The Bloodied Moon

It was dawn when Bane woke. His pale pelt barely being disturbed from the chilly breeze that came down the entrance to the den. Winter had come again by the smell of things. His faded muzzle resting on Tahlia's side just above her slightly bulging stomach. They had been blessed with young again. He gently nosed the russet fur of her stomach just enough to feel her sides expand when she breathed before drawing back. The fjord was being rather quiet. Drowned out by the wind and flakes swirling in the air outside. The snow... Bane's unseeing eye looking down but remaining sightless in it's gaze. The warm and complete sensation he got from Tahlia's smooth pelt against his cheek faded as he slowly brought himself out of the den.

Snow. A rather thin and hardly frozen layer of it was felt between his wriggling toes as he inhaled and stared to trek away from the slopes of the fjord. The world was painted in scents for him to navigate through with a swelling inhalation. And as he edged closer and closer to what had become a favorite spot these past few weeks Bane couldn't help but reflect on his life for a moment.

He edged closer to the mimosa. A strange place for the tree to be growing amidst all the pines on the slopes of the fjord. But this was a secluded place in the back slopes away from the angled riverside of the fjord. Bane inhaled deeply again, a cough surfacing as well as a sensation of lightheadedness. He sat down, a misting of crimson tainting the pure white of the snow at the base of the bare tree, Bane tasting the coppery flavor of blood with a sniff. Perhaps it was resignation that didn't cause the old wolf to be concerned with what he felt deep within him. Sadness at not being able to feel and teach his new litter. To still touch and love his mate as tenderly as she deserved. Hearing the antics of his pups from one another who he had all prepared as well as he could for life's joys and misgivings. Bane leaned against the trunk of the tree as he thought. Talutah scar exposed to the waning moon as the morning grew older. Something definitely didn't feel right within him.

Death had finally come to claim him. Already he could feel the fleeting edge of it's alien sensation growing in his chest as he laid down. Soon he would be with all the others from the northern ash lands who didn't make it. The Talutah tribe would soon have it's last member. Rancor. Alarice. All the young he'd never known. Dillinger. A quick pant left him that ended with a low howl, sides expanding quickly in the melting snow as the dying wolf's exhaustive summon rolled over the rise. Blind gaze held still for a moment as his ears pinned back. A slight welling of tears falling from the corner of his eyes with a somber blink as the snow continued to fall.