~Eternity~ Erlendur stood on the peak of the ridge, defiant against the fierce gusts of his packs namesake. His brother stepped up beside them, his silver fur whirling the the wind. "The North Winds smell rich of prey. Do they not, Brother?" His brother inquired. "They do, Auslaug. Perhaps today the wind will be with us, and we shall both gain our names today." He replied wistfully. In the green, grassy, windswept valley below him, he spotted the migrating caribou. Most likely to be the last of the season. "Lets pray the Ancestors are with us!" His brother gave him a farewell nod and replied: "May the Ancestors lead you to good hunt." He turned to his brother, locking his eyes with his kin. "And may they lead you to rich hunting lands." He returned in the customary fashion. He touched noses with his brother before they parted ways, their two hunting parties splitting like a river of silver-and-brown-and-black wolves down the ridge. Erlendur raced against the wind, the head of his own hunting party! This was the time. He was certain. This was when he would earn his name! He and his brother were now on the ceremonial hunt. The hunt that proves their worth to the pack. This hunt would seal his fate till the next season of the North Winds. Erlendur raised his chin and smelled the rich petrichor moor. The smell of the caribou herd also crossed by not far from here. He signaled his lieutenant up beside him. "Borrig Pi-" He cut himself off, remembering his place. It was customary that a wolf refer to a wolf of higher rank by his or her full name. But on this ritual hunt, he was the highest in rank. "Yes, Master Erlendur?" His Lieutenant prompted. His lieutenant did not call him by his full name, as Erlendure did not have one just yet. Hopefully, if this hunt went well, we would by the end of the day. For now, "Master" Would have to do. He flicked his tail for his flankers to initiate. They would efficiently scout the weak and young from the herd and begin to drive. Elite as his paw-chosen team was, the hunt began swiftly. Of course, this was a ritual hunt, and according to the scrolls, the strongest of the oldest buck must be hunted. They all knew the plan, and seamlessly worked together. The hunt had begun. Erlendur himself linked eyes with his decided target. A white stag, and surely the largest of the herd. He barked short orders and his team wove their they around the thunder stampeding legs. Everything was executed smoothly, until a new scent worked it's way to him. Another team! He realized with horror that the scent belonged to Auslog. He turned to see his brother leading his own team towards the white stag, a fire and rage had replaced the kind and wistfulness he had seen in his brothers eyes not hours ago. He forced his own eyes cold. He would catch this stag. It was no longer a hunt. It was a race. ~Chapter 1~ The hours stretched long and tedious. Both teams were exhausted. The hunt was three days strong, and the stag better off than any wolf for miles. Erlendur was beginning to worry, as they were growing nearer and nearer to the border of East Winds Pack. Not only had they chased the only herd in their land far from their primary hunting grounds, but close to into another packs land. If the stag was not slain before then, both he and his brother would fail. Hunts were long, drawn out processes. Predator and prey would run for miles, admit truce to regenerate, then begin again. All of this mutually mentaly decided, of course. He forced himself to his paws, His team had rested long enough. He howled, and they began again. ~~~ His paw pads were sore, and his legs felt just about as useful as brittle twigs. They had gained much ground, and the stag was finally tiring. But worry still gnawed at his heart. They were mere miles from the border. That distance was rapidly closing. His brother was never far behind. Auslogs's team never seemed to tire, always a step behind but just as ready to strike. Suddenly, his brothers team veered in. Right into the heart of the herd towards the stag. That was an illegal move, as death was almost inevitable. But his brother tried it all the same, and he watched in horror as his prize slipped away. Fury rejuvenating him, he launched into the herd, leaning himself close to the stag. His brother didn't waste a second to look, and immediately launched himself onto the white stags back. It called out in agony. Erlendure was just about to make a leap and try to make the kill, but a horrible stench washed over him, temporarily disarraying him. It took him a moment to long to come to his senses, and he realize in horror what it was and what had happened. They had crossed the border. The white stag was mere feet from him, limping behind his fleeling herd. But it would be of the highest crime to slay prey in another packs land
"Erlendur you fool! Get back over here now!" His brother growled in a voice harsher than he ever remembered. His paws felt frozen to the ground. "You might want to listen to him, pup." Said a deeper voice he recognized, though not as one of his own. He turned to see a patrol of East Winds wolves (For of course it was them) surrounding him, led by the one and only Olfric Boarslayer. The broad-chested brown furred wolf stood before him, quite imposingly to say the least. Now he finally broke from his shock. "Olfric Boarslayer, Alpha of The East Winds. Forgive me," He said as he slowly knelt before the great brown-furred Alpha. Olfric Boarslayer looked down to him. "I will forgive this once, pup. Once." The Alpha said in his deep, booming voice. Bowing his head, Erlendur skittered across the border. Olfric called to his brother. "You will see to a full report is given to your Alpha. I will have no confusion," He ordered. Auslog nodded. "Yessir. Thank you Olfric Boarslayer, Alpha of the East Winds." He said, bowing as well, as was customary to all Alphas. Erlendur kept his head low in shame. He glanced back to the snarling faces of the enemy wolves. There was one face, however, that was not as fierce. In fact, the expression could be interpreted as sympathy. This face belonged to that of a auburn/brown furred wolf. She looked strong and as fierce as the rest of them, with muscles rippling beneath her pelt. But her eyes, her deep green eyes set her apart. Deep and sympathetic. He felt a sharp pain in his rump, and turned away from the she-wolfs face to see that of his brothers, furious beyond anything he had seen before. Begrudgingly, he turned and followed his brother back to camp, head down in shame. ~Chapter 2~ Erlendur sat at the edge of the mass of wolves encircling the center of the camp. They all sat around two wolves; His brother, Auslaug, with his eyes closed, and the Alpha of North Winds Pack himself, Asmundure Elkhunter, performing the ancient speech of Rite of Name. Between the two wolves of interest, sat a crown of intricately woven branches. The Alpha soon finished his ceremonious speech, and promptly dipped his head to retrieve the crown in his jaws.
