#my gang to me 2023 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lafseanchai · 1 year

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Well, I have a whole section of the gang as a wolf pack AU centered around the wolf known as Will. I knew I had written some, I just forgot it in my WIPS and it was more finished than I thought It is rather sad at the beginning (and you can probably tell that I read White Fang at a formative age). But, here is how a wolf called Will eventually met up with an outlaw pack led by Robin.

Wolves of Sherwood: Will

It was late spring, just heading towards summer, and the newest members of the Clun pack were enjoying the weather with the enthusiasm that only puppies could display. The four pups romped in the dirt and grass between the den mouth and the stream. Nothing that could be a toy was left untouched. Bits of bones from past meals, sticks and rocks and the occasional passing butterfly were all pounced on, chewed on and chased. Their mother, sprawled in the sun right in the middle of the play area, was also a target; she played along by wagging and flicking her tail as the pups tried to pounce on it.

The rest of the tiny pack - pups’ father and his two cousins, a male and female who both helped babysit as needed - were out hunting. With a litter of growing pups, the demands for meat were high.

As the day grew warmer, the pups slowed down and plopped down in patches of shade, tongues lolling, sides heaving. One pup, a little black coated male, settled down on top of his mother, a twig clamped in his jaws. She glanced up at the pup, but let out a quiet huff and flopped back down, tail thumping on the dirt twice.

Chewing the twig kept the pup occupied for some time; he studiously scored marks down the length with his needle sharp teeth, eyes half closed and drowsy in the sun; his ears, still floppy at the tips, added to the appearance that he would melt into a puddle between the sun and his mother’s warm flank.

The wind shifted, and a warning howl rent the quiet afternoon. The alpha female’s head shot up, and then she surged to her feet. With a yelp, the black pup hit the ground and rolled to his feet, the twig still clamped in his teeth. Three voices raised the warning then, the rest of the pack giving voice to terror.

Strange sounds followed the howls. A shrill, twisting scream unlike anything that lived in the forest. The whooping bays of hounds. Those sounds had been heard from the north, where the Nettlestone pack had been, from the east of the Knighton territory, but they were far closer now. They were in Clun territory.

A sharp bark from the mother sent the pups running for the den. For a moment, she hesitated, wanting to barricade them in with her body and protect them, but a wail from the forest stopped her. She gave another short bark - an order for the pups to stay - and galloped off into the trees.

The scents of man and hound hit her just as hard as the reek of fear and death. Her mate was still snarling, voice rumbling over the yips and barks of the hounds. But there was only one other voice with him. The female cousin was silent. It was her death that the alpha female smelled. She raced on.

A sudden wave of sound hit her ears - the hounds bays rose and then fell into a tumult of snarls. A wail of pain filled the air, and then the sound of ripping flesh was muffled under the shouts of men. The wind brought the scent of blood and death again.

She sprang into a clearing just as her mate turned at bay, a wave of bloodied hounds and shouting huntsmen just behind him. He was torn up across his sides, but there was blood on his muzzle and brisket as well. With a snarl, she dove into the fray. The hounds hesitated for a heartbeat at her sudden appearance, but then a man bellowed over the noise.

“Guy, attack!”

A massive black hound drove out of the pack, shouldering the slighter hounds out of the way. Huntsmen caught up with the hounds and started grabbing collars and reorganizing the pack. Others lifted their bows and took aim at the two wolves.

The black hound didn’t attack right away, prowling a few yards out of the reach of the wolves, hackles up and teeth bared. Then he lunged at the male. Both wolves reacted, but even as they sprang to the defense, bows twanged.

Arrows thudded into the male’s side, and he went down under the sudden strikes and the hound’s fangs. One arrow struck the female in the hind leg, and she wailed in pain. But she was still on three legs, could still move, still fight.

But even as she staggered up and turned to support her mate, the black hound’s jaws closed and ripped. The alpha male died in a gush of blood. Terror unlike anything she had ever known flooded through her. Her mate was dead, her body in pain, all she wanted was a place of safety, of familiarity. She wanted her den. And she had to protect her pups.

With a snarl that turned to a high whine, she turned into the forest and ran as fast as she could back towards her den. The pack of hounds gave tongue, and tried to follow, but got tangled up in each other and the huntsmen. She ran on, far slower than she desired, left hind leg hitching and swinging uselessly under her.

She made it back to the den entrance before her legs gave out entirely. The pups heard her, smelled the blood and fear and started to cry, their whines and yips echoing up the narrow passage. She snarled a warning and they fell silent, just as the massive black hound burst through the treeline and galloped for her.

A surge of strength went through her, and she stood again, growls rumbling out of her chest, lips lifted away from fangs, body low and tense. The hound paced a half circle around her, just out of the reach of her lunge. But she could not attack, unless it was a final lunge to end everything one way or another. And she could not retreat, to take cover with her pups, because she would not bring the danger with her into the den. She stood her ground.

Baying and frustrated yips drowned out her snarls as the rest of the hunting pack and the huntsmen arrived. The black hound stopped his pacing, but did not move from where he stared down the she wolf.

One of the younger huntsmen whooped as he rode into the clearing. “We’ve got her now! She’s all but run herself to death!”

“It’s a shame,” said another. “Put her down, and fast. This is turning my belly.”

“But Thomas! You’re in charge of the wolf hunts, aren’t you the least bit happy to have caught our quarry?”

“Hunting wolves to make Sherwood Forest and the whole shire safer for everyone is admirable,” he replied. “But when we do a botched job of it and don’t make clean kills, I am always sickened.” He whistled. “Guy! Come!”

The hound hesitated, but reluctantly heeled. Thomas raised his bow and fired. The wolf was too defeated to run, to even move. The arrow took her through the heart and lungs, and she collapsed. It was over.

But inside the den, a few of the pups started to whimper, their small voices hardly audible past the entrance.

The hound heard them and sprang forward with a growl. He leapt over the wolf’s body and thrust his head into the den entrance. His wide shoulders caught on the firm packed dirt, and he struggled to push in further. The willowy wolves had no trouble slipping in and out of the den, but the hound was too bulky. He sat by the entrance, ears pricked forward, a low growl pulsing out of his throat.

Thomas growled as well. ‘Guy! Come! Heel!” When the hound didn’t twitch, he dismounted, crossed the clearing and grabbed the hound by the collar. “What are you after? The wolf is dead.” Even as he struggled to make the hound move, he called back to the younger huntsman, “Come and get the wolf and skin it.”

“Can’t we just take the head back?” But he dismounted anyway and reached for his hunting knife.

“Even a summer pelt can be useful on a hood or cloak. Might as well make use of what we can.”

Guy, sensing Thomas’s distraction, bayed and lunged back towards the den.

“Stop. Guy, heel!”

But he ignored the commands and started writhing like a fish on the end of a hook. With a wild twist, he pulled free of his collar entirely. He didn’t pause before galloping away to the den again. But he ignored the wolf’s body and went back for the entrance, clawing at the hard dirt and shoving his head and neck inside.

Thomas threw the collar to the ground and stormed back to his horse. “Damn the dog! I don’t know what the Sheriff expects me to do with him, Guy only consistently listens to him!” He swung back into the saddle and saw the younger huntsman hesitating, “Get to work! If that blasted hound doesn’t want to come with us when we leave, he can stay out here and starve. Or the Sheriff can come and fetch him himself.”

Guy refused to leave his post when the rest of the pack and the riders left. The wolf pups were no longer crying, too frightened by the strange scents that mingled with their mother’s. The hound huffed and snorted, but settled down on his haunches, ears pitched forward and eyes focused on the narrow den mouth. The pups cried a few times during the night, but when the hound started digging at the mouth of the den again, they quickly fell silent; the hard packed earth defeated his paws again, and he sat down again on alert.

He was still in the same position when the Sheriff galloped into the clearing the next day, a frustrated but vindicated Thomas following a few horse lengths behind.

“I told you, sir, he has decided to sit there and won’t move.”

“He’s a hound, you fool, you can make him move!”

“Not without losing a hand or my throat. You’re the only one who can make him do anything.”

The Sheriff snarled and swore as he swung off his tall grey and strode towards the hound and the den. “Guy! Heel!”

A flick of an ear was the only response he got, and with another barked command that went ignored, he reached Guy. With no warning and no gentleness, he strapped the collar back around the hound’s throat, tied a leash to it, and snapped the leather lead hard. “Guy! Heel, you blasted hound!”

The collar was too tight to wiggle out of, so with a frustrated growl, Guy stood and reluctantly turned his back to the den.

“What was he after?” The Sheriff demanded as he rejoined Thomas at the horses.

“I have no idea, my lord Sheriff. There maybe pups in the den, but they won’t survive without their parents or pack, they wouldn’t be weaned yet.” He frowned and grimaced as he looked back toward the den. “We could go get one of the badger hounds to make sure and put them out of their misery quickly-”

“Forget it. You have wasted too much time and effort on this tiny pack already. You should be looking to the future. And monitoring the deer herds for my next hunt.”

“Yes, my lord sheriff.”

With a faint cloud of dust, they galloped back out the clearing, Guy still on a leash and rather reluctant.

The pups were silent for a few hours after the hound and men left. It took a while for the wind to brush away the lingering scents, leaving the stale smells of death and terror. But hunger soon drew out small whimpers, and then louder whines, until the entire little litter was crying. They exhausted themselves and fell asleep as the afternoon turned towards twilight, but roused several times during the night; when one pup woke and started whimpering, it set off the rest.

Of the entire litter, however, the black pup was the quietest. He always had been, and was far less rambunctious than his siblings. It wasn’t from laziness or weakness, but rather from a desire to watch and plan before acting. It was rare that he ever instigated a mock battle, but he often won them. He cried with the rest, but often stopped long before the others and just wrapped himself into a ball, waiting for the scary smells by the den mouth to dissipate and more familiar scents and sounds to return, bringing family with them.

But it never happened. Several days passed, and the scent of death, softer and less bloody than they had gathered from outside the den, filled the air again. The smallest of the litter died. The pups’ cries increased but soon fell silent. They were losing strength.

The terrible pattern of days passing and pups weakening and dying continued, until the little black pup was the last of the four. He was weak and silent, barely able to uncurl from the little knot he’d made of himself, between the den wall and the bodies of his litter mates. The wind shifted and sent a tiny tendril of fresh air down the mouth of the den and he lifted his head. There was no real drive in him, but the fresh air drew him with the scent of water, and he staggered to his feet, and crawled up and out of the den.

Sunlight nearly blinded him, but he could hear the tiny stream where it flowed at the far end of the clearing. Hunger and thirst had been so constant he barely noticed them any more. He wobbled as he tried to stand at the entrance of the den, but his legs gave out and he tumbled down. It was too much; he whimpered as he tried to stand again, but his legs refused to work, his head was too heavy. With a last whimper, he curled into a ball again and didn’t move.

Dan Scarlett was further from home than he normally went on his rambles, but to see him far afield from Lockesly village wasn’t terribly unusual. He was the village carpenter, his business often required either bulk orders of timber, or special requests for high end projects. So more than once he’d been spotted out in the depths of Sherwood around Locksley, or wandering near Knighton in search for walnut or apple or a particular elm. He liked to cut his own lumber for delicate projects.

That didn’t explain why he would come back to Locksley with a pack that held more than just wood, a pack that had taken on a rather stained appearance that even the dark material couldn’t camouflage fully. Or why there was a venison in the pots of his family and a few of his neighbors after those trips. Dan would have hesitated to call himself a poacher, but that was exactly how the law saw him. But thus far, the law had not seen him. He hoped that would continue, because he needed venison far more than timber this trip.

The winter had been harsh on everyone, but especially hard on the Scarlett family. The weather the summer and autumn before had conspired to make for a poor harvest, and then fevers swept through the villages throughout the coldest months. Between the lack of food and the illness, Dan’s wife, Jane, died before the snow melted. It left him alone to care for Luke, who was still far closer to being a child than a man. So he was desperate.

Hunting deer in the spring wasn’t the greatest endeavor. Most of them were equally hungry and worn out from the winter, and while the does hadn’t dropped their fawns yet, it was a good bet that they were pregnant. Hares and fowl were more of a likely choice, but he would take anything that showed up in bow range. And as long as he wasn’t caught with either the deer carcass or arrows with broadheads, he would be fine. Unless the Sheriff wanted a scapegoat, or the forester or guards that spotted him felt the need for entertainment; then anything could go. Which is why he was working on a system to set up large snares in the deeper parts of the forest to catch deer. At least then he wouldn’t have to carry the illegal arrows.

Reports had come in that Forester Thomas and the Sheriff’s huntsmen had just cleared out a small pack of wolves near Clunn, which was why he was so far from home. The pack near Locksley was still about and strong, which made it nerve wracking to even be out in the forest alone collecting timber, nevermind hunting and bringing down a deer. It was just better not to risk it. So Dan had brought his bow, blunted arrows for small game, and a pack of wood working tools that cleverly disguised the illegal arrows.

Near noon, he stopped at a clearing with a small stream bordering one edge. It was sunny and warm and inviting, until the wind shifted. The stink of death lingered in the air. He hesitated, and then decided to stop at the stream before moving on; he’d find no game here. But as he drew nearer to the water, the mound of earth he took for a bare hillock resolved into a den. Something moved at the entrance, and he froze. The reports had said that all the wolves had been killed, but perhaps they were wrong. But the shape was too small for a wolf, perhaps it was a badger…

Dan took a deep breath and walked closer, trading his grip on his bow for a grip on his hatchet. It would be better for a close quarter defense than the bow. The small dark shape reached the edge of the den mouth, just got past the shadow and collapsed in the sunlight. Dan took a few more slow steps forward, and then knelt down as he realized what the shape was. A wolf pup. More than half starved, it was just skin and bones and a faint fluttering breath. The stench of death wafted up from inside the den.

Something akin to anger flared up in his chest. He did not mind the wolves being hunted to allow for safer travel in the forest and unimpeded hunting, but to leave the pups to starve to death? That was just overly cruel. He hefted the hatchet in his hand and looked down at the pup.

“Better than letting you suffer,” he whispered.

But the words seemed to rouse the pup, or at least catch its attention. One eye cracked open, a lip lifted over one small fang, and the faintest growl whispered up from his throat.

Dan put away the hatchet and carefully picked the pup up. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered as he stalked out of the clearing, the pup tucked under his shirt against his chest. “But if you’re so determined to live, I’ll give you that chance. I’ve seen too much death this winter.”

He knew of Matilda through rumor only, and while he dismissed the ones that said she was a witch, he was relying on her reputation as a healer and someone who knew the animals of the forest. But it was still with some nervousness that he knocked on the door of her small cottage.

It swung open and Matilda peered out at him, a bunch of herbs clutched in one hand. “Dan Scarlett? What the blazes are you doing out here? Don’t you have a son to take care of?”

For a moment, he stood flabbergasted, and then he demanded, “How do you know me? And about my Lukey?”

She waved a hand. “We’ve never had business personally, but I was in and out of Locksley enough this winter, what with the fevers. Some people wanted something stronger than their mother’s kitchen medicine, or the village leech.” She cackled, “And they spread rumors of me being a witch as the same time.”

Dan had no reply for that.

Matilda tossed the herbs back on the table behind her and dusted off her hands. “Now, what can I help you with?”

“I don’t know what possessed me, but I found him in the forest, and I couldn’t leave him to starve, but I have no idea how to care for him…” He pulled the pup out from under his shirt and carefully held him out.

“Oh, the poor wee thing!” Matilda exclaimed and took the pup from him. The pup lifted his lip but didn’t growl. “Where did you find him?” she asked as she turned and went back into the cottage.

Dan followed her, stooping through the low doorway and dodging hanging bunches of herbs. “Near Clunn. They hunted down the pack, but must have left the pups.”

“That Sheriff has boils on his brains, ordering all the wolves killed like that,” she muttered. “And I hope all the huntsmen get boils on their privates for leaving pups to starve like this.”

Dan shifted uncomfortably. There was nothing in the cottage to make him think that there was any truth to the rumors, but if she openly spoke against the Sheriff, the truth wouldn’t matter.

Matilda waved him towards a chair as she collected a bowl, filled it with milk, and settled down opposite him with the pup on her lap. “You came at a good time. I just finished milking my goat when you knocked.” She dipped the corner of a cloth into the milk and offered it to the pup. He sniffed it and licked it tentatively. “Good, go slow, little one. Don’t want to get yourself sick.”

“Will he make it?” Dan asked.

“If he has any will, he will,” she replied. “And he does seem to be willing.” She smiled at the pup as he started to mouth at the cloth before taking the corner away and soaking it again.

“That’s a good name.”

“What is?”

“Will. I could call him Will.”

Matilda looked back up at him sharply. “Are you planning to keep him, Dan Scarlett? What are you planning to do with him? How are you planning to tell your neighbors that you’re keeping a wolf? Because there is no way to convince them this is a dog.”

Dan grimaced and shrugged. “I didn’t think of that. I just thought I’d save him. I’d seen too much death this winter.”

Matilda snorted. “Men. Always thinking in a straight line.” She took the milky cloth away from the pup. “The same with you. You’re hungry and you think you want more, but if you eat too much too fast you’ll get sick and could die anyway.” The pup was too weak to argue much, and Matilda turned back to Dan. “I understand why you want the pup to live. I was sorry to hear how many people in Locksley lost to the fever and hunger this winter. But if you’re struggling to feed you and yours, do you really want to take on another dependant? One that is going to need a massive amount of meat?”

Dan scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I just feel that I should. Usually, I don’t hold much for signs, but I didn’t plan on going out towards Clun until this morning, and I didn’t go to an area I normally would, because of the wolves, and I found him… it’s almost like it’s a sign that better things are to come.”

Matilda hummed, somewhere between agreement and derision. She didn’t answer for a minute, as she stood carefully with the pup cradled in one arm; a blanket plucked off her bed and resettled near the hearth became a nest for the pup. Once he was settled, she turned back to the table and Dan.

“I don’t know if I can agree with you, about better things coming because I can’t think that killing wolves is a good thing. But the fact that this little fellow is still here and fighting… Maybe that is a good sign. If you want, I can care for him for a few days, until he finds a bit more strength. And you work out a plan.”

Dan left the cottage an hour later, the wolf pup still snoozing at the hearth, and with a bundle of bread, herbs and goat cheese for him and little Lukey and their supper.

When he had protested, she simply pushed the food at him and said, “If you’re picking up strays and not thinking about how to feed them, I don’t care to think how you manage to keep your own boy.”

Dan had bristled at the accusation, but guilt did twist his gut as he finally accepted the proffered food. The spring had seen him out and away from Locksley more often than not, and while he had made sure Luke stayed with one of several understanding families, it certainly wasn’t the same thing. He needed to be with his father, especially after losing his mother. A plan started to form in his mind as he walked, and he tore it apart and reworked it several times before he got to Locksley. The massive smile he wore when Luke ran into his arms was part joy at seeing his boy, and part at his own cleverness.

Despite how much Dan wanted to spend time with Luke, he spent most of the daylight hours of the next week away from home. There was scouting to be done, and then building, and collecting the wolf pup from Matilda. He had found a sort of cave some years before that he used for smoking and storing the venison when he couldn’t bring into the village immediately. Not far away, he found a rocky ridge that was split through the center like a tiny valley. With the height of the ridge, there seemed to be little evidence of rain induced flooding. Not that it would matter when he was done.

Before the week was out, he’d constructed a small, secure, and well camouflaged hunting camp of sorts. Once he had gathered puppy Will from Matilda, he left pup alone in the cottage with food and water. He’d been bracing himself for the howling and whimpering tantrum the pup would throw at being left alone, but Will surprised him; despite looking utterly dejected, the pup made no noise.

Dan went back the next day, and the day after. On the third day, he finally brought Luke and bundle of his tools to work on small projects that the village needed. It was easy to explain his absence to his neighbors.

“After Jane… Luke and I just need time away from the house. To shake off the shadows and sorrow.”

After that, the Scarletts made a habit of disappearing into the forest, and the camp became a home away from home. Luke and Will got along, with the boy taunting the pup into play, and the pup sneak attacking while Luke was focusing on carpentry as retribution for a lost game of tag. Dan started to take both of them out while he hunted, starting with rabbits and fowl.

Despite his gentleness while in camp, Will refused to wear a leash; he snarled and fought every time.

“I’d give it up,” Dan warned as Will spun to snap at Luke’s hand where it clutched the leash. “He’s a wolf at heart.”

As a wolf, Will was stubborn and independent, but was also pack oriented. And Dan and Luke were his pack. Instinct occasionally warred with training and loyalty - it was hardly Will’s fault that Dan and Luke only had four legs between the two of them and couldn’t keep up when he went to explore. Those explorations were relatively short to begin with, barely out of sight, much less earshot; as he got older, though, he’d take off for hours at a time. This was not a problem when the Scarletts were just out in the forest to work on carpentry, but if they wanted to hunt, it was sometimes hard to get Will to focus on the same goal.

One thing that Dan quickly discovered that he would never have to worry about was Will wandering into villages. The sound and scent of large numbers of people, dogs and horses drove Will straight back into the forest, whining and snapping when confronted too soon. It was not terribly surprising; between what he’d heard about the wolf hunts around the shire, and the way he’d found the pup, there were probably a lot of bad associations for Will.

So as long as they stayed away from the villages, there were no problems. And between hunting and keeping a wolf, that was Dan’s goal. Coordinating hunts caused enough headaches to begin with. Instinct made Will want to catch the scent, and drive the deer or rabbit or grouse in a chase until it wore itself out and slowed. This did not work well for the rest of his pack, as they couldn’t keep up, and nine times out of ten, Will would lose his prey. It took nearly a year, but eventually, they managed to teach Will to drive the deer towards them instead.

As Will hit his yearling mark, it became more common for Dan to let him wander, instead of locking him in the cabin. Will understood where his territory was, and as soon as he heard or caught scent of the Scarletts, he would come running.

The world outside the forest grew more troubled, but Dan and Luke were able to forget all of it for the few hours they escaped into Sherwood and were with Will.

A warbling whistle pierced through the morning air. Will lifted his head from the mouse nest he had found and flicked his ears, narrowing down the direction. It sounded like a robin call, but it didn’t quite hit the right pitches for it to be from the bird. It was his pack.

Abandoning the mouse nest and the snacks promised within, he sped off towards the whistle. The wind had helped speed the sound towards him, but it was under a mile to where Dan and Luke stood near the cabin. There were only faint scents of carpentry on them, the smell of lumber and linseed oil, no more than usual. But there was the smell of beeswax and steel. They were planning to hunt deer. His mouth opened in a lupine grin as he galloped into the clearing and squirmed up against their shins.

“Oh, get on, you,” Dan said, with more humor than annoyance in his voice.

Will turned his attention solely to Luke, who allowed himself to be bowled over into the forest duff after tossing his bow and arrow bag to the side. Between his giggling and Will’s happy whimpers and mock growls, it sounded like a whole pack was rolling around in the valley.

“Alright, boys, let’s get going,” Dan said after a few minutes. “Those deer won’t throw themselves in front of your arrows, much less when they’re in the bag yet, Luke.”

“Get off me, Will!” Luke’s voice was muffled under the weight of lupine fur and muscle, but he managed to wiggle out and dusted himself off. “I don’t care what you say, Da, he’s more of a dog than a wolf.”

“He’s just a puppy, that’s all. He’s still a wolf, no matter how playful. He'd be just as wanted by the Sheriff and his men as we would be if we got caught with venison. So let’s go and get done so we can get back to that replacement chair for the Sheriff’s dining room.”

Luke dodged a lupine shoulder check as Will tried to incite a game of tag. “Come on, Will, let’s go get a deer!”

Will wiggled and yipped before galloping into the forest. He darted back to check in with his little pack as he swung about in bigger and bigger loops to find a fresh trail. Before long, he ran across the scent of several deer. He dove down the trail, head and tail level as he focused on the scent, ears pricked to pick up the slightest sound to indicate that he was getting close to the little herd. He didn’t bother to check in with his pack; he knew where they were from his last check in. The chase and the ability to either take down the deer himself or bring it close enough for Dan or Luke to take it down with an arrow was his job now.

The deer were in a thicket, intensely interested in the browse. It was a trio of young bucks, tiny antlers coated in velvet, too young to be concerned with territorial disputes at this time of year, each with a section of the thicket to themselves. Will edged around the thicket, belly to the ground, ears forward, body tense and ready. The wind had died down, so it would be easy for the deer to catch his scent no matter where he went, but he knew he had to push at least one of them back towards his pack, and it would be easier to startle one into going that direction and then keep it there instead of herding it from the get go. He moved around to get behind his target, which still hadn’t noticed him. Without a sound, he burst from cover and sprang straight at the rear haunches of the deer.

The movement and the sound of his body through the brush and small trees was all it took to set the deer off. Two of the deer took off in the same direction, but the third sprang away in the direction that Will knew his little pack would be approaching. He sprang after that deer.

Through the thicket, Will was initially faster, able to run lower than the tangled, whippy branches of the saplings. But once the deer hit an open trail, it left Will behind easily. That wasn’t too much of a worry, Will never could outrun a deer in an open race. All he had to do was make sure it stayed going in the correct direction.

The wind switched a bit and Will caught the scent of his pack, thick and near. So did the deer, and it tried to turn off down a different trail, away from the smell of humans. Will put on speed, turned, and leapt over a fallen tree. He managed to snag the deer’s hind leg as he landed, fangs slashing. He missed anything vital, but the deer staggered and went back towards the pack. Through the trees, he glimpsed Dan and Luke, their bows at the ready.

A loud grunt echoed through the trees as the deer sprang into the air, twisting. It fell to the ground after a few more steps, arrows through its heart and lungs.

Luke whooped in triumph, running down the path and leaping over the deer to tackle Will.

“Now boys, settle down. We need to get this deer butchered and be gone before anyone comes around.”

Luke scrubbed wolf slobber off his face and bounced back to his feet. “Coming.”

They didn’t often take deer, all things considered, but they did it often enough. The best way to handle it was to field dress it on the spot, leaving the offal behind but keeping the rest of the carcass intact. Will would dive into the gut pile and sort out the liver and heart to gulp down while Dan and Luke situated straps around the head of the deer to help pull it. They would bring it back to the camp to finish cleaning it and cut the meat into portions.

They were only a few minutes into the trip back to camp when Will, who was trotting ahead, suddenly stopped. His head went up, ears and eyes trained back in the direction they had come from.

“Will! You need to move,” Dan panted as he readjusted his grip on the straps.

Will only whined high and thin, ears going back and his tail clamping down. His belly lowered until it almost touched the ground.

Luke moved away from the deer and knelt down next to Will. “What’s wrong?”

Will whined again and looked ready to bolt at any second. The wind fell and for a heartbeat there was no sound in the forest. Then the sound of hoofbeats and the bay of hounds rang clear through the trees.

Dan lunged forward and grabbed Luke by the shoulders, hauling him to his feet. “Lukey, listen to me. You need to get out of here. You know what to do.”

“But Dad,” Luke struggled against the grip on his shoulders.

“No! You know that is the sheriff’s men. I don’t want you to get caught. Go! Get to the stream, run in it, and then get back to Locksley.”

Tears of fear and frustration starting in his eyes, Luke spun and ran.

Will was still hunkered down on the ground, alternating between whines and growls as the sound of the hounds and horsemen grew louder.

“Get out of here!” Dan waved his arms at Will and took an aggressive step forward. Will flinched away but didn’t run. “Will! Go!”

Will didn’t want to leave Dan. Dan was pack, he was safety. But the sound of the hunting pack brought back such deep rooted fear that he couldn’t stay. With a last, yowling whine, Will ran.

He ran away from his pack, away from the hounds. He ran away from the path that Luke had taken, and away from the camp. He needed to get away from the fear. As fast as he ran, he couldn’t leave it behind. The bay of the hounds seemed to hang in the air and follow him, the bright stink of blood surrounded him.

He didn’t notice the other wolf until he was on the ground.

The rangy brown wolf hit him from the side, taking him down into a roll. Will reacted and twisted to snap at the other wolf. He got a mouthful of fur, but couldn’t get a decent grip. The other wolf twisted away, and then leapt back. With a warning snarl, the brown wolf got a paw on Will’s head and another on his flank. Will froze and went limp. After a moment, the brown wolf stepped back and stood watching him.

Will got back on his feet but stayed low, belly on the ground. The brown wolf wasn’t the only one in the tiny clearing. A white wolf stood near the wolf who had pinned him, her focus turning from the clearing to the forest where the sounds of the hounds had faded. Another brown wolf paced at the edge of the clearing, keeping an eye on Will. Lastly, a grey wolf sat to one side, his tongue lolling out, head cocked to one side as he watched Will. After a moment he yawned, thumped his tail in a wag and woofed quietly. He ignored the snappish bark from the second brown wolf.

When no one made any more aggressive moves, Will allowed himself to sit up. He recognized the scent of the other wolves, though he had never seen them before. His wanderings had taken him near the territory boundaries of the tiny pack; he had never tried to get close to them because they weren’t his pack. The pull had been there, but Dan and Luke had always pulled him back. He remembered how his pack had described this pack. Robin and his mate Marian, both held in a sort of reverence and fear by Dan and Luke; Robin had been known to sneak venison out of the actual village of Locksley, and Marian was called wyrdwulf. The other brown wolf was called Much. The grey wolf, with blue eyes and black fur making a mask on his face, was new. But he had heard Dan and Luke talking about some trick performing wolfdog that had escaped from the Sheriff. Allan.

Robin stepped forward and looked at Will, relaxed and showing no signs of aggression. The sound of the hounds and horsemen started up again, but quickly turned and faded in the direction of Nottingham. Robin glanced back at the rest of his little pack, and then started trotting back towards where the huntsmen had stopped. The other three wolves followed him. Allan glanced back at Will. But he hesitated; they were all heading back to where he had left Dan. Allan woofed. Will got up and trotted after the tiny pack.

Will had lost his pack as a pup, and now again as a yearling. He was nothing if not adaptable and clever. He could only hope that would be enough to keep this pack.

#my gang to me 2023 #au: gang as wolfpack #fan fic #my work #my work from 2014 lol

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