Full Moon's Circle, part 21 ... Silverhour (end second story arc)

There was still fight left in the beast, who sat in ambush at the top of the cliff. Survival instincts forced it into a crouching defensive, unable to pounce in the close quarters, but still strong enough to swipe out with it’s claws. It’s determination was admirable, fighting them both off without allowing close combat. Grayback found himself being forced to the edge of the precipice, a hind leg slipping and waving frantically, trying to find purchase on the crumbling ledge. He went down hard on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Darktips managed to turn the cat away long enough for Grayback to regain his feet, panting to refill his lungs. Giving himself no time to recover he once again threw himself into the fray, biting into the tawny short hairs of the cats haunches. Under the relentless assault of the avenging attackers the cat was unable to gain an offensive strike, feeling the life drain from it as wounds split open at every pass.

Darktips had gained a hold on the things throat and refused to let go under the rain of clawed battering, retaliation that was divided between him and his ally. He continued to shake the beast, their wrestling drawing them closer to the edge of the cliff. Collapsing with the combined weight of the combatants Darktips found himself staring at the ground far below, his forepaws barely clinging to the rocky soil as his enemy continued to thrash. Sensing the danger in its actions Darktips released the cat, throwing it off balance in its own struggle. A desperate yowl split the air as the cat clawed frantically for support in loose soil that slipped out from under it. The sound of its impact was drowned out by the clatter of rock and soil cascading onto the valley floor below. In the gloom of night neither of the victors could see the mangled remains of their foe, half buried by the debris that accompanied its fall. Grayback lead the way down, intent on insuring the fight was finished. Sniffing at the corpse that lay twisted and broken, he finally allowed himself to give in to the wounds he had received, limping and whimpering as the stung. Darktips held his authority well, never faltering in his demeanor, even though the wounds he had received were as harrowing as his pack-sons. Together they approached the cavern entrance, preparing themselves for a further confrontation should the hunters arrive.

They were amused by the scene that greeted them, Howlingwoods was laying on his side, the huddled form of the young girl curled up next to him. The had only a moment before a crowd of hunters burst from the opening, bringing Howlingwoods to his feet as the child rushed from his side and into the arms of a kneeling adult. Darktips stood his ground, staring at the lead hunter, assuming he was to be considered the alpha of their pack. His sons paced anxiously, the frantic noises of the rescuers making them nervous. Grayback quickly fell in beside his mate’s sire, recognizing his wisdom in not showing fear. Howlingwoods soon followed, the trio standing impassively as the hunters collected themselves.

When it was established that there was to be no conflict, the pack turned, exonerating themselves from any further obligation. They had parted in peace, and Darktips intended to maintain the mutual respect. That was the second time Darktips had had his instinctual distrust for hunters shaken, memories of the group that had returned them to their native land still fresh from only a season ago. It was obvious that these were kin of those that had helped, and not allies of those that had taken so many of his family during the hunting season. In the darkness the trio could see the fire of the travelers camp, established not far from where they had left them. Darktips led the trio in a howl of parting, bestowing an unrealized honour upon the troop that had gained their respect.

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