.RED.WINTER.massacre.

[Sivoncé™]

In a cold mountain cavern, little voices argued shrilly against the bitter, unyielding winds. Mother was gone -- out hunting again. For however long it took her to find them meat, the pups would be alone. For Mother, this condition was more than undesireable -- at times, it was unbearable. But with the wars and Blood Mist returning, Annanti had seen no other option but to go into hiding in the mountains.
But the threats that roamed in solitude could be even more menacing than the ones that ran shrieking and flapping their wings into the packlands. Only a mile away -- as far as Annanti had dared to go -- she tracked a limping reindeer that she had been steadily weakening and closing in on for the past twenty-four hours. It was difficult, hunting big mountain game alone, but she had long accepted that there was no alternative. Except for maybe snowshoes -- if she could carry enough for herself and her four children.
Annanti closed in for the kill. For some, inexplicable reason, she thought of her Geurrier. Te amo, je t'aime. Never forgotten. Tous le temps en mon coeur. She sprang from her place amongst the snow-covered rocks and slit the throat of the creature in a single swipe. Blood sprayed from the great gash gathered in red pools in the snow.
The pups, however, reveled in their freedom.
Silvestre and Alvaro battered at each other and howled their tiny howls in a mock play-fight. Swan and Lucina hissed at each other in a nasty stream of hateful words. Suddenly, one she-wolf sprang at the other and they went tumbling out into the open precipice. Powdery snow clouded around them, but on they fought, Mother's rules forgotten.
Stay quiet, stay hidden, and never, ever go outside of the den.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Evening chill settled in his spine, an invigorating alternative to the dreadful summer heat. Along the arctic path, pads sank into the cool of the slush, leaving a winding trail of distinct markings wherever he tread. As the wind plowed more vigorously, the tracks were skewed, as was his scent. Almost as if he was an apparition, evaporating into this seeming night without a trace of his existence.
Only, it was not yet dusk, despite the deceiving climate. Approaching a curve in the mountain slope, the aimless vagabond appeared to absorb the mountain shadows that shielded his form. His sharp gaze turned outward, narrowing at the silent response of the sun-bathed valley beyond. Twin scars marred his vision, and a hunger swelled in his chest.
And it was not a meal that he craved.
An abrupt set of cries stirred the air, rousing Morgan from his quiet musings. The young, careless yips revealed age and location, and yet he remained fixated in the shade. Younglings. The thought carried with it no delight, nor animosity. Simply a statement.
The pause in his stride lengthened, and suddenly he charted a new course towards the source of the disturbance. His mind a blank canvas, targeting on the warmth and cheer of cavorting children. Eventually, he stood along the crest of a boulder, sleet shifting under his claws. Slit eyes bore down on the litter that had dared venture from the security of the den.
They were so close, and the mother so far. Morgan did not utter a word.

[Sivoncé™]

"DID NOT!" Swan snarled coldly at her sister, shivering with the sudden cold wind that swept over their precipice.
"DID TOO!" Lucina spat back.
"DID NOT!"
"DID TOO!"
"DID NOT!"
"DID-woah!"
The children froze in place, suddenly aware that they had broken one of mother's most stressed rules. Carefully pulling themselves apart from their tangle, they gazed down the sharp cliffside in awe and growing fear of the gigantic drop laid out before them. Slowly, the girls backed away from the great, terrifying mouth of the cliff and back towards the safety of the den.
Inside, Alvaro and Silvestre still yelped and howled in their playfight.
Lucina hissed sharply and covered their mouths with her paws.
"Enough of that! Swan and I went outside the den on accident! We could get in trouble--"
"You went outside the den?" The brothers yipped incredulously. Alvaro and Silvestre exchanged a mischeivous glance, and then scrambled easily away from their sisters and barreled towards the exit.
"WAIT!" Swan shrieked. "THERE'S A DROP BE CAREFUL!"
Suddenly, there was a great clatter of claws and the brothers slipped perilously close to the edge. Breathing hard, they dared not move an inch, terrified they would tumble backwards into the abyss.

Annanti sighed with frustration -- she had barely managed to heave the creature more than a few yards from its original position. She was still a good half-hour or so away from her precious children. Her heart clenched with pain and paranoia. I hate it, hate leaving them alone...

[.Rabid Lycan.]

It was so easy, almost too easy. The dual scars shifted as he sealed his eyelids, the possibilities racing through his mind with rabid ferocity. Did it not seem lowly, seem cowardly, to prey upon innocent younglings? They could not hope to defend themselves, not from this trained brute. He had learned his lessons of negligence, of controlling his temper—no, if an assault was charged, they could not hope to escape alive. Where was the sport in that?
Razors tightened their grip on the stones underpaw, shattering the shell of ice that surrounded its figure. No, it was not sportsmanlike. In fact, why slaughter them at all? Had not Diablo preached to him in his dying moments? Did that wolf not speak some truth, if not more?
But bloodlust is an addiction. An obsession, more like. Once the madness is released, it is often not possible to control. And, moreover, he desired that control, that thrill. That satisfactory compensation when fully reaching an omnipotent hand over his victim, and possessing the ability to take that life away. That life which he so ironically cherished, and yearned for all the same.
The life he wished he had.
Death does not discriminate, be it woman, child, or man. And neither does pain.
Eyes snapped wide, and Morgan lunged in a mighty leap. It was the brothers, having ventured to the mouth of the den, which stole his initial interest. He targeted one, and dove in for a fatal bite.

[Sivoncé™]

(I think I may have Alvaro survive, not sure yet. We'll just let him chill out on the rocks for not Maybe he'll be stupid and come out before Morgan's gone )

"LOOK OUT!"
Out of nowhere, the demon flew at them with flashing fangs. It was only a moment before he hit Silvestre, his target, that Swan cried out in terror. The brothers sprang apart as death flapped its ugly wings and ran screaming into their midsts; for Silvestre, there was nothing left to do but close his eyes and wait to die.

Alvaro rolled periloudly over the edge of the precipiece. His claws scrabbled desperately against the rocks. Trembling, he hid just out of view, barely holding himself from a deathly drop. He dared not make a sound.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM! LET HIM GO YOU EVIL DEVIL!" They were the coldest, most hateful words known to Lucinda. Suddenly, the girl flung herself at Morgan, growling with all of the might in her fledgling throat.

Swan stumbled backwards, eyes wide and locked on the slaughter. There was nothing she could do for them now. She wanted to run to the edge and see if Alvaro was still there -- perhaps he'd grabbed onto the rocks and hadn't fallen to his death. But this was incredibly, stupendously unlikely. She wanted to go back in time and erase their minor mistep, the stepping outside of the den. She wanted to call her sister back, tell her it was no use they would only get themselves killed. But most of all, she felt weakness as her brother's blood poured out into the snow and stained it a sickly crimson. She began to back rapidly away, closer and closer to the back of the den.