Wolf Story

**This is my feeble attempt at Fiction. They won't suck so much when I get better, I promise. Might be some grammatical errors.

There was once a prideful pack of wolves which lived
in the mountains. They were excellent creatures, who
worked as a team in every situation. Every other
animal who shared the tundra kingdom with them knew
their power, and thus steered clear of it. All of
these wolves were gray with black muzzles, for that
was always the way they were born. On one snowy day,
however, a wolf was born with magnificent white fur
and majestic black eyes like two onyx gems. This was
known to the wolves as The Day of Devil's Birth.

This young wolf pup was extremely neglected
throughout his young life. The other wolves did not
share food with him, did not keep him warm, and did
not train him in the ways of survival. Almost all of
the wolves, anyway. The young wolf pup's mother,
despite knowing that being born white is a sign of
great danger, and knowing that she would do better
to simply let him die, took care of him with a love
only a mother can give.

Despite many attempts of the pack to abandon the
wolf, and other attempts to outright kill him, the
wolf preservers. He began to wonder why he was
still alive. He knew it was because of his mother,
who took every chance she could to protect him until
he reached maturity. Yet he wanted to know what his
purpose was. He did not want to be born with ivory
all over his body. Each day the curses were thrown
at him for being a Devil of the land. After his
sixth year of life, his mother passed away.

Upon her death the wolf ran away from his pack. He
had no other choice, for he knew he would surely die
if he remained with them. The wolf ran, and ran, and
ran, toward some eternity he didn't know the
location of. He spent his adolescent years in
complete solitude, and it was not until he was an
adult did he begin to explore once more. His nose
guided him, picking up scents of the bleak
landscape. No one knows what day it was, because at
this point the wolf had lost track of the meaning of
time, but on this day the wolf had come across his
old pack. They were huddle together and surrounded
by a circle of people with guns aimed at them.

The lead wolf and his pack were glancing back and
forth at the creatures holding long metal rods. One
such creature came up to the lead wolf, and with one
stiff blow, knocked him into a world of
unconsciousness. Each other wolf fell as well, and
while none were killed, each one was now helpless as
the men began to tie them up with ropes. A flurry of
white, camouflaged in the snow, dashes back and
forth in the landscape. The men brush it off as a
mirage, some crazy image their mind is conjuring due
to the extreme cold.

The lead wolf wakes up groggily, and begins to take
his bearings. Lying around him is each and every
wolf of his pack, each with a bloody patch of fur on
the back of their heads. He instantly becomes
aggressive, but calms at the sight of over ten dead
humans on the ground, each with brutal cuts and
slashes covering their bodies. Before he has a
moment to comprehend, he looks in the distance,
where he sees a lone white wolf staring directly at
him with two fierceless onyx-colored eyes.

===
Ten Years Later
===

A wolf pack of entirely snow-white wolves now
inhabits the same area. It is now the color of
purity, and the color of Wolf Pride. They are now
not only feared by animals of the area, but human
creatures as well. Any older wolves of "gray
descent" are treated with respect for their wisdom
of ancient years. The tradition in these lands now,
however, is to revere ivory-colored wolves with the
most respect. On a day when a blizzard is brewing, a
wolf was born with dark brown fur and powerful amber
eyes. This was to be called by the white wolves as
the The Day of Devil's Birth.

Miles away, in a dark and cold cave, an old white
wolf dies.