Angela Pham

02/08/01

2^nd Hour

A lone silhouette slinks along the boundaries of the Yeehat’s vast camp, its movements silent and cautious. The figure is of the hybrid wolf who the Indians feared for several months now, known to them as the "Ghost Dog." To himself, however, he is simply Buck, a formerly domestic St. Bernard mixture who has experienced both joy and tragedy throughout his long life. In his past he was a sled dog, but after the death of a loved master, he answered to his instinct, his call of the wild, and joined an elusive pack of wolves that dwelled freely.

Buck lowers his head closer to the ground, camouflaging him even further to avoid being seen. The Yeehats have the power to kill him, yet they do not have the skill. Skill is an advantage that Buck has, and he has gained it with cunning experience. His current duty is to steal an already dead beaver that lay limply beneath the folds of a tent. Although the wolves in Buck’s pack are all efficient hunters, they occasionally resort to thieving from the Indians when food is scarce. As is the case here, Buck awaits an opportunity to leap forward and steal the freshly killed carcass.

Buck’s sleek frame gingerly moves towards the tent, his keen nose warily sniffing the air. No Yeehats seem to be close, and so he leaps into the narrow opening of the tent and fastens his teeth around the beaver’s limp body. The beaver is not so bulky that Buck cannot carry it in his mouth, however, and this allowed him to move even more fluidly, the lifeless animal settled firmly between his jaws.

A shrill call cuts across the atmosphere abruptly, emerging from the mouth of a distressed Native American. An arrow is drawn and readied, yet the Yeehat is frozen in fear, shocked to finally see the Ghost Dog that has haunted their land. Buck does not falter a moment, and he is gone from sight within seconds, even as an arrow is released and sings past his chest.

Breathlessly Buck runs, the bittersweet taste of dried blood in his mouth from the beaver. Though his hunger is raging, the dedication of being the Alpha male in his pack kept him from eating the animal before he gives it to the rest of the pack. Nonetheless, he would have the first bites of it, along with the current Alpha female. She is his equal in the pack, and together they both keep the others in order.

Buck soon reaches the other wolves, and he painstakingly drops the carcass onto the ground, bites off a generous amount of meat for himself, and then allows the others to eat. He keeps his keen eyes on each of them, examining their condition and current social rankings in order to know the need of food and direction. With sudden realization, Buck focuses his sight on the Alpha female wolf, quickly scanning her behavior in mild confusion. She is typically dominating, yet now she is sitting back and letting the others eat before her, ignoring the snarling and usual battling that goes on and simply flattening her ears back, appearing restless. Her stomach is heaving and ripples in a wave of tension. Buck recognizes this as a contraction, and he sits silently as the female staggers off to give labor.

She weakly trudges off to a solitary place, well away from the pack, where the hungry wolves would eat a newborn pup if given the chance. Wolves are carnivores, and when almost starving, all forms of meat are appealing, even the helpless youth. The wolf is well aware of this, and so she walks to where many past wolves have given birth to their young, within a hidden den that is created near a tree. It is a deep concave area, and dense forestry keeps it concealed. She wearily settles into the den and almost immediately goes into labor; within an hour, four delicate pups have been birthed.

For days the Alpha female does not return, but this is not unusual, as a close maternal bonding is necessary before the pups will socialize. Buck leads the pack by himself without difficulty, his experience as a leader blatant. With Buck, a mere snarl from him can send another wolf whimpering for forgiveness. Buck’s size and strength is enough to intimidate any of them.

The female wolf finally returns to the pack after two weeks. She is welcomed back with affectionate nudges and barks, yet she growls and fights them away. Below her stands a single pup, who cowers and attaches himself to his mother’s side. Tufts of bloodied fur, deep scratches, and a slashed muzzle across her body explains the loss of pups: she had encountered rival wolves, and one pup had luckily been spared. This pup is the survivor, and with one glance at him, it is obvious why.

The pup is astoundingly large for being so young. He carries the traits of both Buck and the mother, with erect ears, a long muzzle, and a powerful structure. He is unlike any other wolf, however, as his coat is long, and his paws are massive. His tail also is thick and long, tucked between his legs in his state of fright. Awkwardly, he peers out with beady eyes, legs dancing beneath him in anxiety of encountering the other wolves. The terror of watching his siblings die and his mother in pain has been excruciating for the pup, who has been prostrate to the ground, underneath fallen leaves. His life has been spared only on account of his mother, who despite her stinging wounds, has gathered her strong maternal instincts and fended off the attacking wolves with such rage that they surrendered the fight and ran off with the dead pups hanging in their mouths.

The only remaining pup now leaps back as Buck neared him for a greeting. The mother emits a low growl in warning, lowering her head and shielding her only offspring protectively. Buck grunts in response, lands a nip on her shoulder, and walks away, his normal hostility softened slightly for his Alpha counterpart and her progeny. With slight caution, the pup yowls and steps out from underneath his mother’s body. His eyes travel over the distant wolves and their surroundings, intrigued.

Weeks passed, and fortunately, food supply increases as the season becomes warmer. The pup increases in size tremendously and is now as large as his mother, yet is considerably huskier. Buck’s blood is evident in him. The Yeehats have even given the now-grown pup a name, "Icroese," which means "killer." From watching the pack closely, they know the nature of Icroese. Buck has naturally been in the lead, his equal female pacing just along his heels. Icroese has no choice but to be near the back of the pack, despite his strengths. Buck uses the more dependable and experienced to be near the lead, and he has no compassion for the young one.

The pack gathers into a strategic pattern as they edge around the frantically running moose. Buck makes the first contact with it, biting the left hind thigh of it in an effort to bring it down. The moose falters but continues his run in a surging burst of speed, and the wolves lose valuable seconds while gathering their own second wind. They all charge after except for Icroese, who stands at a stand still and sniffs the air. A peculiar scent lingers, one that is vaguely familiar but has never seemed so obvious before. As he debates the source of it, an arrow whistles through the air and lands into the soft flesh on his neck, embedding itself deeply into his fur. It triggers fury in him, the pain feeling scalding and miserable. With silent approach, Icroese sees the camouflaged figure of a Yeehat and mindlessly leaps atop the crouched man, lips curled and teeth exposed. He fights against the flailing Yeehat in blind rage with all the strength and agility of his father Buck, yet experience, timing, and general skill in battling against man is something he lacks.

The Yeehat holds a thick, sculpted branch that has been filed to a point, and with this the man throttles the lupine. Icroese has never been hit before, and the blow is stunning to his system, leaving him gasping.

The Yeehat is panicked and repeatedly smashes the branch onto the wolf’s neck and back, his voice alarmed as he shouts across the woods to the other Native Americans who are watching quietly. With a few more sharp jolts against the wolf’s body, Icroese falls limp onto the ground, fresh blood trickling along his sides and staining the earth. The Yeehat studies the wolf for a few long moments, running his hand along his fur thoughtfully. The body already feels cool.

With a proclamation in their native language, he speaks to the other Yeehats in an oddly hushed tone. "He’s dead. I’m leaving him here." The others do not protest his decision, although the wolf’s fur still has use to it, as does the meat. Yet they say nothing. Words are not needed to explain that the death of such a rarely magnificent wolf is tragic, even as it is necessary. With that, they all head back to camp, the arrow that had been inserted in the wolf’s flesh removed and clutched in the first Yeehat’s hand.

When the pack returns from their unsuccessful hunt, the scent of death is already strong in the air. The Alpha mother dazedly trails the scent to the silent form of Icroese. Her muzzle softly sniffs over her dead son, and with strained emotion, she turns away with the knowledge that death is final. But she is aware of the movements within her that signified more life to come, of Buck’s future progeny. Buck’s legend would still continue.