to Triok. "I have more strength than you! I'll get im!" Triok, unsure, looked to Branif, who nodded, panic in his own eyes. The moment Triok let go, so too did Annak. He chuckled to himself wickedly as he watched the black Alpha land amid the rocks below, an earth shattering crunch rising into the air as his bones turned into dust. As he laughed, the other grays stood staring at him in disbelief and horror. He looked around at their stunned faces. "What? I have eliminated the problem," he said with an air of authority. He pointed his snout aggressively at Branif, but stopped as he saw a great black bear rumble out of the woods behind them.

"Annak," Branif whispered, his voice shaking with rage, or pain, Annak could not tell. "You have let one of our own die. You have murdered him! Great woodland cousin," Branif said to the bear, who bowed in greeting. "You have been witness to this?"

"Indeed," rumbled the black bear.

"Good," rasped Branif, turning cold, hard eyes at Annak. They were the eyes of the dead, he thought in momentary fear. "Then you shall bear witness to my declaration. Annak, gray wolf! Hear my words and know that they shall be accepted as law in all of the forestlands! You are hereby banished from my pack! You are banished from any pack! Your friends and allies shall be the shadows and the wicked thoughts that you have kept to for so long! I should have known you would do this! And yet I was tolerant of your constant scheming, your endless lies and deceptions! But no more! You are now a wolf in exile! And from this day forth," Branif growled, bearing his fangs and lifting his leg at Annak, pissing on the snow just in front of him. "You shall be known by the title of Kinslaughterer!" As Annak stood there, mute and unable to react, the others of the pack urinated near and on him. As the final insult, the great black bear defecated only inches from his face, walking away without once looking back. Annak was left utterly alone.

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