White wolf pack = Mas Money

There is something to be said for hunting. It's hard to say exactly what feels so good about it, maybe it's the fact that you're taking your entire life into your own hands, or maybe it's to do with the fact that you're out there, alone, against the wild. Your survival is in your hands, there's no other way to look at it. If you win, you stay alive. If you don't... well, then you don't. It's not exactly rocket science, and that was exactly what brought Zander to the field of the Western Front on this early spring day. 

There were still some traces of winter in the air, a fine chill in the air that seemed to have a way of freezing the blood of everyone who walked through it, like they were becoming little more than the ice that could be found in occasional little scraps under the shade of trees that had managed to save them from the worst of the early spring heat. This kind of temperature wasn't something that Zander was unused to; working down the mines, you had to get used to extremes of temperature or you would become a corpse just leaning against the wall. 

Unfortunately, whilst he was used to it, it wasn't the kind of temperature he actually liked, which was less than he could say about the white wolf. The wolves of this area seemed to revel in the cold, maybe it was their white coat that kept them camouflaged, or maybe it was something to do with the fact that they were brought up in the cold mountains of the south. Thankfully, this new temperature made it easier for him to track their paw-prints in the snow, and there seemed to be at least three of these things. There were twelve sets of paw-prints, and with four prints on each animal, it wasn't exactly hard to see that there was three of them. 

This actually turned out to be absolutely unnecessary, as a howl very like his own was bellowed across the area, something that would have chilled most people to the absolute core. This was the howl of something that had discovered its dinner, and considering the fact that it was quickly joined by two others, even if they were a little bit further away, it showed that he was discovered. Well, bugger. 

The first wolf showed up above him, charging down at him with its flashing fangs baring at him like some sort of horrific carnival mask of pure anger. A lesser man would have freaked out, but having done work like this with actual humans for the last few years, Zander was not a normal person. The moment it came into arm's reach, a single foot slammed into his face, the sound of shattering skull bursting out of the over-ripe melon of a head as it flew across the air, settling finally upon the ground a few meters away from him. Well, that was one.

500 / 500 Mission Done x 1

Now, it wouldn't exactly be a lie to say that that was easy. It simple was, there were no two ways about it. However, that did not mean that he had the right to settle down and stop being nervous, there had been twelve sets of paw-prints, and three bellows. Plus, they said it was a pack of wolves that had been terrorizing people. A pack was not one alone. If one was easy, he couldn't quite imagine fighting the other two, which seemed a lot closer together than the first one had been.

There is a law that stays constant inside the universe, known simple as sod's law. Essentially, if something can go wrong, it will go wrong, and it will go wrong at the very moment that going wrong will garner the worst result. There is a second law, known as Chekov's gun. Since he'd noticed the three sets, it would have been against the law of the universe being one giant asshole playing tricks on everyone if the other two wolves weren't going to be coming eventually.


Thankfully for him, the second one shot out from almost exactly the same place as the first one had come out, baring its teeth in the exact same way. You could say many things about these animals; they were beautiful, they were exotic, they were rare and their pelts fetched for a hell of a lot of money, but nobody could ever say that they were too different from one another. that was what set humans out from the normal beasts, they had such a variety of personality, whereas these things just seemed to be exactly the same... no, that's not anti-animal racism, shut up reader.

The second wolf joined its brother, barreling down the hill at him. However, as he swung his leg out to get this one the same way as the first, it had jumped a little bit too soon, meaning that more of the distance had been covered. The leg slammed into his gut, shattering his ribs and giving him internal bleeding, but it wasn't enough to actually kill him. He should probably have just been glad that it hadn't ruined the pelt.


The bellow of the third wolf came closer and closer with every second, and he had to finish this guy before he was outnumbered. Too late, it seemed, as the third wolf joined its only still living compatriot. Well, at least he could get this over and done with now. Shooting forwards, he dived on the first wolf, his hands clasped together to form a make-shift hammer.

The weight of his muscles and the bones in his hands came down upon the poor mutt's head, turning the over-ripe melon into... well, squashed melon. With a final death whimper, that left two of the beasts dead, but him lying out on his side like some sort of makeshift feast for the third beast. Apparently, as good as his forward thinking was, he wasn't good enough to do it in situations like this.

There is a strange warmth that comes when you can feel your blood soaking out of your body, maybe it's to do with your body seizing up in an attempt to close the sudden wound and limit blood loss, but whether that was the cause or not it was a well known phenomenon.


A phenomenon that Zander was currently having to suffer through as he bit his lip, stopping himself from crying out as the wolf bit through the least armored part of him, the part that was left out in the most stupid of ways, his right arm. His left arm had been under him since he'd tried to pull himself back up, so the first little tasty morsel that it had managed to lay its eyes on was his bared arm, and like the beast it was, it dug its teeth into him, tearing and ripping as he went.


His left arm was much weaker than his right, and if he were to move that right now he might risk it hitting a vein and causing himself to bleed out... he only had one option. Clearing his throat, he shouted. Not for help, nor in pain, he just shouted, the sheer power of the shout causing the wolf to go flying backwards, the teeth yanked out of his jaw and sticking within Alek's hand as a make-shift tourniquet.


Well, it kept the wound from ripping open,  so he had to suppose that was a good thing. Now, however, he was too pissed to look at it like that. He had just been bitten by this mangy little bastard, for all he knew it had rabies or something. He was going to have to invest his hard-earned money from this job in getting a doctor to check him out so that he knew he hadn't caught anything from this, and the damned wolf was yowling over there in some sort of pitiable manner.


He was not in the mood to deal with this, nor in the mood to deal with anyone really, and so he moved forwards, the battle ending in much the same way as it had begun little more than five minutes earlier, with a leg shooting out and catching the damned hound in his head, and sending it flying to join its compatriots. Gritting his teeth in pain as he yanked the teeth out of his arm finally, he tossed them away from him.


Maybe someone would have been willing to pay good money for those teeth, but he didn't care right now. People were paying him for their pelts, not for their teeth, and so they were little more than a painful nuisance. Moving over to the corpses of the wolves that littered the landscape, he picked them up one after the other, slipping them over his shoulder like they were little more than fashionable coats. He'd have to find somewhere where he could find a knife to skin them with, but without a knife of his own, that would have to wait.