Tartr came up from the cellar as the sun rose, beams of light penetrating through the old, worn shutters. She balanced a cold haunch of meat over one shoulder, using her other arm to pull her up the well-used ladder. Siltith lay curled against Bacar's side, and while she had finally slipped into a troubled sleep, the black wolf was awake and watching her. When they made eye contact, it lowered its head and wagged its tail slightly. It was a greeting and an appreciative gesture all at once.

"Today we will have to find help, one way or another, before the sun sets again." She grunted as she let the haunch slide to the floor, "I don't think we can hope to weather whatever that has attacked by holing up in this cabin."

You're probably right, the neuter wolf agreed, its short growl causing their youngest sister to mewl in her sleep and twitch. Bacar nuzzled the girl and she quieted down.

Tartr retrieved a large knife and began to carve some meat off into a black pot. "We can't be sure of if the creature will attack again... It might have been a single attack--"

We can never assume such a thing.

"Of course. I know that. But what if--"

No. Bacar growled sharply. Tartr turned to stare at it for its retort, and after a short staring contest, it turned away. Finally it whined, One does not ignore the river that the deer water at.

Tartr turned her gaze back to her task, and then shook her head. Golden brown locks swayed gently as she replied, "True. This is true." She sighed and carved one last hunk out of the haunch, then wiped the great knife over an already red-stained cloth. "I've decided that one of us must travel to the nearest pack and inform them of what's happened. If they are agreeable, we might be able to get help. If not, at least they will be forewarned."

Her lupine sibling made no audible noise, but she knew it was asking, which of us would you have go?

"Siltith likes you better, and chances are that a pack will listen better to me." It was a pretentious statement, but a true one. Neuter werewolves were relegated to baby-sitting chores, their word was generally shunned unless they were already well known and trusted. It was the way it had been for ages, and it would not change suddenly now.

You will risk going?

"What other choice do we have?" Tartr shrugged, wiping on hand over her nose before rekindling the now barely burning fire. They both looked up suddenly, an unfamiliar noise catching their attention. The sounds of crunching boots on gravel, of someone approaching their cabin, caused them both to tense, and Silith to stir. The steps were staggered, uneven, as if whatever was approaching was dead tired. Bacar looked at Tartr, and she returned its gaze. Trouble?

The footsteps stopped just before the doorway, and they could hear the person who caused them take a gulping breath of air. With a voice so weary that it sounded as though it came from the grave, they heard the person rasp formally through the door, "Pack Swift-as-Wind requires the audience of Sliver Pack--grave news," and with a voice more pleading then a human at the hands of death, "please, open the door!"

Tartr leapt to her feet, her hackles up. Siltith was awake now, and Bacar was standing protectively over her. The eldest sibling approached the door cautiously, her eyes flashing, her skin tingling with a withheld urge to Change. "Who speaks? Don't give me formalities."

The deadpan but slightly shaky reply, "Morning, of Pack Swift-as-Wind. Please, let me in, I mean no harm..."

"You may not mean it," Tartr barked back, angry and afraid, "but you may have left a trail for harm to follow!"

"No! I have been running all night, but I have been careful! I have left no trail, believe me! Please let me in?"

Tartr snarled and looked to Bacar, who lowered its nose to sniff curiously. If he had left a trail then it was too late, they might as well let him in. The girl unfastend the numerous locks on the door and cracked it open to get a look at the intruder. Scrawny, shaking, her dark brown hair was plastered against her face, curls attacking eyes too tired to care. She was currently resting hands on her knees as she stood, bent over, recovering her breath. She peered up at Tartr as the latter werewolf poked her nose out, dark eyes rimmed with a fear all of the newcommer's own. "Come in." Tartr stated simply, and the new arrival, looking as though she were about to collapse, stumbled after her.

As Tartr began locking the door behind her, Morning actually did collapse, her hands hitting the rough wooden boards of the floor, her head hanging low, her entire body trembling. Bacar growled slightly, while Siltith watched with wide, golden eyes. "Speak," Tartr ordered, circling around the fallen newcommer so that she could crouch before her face. When the exhausted werewolf simply kneeled there, shivering, she gave a warning rumble.

Slowly, she looked up at her questioner, her eyes sweeping her and Bacar, as well as the rest of the cabin, before settling back on her face. As was appropriate, she lowered her eyes before Tartr. Morning was probably older then her--though not by much--but Tartr put on such an impressive front that she might as well have been a pup. "Speak," Tartr repeated.

Her voice was still shaky, but not nearly as much so as it had been outside. "Terrible news... last night," she began, "there was... there was an attack!"

"What?" Tartr literally backed away from her, shocked.

Another? Bacar asked at the same time.

Morning tensed, not looking at either of them. "What... what do you mean another?" Her hands curled into fists on the hardwood.

"You speak first, messenger," Tartr growled, regaining her composure.

Morning nodded, though her body language shouted how tense she was. "An attack... it came around midnight. My elder brothers and I were hunting, and we... came upon the smell of a carcass. It was a fresh scent, and it was of werewolf." Morning shuddered, but continued, "we investigated, but these things, they were not like creatures I have ever seen." She paused again, trying to come up with the words necessary. "The closest thing I can relate them to are dragons, only these were greatly evil, possessing many heads."

How many were there? Bacar asked, its voice cold.

"There were two that I saw, one smaller, one larger. The larger one was commanding the smaller as though it were a pup, though much more cruelly. The smaller was sitting on a pile of bodies--"

"More werewolves?!" Tartr's gorge rose at the thought.

Morning shook her head, some strands of dark hair coming loose from her sweaty scalp. "No, I don't think so. I couldn't tell, but I think I smelled humans and other creatures, too."

"What were they doing, hording?" Tartr asked, her own voice tinted with her utter disgust and horror.

"I..." the new werewolf shook her head again. "I don't know. My brothers and I retreated, but the smaller one noticed us. It attacked." She stopped before she could say the dishonorable: she had fled without a fight. It was obvious, from her lack of wounds to her fear-drenched sweat... she could have done nothing else.

Bacar, tail lowered, head still down, asked sympathetically, were there other survivors?

"No."

Tartr, who had been staring hard at the messanger the whole time, turned back to Bacar and Siltith. This must be what had happened to their parents... as gruesome as it was to think, it couldn't be anything else. As she came to that conclusion, she turned back to Morning and stood. "This... seems like the same thing that has just happened to us. You aren't alone. You can rest here for now, but we have to make plans to stop this. If you choose not to help you can leave now."

Morning shakily got to her own feet, head still lowered, fists still clenched. "If it means that I can avenge my brothers, I will do what I have to."

"Good." Tartr stood tall, her face a mask. Morning, for she was taller then her, slumped her shoulders and, with the proper amount of respect, kissed her chin. Tartr continued, somewhat pleased, "I'm making some food, and there are some cots to sleep in. Tonight we will have a bonfire, many-headed creatures be damned."

Bacar growled. It had not wanted to do this, though Tartr had outspoken the wolf. Their mother needed a proper funeral, and a fire was the only way to go. They would have to go far out for it, of course, in case it attracted attention.

Morning nodded as she spoke, and with a grateful tone, "Thank you for your hospitality. I will help however I can."

Once you get some sleep, the black wolf interjected as the new arrival nearly tipped over. The young woman nodded again and headed for one of the cots.

Two attacks in one night... multi-headed monstrosities... it was much to handle. Tartr went back to preparing the stew, thoughts while worries raced through her mind.