Bright Moon Gathering

Frigid snow clings to your pelt like a second coat, the brisk air freezing all scents in their place, and the still winds only encourages the blinding white escape to be an ethereal place of death. The mountains are never this still, like the corpse of a fresh kill. They are obliged to breathe with every push and pull of the breeze, and the ground glitters with the raw snowfall, a realm of supposed beauty and freefall cliff faces.

It isn’t like that, however. 

For every step you take, you feel the vibrations cause an avalanche on the other side of this vast mountain range, every inhale taking from the poor spruce trees, and every exhale encouraging the face of some unnamed creature to be carried down the steep, icy valleys beneath the wings of an eagle. The palpitations of your heart is the root of an earthquake. Each blink of the eye is a genesis of a blade to the throat of spring, holding the growth of something new with a wicked glint in the eye.

You suppose you should have declined the mission your Alpha had given you, but you are reminded of your duty to your pack. To protect, to encourage health and prosperity. To ensure surrounding packs don’t think to take what is rightfully yours, and to strike deals and promises to guarantee an honorable bond between wolves.

You take another step forward, trudging underneath the weight of the fresh flurry, buried beneath elbow high white snow. To think any wolf would live here in their right mind, you wonder who follows an alpha like that. You snort, shaking your head. Clumps of snow tumble from the fur round your neck, the weight of it insignificant, yet it still feels as if the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders.

Eventually, when the sun has bled the sky salmon red and tangerine orange, when the last drift of snow has fallen from the fragile branch, and when the winds are resurrected, you catch the sight of two slender figures. The winter of the mountain has not done them good, ears too large on their heads, legs long and boney. You cannot see the condition of their fur from this distance, but you know that it cannot be suited for life amongst the snow.

A whiff of their scent is brought your way by a dry breeze, and you nearly immediately recognize it as the pack of the Bright Moon Gathering. A strange name, you are aware of, yet so fitting. One wolf blends in neatly with the snow, and the other is a stark gold nugget on top of the white blanket they stand on.

Lifting your tail, you greet them silently, your ears perched high on your head. You can’t help the rise of your hackles, but that just may be the wind.

With surprising elegance, they trot to your destination, ears perked, heads leaned ever so forward, and faces tight with weariness. Both are notably female, one a juvenile, and the other four or five summers old. You keep your face relaxed, an attempt at proving yourself to be no threat to them.

“State your business,” The golden one barks, her hackles raised and lips pressed taught over her sharp teeth.

You want to snarl at her. "I am here to speak with the alpha of these lands," you say instead, "My alpha is interested in making a temporary trade with your pack -- as a means to welcome you to the area, if you will."

Goldie sniffs, her whiskered lips sitting on top of her canines as she glances towards her companion. “Well? Out with it, we don’t have all day.”