WRITE TEAM: One winter's night

The forest is silent but for the gentle sigh of the wind and the scrape of leafless branches against one another. Snow falls from the boughs of the trees. Moonlight kisses the now exposed bark, tinting it silver, and the slumbering trees shiver, their crowns gone for the winter and leaving them exposed.

A wolf steps into the moonlight, his amber eyes flashing as he scans the forest. Pale fur bristling, he draws back his lips in a quiet snarl and snaps at the air, disturbing the cloud formed by his breath. Another wolf skirts the ring of moonlight and ducks behind a tangle of fallen branches. A bloodied moose is just beyond, collapsed in the snow. His eyes are milky in the moonlight, blurring as his life slowly ebbs from him.

For a moment, he believes the forms he sees sneaking through the trees belong to his herd, and he doesn’t stir. He’s weary from his fight and the ensuing flight. Winter breathes into him its chill, replacing his draining blood with slush and his lungs with the north wind. He can’t hold it all in. He huffs the air back out and lashes one of his legs, throwing snow into the air. The wolves pause cautiously, waiting for the right moment.

The moose gasps in another breath and rests his head on the snow, happy to transfer the weight of his antlers to the cold blanket covering the earth. His pain has eased, replaced by numbness. His breathing slows, and he falls still, unaware of the wolves closing in around him. Something presses into his side, and his eyes flicker back open. The sight of the wolf startles him, and he kicks his legs out. The wolf yelps and retreats, but the rest of the wolves move forward. Panic flashes through the moose. The wolves have caught up with him. He thrashes defiantly, ready to resume the struggle. The wolves sense his weakness, though, and pause just long enough for him to grow tired again.

He watches them come, his heart pounding. Around his head, his labored breathing forms a halo of fog, and it distorts the wolves so he can make out only their glowing eyes as they watch him, biding their time. He bellows, and one set of eyes disappears. He blinks, and then ...

The first nip falls just short of his throat. He beats that wolf away, but others come up behind him and rip at his neck. His life ebbs faster now, flowing from him in crimson torrents, but he isn’t dead yet. He kills one wolf and struggles to rise, but it’s too late. A wolf darts for his throat as he begins to pick himself up, and the moose collapses, his last sigh a gurgle in his ravaged throat. The wolves pick his bones clean and slip away, always on the prowl for their next meal.

An owl looks on from her hollow, her beak tucked against her white plumage. The wind stirs the branches once more, but this time it sweeps the snow over the gore, hiding it until spring.

The world moves on, and the wolves run free ... until they find prey that is stronger than they thought, and the cycle is broken.

KAYLA COOK has lived in Ottawa since 2012. She can be reached by emailing tammies@mywebtimes.com.