Her amber eyes reflected the dancing flames, though she wasn't looking at them. Her face was a mask; pale, freckled skin made sallow yellows and sickly salmon colours by the inconsistant light. Her gaze was focused on the past, only several hours ago, on the wooded slope where she and her sibling had come upon him.

The sun had just set, casting the forest her kin had claimed generations ago into blue-black twighlight. It had been time to hunt, and Tartr's parents and uncle had gone out, leaving the younger girl and her sibling to care for the youngest cub. Time had passed, not much, but by the time Tartr had heard the first pained howl, the land had been plunged into near dark. There wasn't even a sliver of the moon out to guide them...

Tartr's memories were jumbled. She and Bacar had rushed out of the cabin as more fearful, pain-filled cries rang out, leaving their youngest sister and pounding, on four legs and on two, into the gloom. Then they had reached the wooded slope, where the smell of blood and fear, battle and something deeply evil, painted the ground.

Tartr had been running full out, and when she reached the slope, she had slipped--the ground was wet. Bacar had stopped back a few feet, completely blended with its surroundings by its charcoal coat. It growled, its voice tainted with confusion and warning.

As she slipped, she'd reached out a hand, felt hot offal instead of leaves. It was... it wasn't a prey beast. She had lain their, half-sprawled in the night, not completely comprehending what it was she was staring at, what she was smelling.

And then Bacar had let fly a wail so haunted that she had had to face it. It was her father... what remained of him.

Her dismal thoughts were gently pulled back by the weeping at her side, as her sister huddled up against her for comfort. "W-will she m-make it?" the girl asked, unable to turn to face the cot which contained their battered, yet still breathing mother.

It is unlikely. Bacar sat with its head hung low on Tartr's other side. Its movements and growls conveyed its deep sorrow. Never the less, the neuter was unable to understand euphamisms as could its hominid siblings, and so it simply stated the truth. She is alive now only because she had been forgotten under dense underbrush. Her spine is broken. She is badly hurt.

The young girl's weeping gained intensity, and Tartr reached an arm around her. She nuzzled the top of the girls head with her chin, attempting to comfort her even though her own eyes were bleary with tears.

"B-but... she's g-gotta make it. She's gotta! We're kin, w-we c-can't die that easy!"

You have much to learn, Siltith, Bacar growled, its tone weary. Kin can die just as easily as our human neighbors. Just as we prey on deer, there are others that prey on the kin..

Tartr paused and looked to her lupine sibling. "You think that a werewolf hunter was out?"

No. The smell was not that of a hunter. It smelled of far stronger evil. I do not know what it was.

Tartr sighed, heart heavy, at a loss for what to do or to say. They had found their parents, and yet they hadn't found any traces of their uncle... save for a few tufts of hair, a few splotches of blood. Whatever it was that had attacked in the night had taken down three grown werewolves, which was a difficult thing to do, to say the least.

"What do we do now?" Siltith asked, her tremulous voice nothing more then a whisper.

Tartr considered, her eyes now focusing on the dying flames before them. She looked at Bacar, who stared at her with its identical amber eyes. It is your decision, its gaze told her, a sexless creature can not hope to become Alpha. I can not order.

Tartr sat straighter, her voice a growl. "We do what we've always done when our kind have run into trouble. We call for help. We survive."

Bacar yipped, confirming her thought. I will run to the other packs to bring warning, and ask assistance.

"No." Tartr shook her head, "How do you know that the beast that killed our father isn't still out? What if you're killed too?"

What would you suggest I do?

The eldest sibling clenched her hands, pressed them to her thighs as she tried to think. She reached one hand up to pull at her brown-streaked-green hair, searching for an answer. "Call for them."

And lure the attacker to our den? the black wolf chuffed disdainfully.

Tartr shuddered and clamped her hands against her temples. What could they do? Would they be attacked again? What if the creature scented out their mother and came after them? Could they even hope to survive without the help of adults? Out of ideas, she roared, "I don't know! I don't know what to do!" She rocked forward as she changed into her natural form, strands of hair shifting down her neck as new, lighter fur sprouted from her skin. She continued to storm as the change swept her, watched by Siltith, who'd quickly scrabbled away, and by Bacar, who remained motionless at her side.

When the change passed, and she was leaning, breathless, on her massive, clawed hands, the black wolf stood. It whined and licked her chin, its voice reassuring. You will think of something. Tonight we will watch our mother. We will see what the next night brings.. Tartr grunted, disgusted with herself, sorrowful for her elders, and fearful of what the next night might hold.