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The animal knew.

I timed my movements with the fresh breeze. The rustle of the yellowing thicket buried me as I slid among the branches, blanketed in shadows. I peeked through the wall of leaves. From a small clearing on a minuscule hilltop, the buck gazed straight at me without seeing. I was well hidden, but the animal sensed me, immobile and wary as only wild beasts could get. My every lupine instinct screamed that I should drop the other catches of the day. The hares dangled to my sides, from the rope that held my simple loincloth, while I'd tied the deer across my shoulders. They'd get in the way once I'd sprint, and I knew that I'd have no chance to catch the prey with their weight, but I ignored that knowledge. I juuuust needed the right angle...

After a few more seconds of stalking, I was ready. I stomped on a dry twig. The prey bolted and I tunneled through the vegetation after it. I powered through the leaves, making way with my claws as best I could, jumping over roots and diving right through the more pliable shrubs. The feral buck was fast, and I wasn't gaining on it by any stretch of the mind. It kept disappearing briefly behind wide trees or into deeper depressions of the ground, but I heard its movements, and I had its scent. Tree branches whipped and scratched my blue fur without harm as I chased doggedly. Every ten seconds or so, I gave out localizing barks, short and high-pitched.

I lost my prey for longer, behind a familiar colossal ash tree. I leaped around the revered obstacle, but the thickness of the growth under it made it hard for me to get through because of the deer balanced on my shoulders, and slowed me down considerably. Once I was free, I ran up a gentle knoll, and saw the buck. It was far. I let out a final bark, answered only by silence. I stopped, panting. The graceful animal flew forward at full speed before me. It barely appeared to touch the earth as it bounded left and right, dodging trunks and burrowing into the autumn foliage toward two large bushes. As it reached them, it disappeared, crashed into by a blurry brown form, massive claws first, which burst out of the bush to the right, and took it into the bush to the left in a lethal growling swoop.

There I had my response.

No matter how many times I witnessed it, my alpha's ability to disappear and reappear at will despite his size amazed me. Since he'd allowed me to join him on hunts, he'd gone from top hunter of the Huntclaws to... well, still top hunter, but by an absurd margin. We scouted separately to cover more ground, and if we had to chase, we attempted to orient it toward the estimated position of the other. We carried our own kills until we had too much, or caught something too big, and then we regrouped. My alpha was the better hunter, and there wasn't a chance that we'd leave kills unattended near contested territory, so, at this point, I'd take on all the kills, and simply flush whatever I'd find his way. Sometimes, we missed. Not often.

I began my walk to the large pair of bushes. I expected the brown wolf to emerge and join me with the carcass over his shoulder. Instead, nothing. It became increasingly odd as seconds passed, so I hurried down the knoll and went around the left bush. There he was, standing next to his bloodied catch with only a bit of a crouch, which showed his impressive stature.

He wasn't alone.

I knew the two Blackpaw hunters, and it ached to see them -- my kin, my tribe -- when I missed them so much. The male was small, emaciated, with beige, brown and grey mottled fur and an elongated snout. She was much bigger than her mate, but she too had grown leaner. She had a pale, solid-grey coat and small angry eyes. Both used javelins, and they'd been hunting together as a couple for longer than I could remember. No one moved. That's when I realized that we'd crossed into Blackpaw territory, beyond the ancient ash tree. We were standing in it. We'd begun the chase in a contested area, however. According to Huntclaw rules, the deer was ours, but under Blackpaw law, it was theirs.

The pair was clearly intimidated by my alpha's near nakedness, this display of his raw crushing strength; of his terrible claws. I knew all too well how right they were to fear them. They didn't back down, however. They were wolves too, and they were proud. The tension sustained itself. Their eyes jumped around, looking at the scars on his sturdy body, over his left eye, his right shoulder, and, of course, the one on his left pectoral that I'd personally gifted to him almost a year prior... The Blackpaw male growled, but thankfully my alpha displayed no further sign of aggression. I knew him, though, and I knew what his stance meant. He was prepared for a fight; even unarmed, he'd kill them both if they attacked. They just wanted to chase us away -- I was sure of it -- but it wouldn't matter. I had to prevent them from starting to chuck those javelins around or it'd be the last thing they'd do, and the Blackpaws would lose two more of their most capable providers of meat in this difficult time.

So, I put the kills down upon the earth, one by one. The Blackpaws turned to me. Even my Huntclaw owner did, though he didn't quite let the two potential threats out of his sight. When I approached, he made a discreet side step, placing himself in the path a thrown spear might take to reach me. The fact that I was an enemy warrior mattered little to him. The Iron Moon had placed me under him, and he took that as a duty. Whether he liked me or not was wholly irrelevant. I couldn't help but sense a touch of warmth at this misguided attempt to protect me. I was the better warrior for sure, and I'd only lost our first duel because of some... stupid fluke!

Regardless, he'd won the Iron Moon ritual for the Huntclaws. Now, I had the unpleasant task of reminding everyone.

The forest swayed gently with a noiseless gust as I padded meekly to the brown wolf. The Blackpaws witnessed in shame as I went down at the Huntclaw's paws. I pressed myself tightly against his left leg, and whimpered in submission. My blue ears dropped in embarrassment while I rubbed my muzzle into the thick furry thigh. My alpha couldn't withhold an amused smirk as I displayed who was the boss and who was the defeated subwolf. My tribe mates didn't enjoy the humiliation of being reminded of their place through me. I saw their anger and resentment, but the message got through. This was the exact kind of situation that the Iron Moon ritual had been created to solve. They knew what they had to do.

At last, their eyes lowered, and they relaxed their stances. The threat dispersed in the air like thin smoke. Great dark claws scratched behind my ears, and I ceased whining and begging. The hierarchy was clear. There would be no conflict.

The hungry hunters began to turn away. My alpha moved swiftly; he took one of the hares that I'd dropped on the forest soil, and threw it toward them. It landed softly two meters away from the pair. The proud Blackpaws stared at the game with a mix of insult and envy. Then, the female spat on the ground, and they left. My Huntclaw shrugged and picked up the refused offering. We gathered the rest of our kills.

The Huntclaw village wasn't so different from mine, I'd learned. The huts looked more crude, the stones more coarse, the wooden poles less even and the tanned leather coverings stitched haphazardly. Their dwellings weren't any less robust than ours, however. Huntclaws preferred things to look simple and practical. They found beauty in it, I assumed, and I had to admit that after living among them for many months, I'd become sensitive to that aesthetic as well.

We trod into the village. I followed my alpha's lead as he was welcomed, as usual. I received a few half-heartedly nasty comments, also as usual.

-- You're walking your doggy again? said a villager, busy sharpening some sticks.

A few Huntclaws snickered. One gave me a bit of a shove when we passed by him. The brown wolf responded nothing, and neither did I. I bowed my head for them. That was it. They were satisfied that I was in my place, humbled and obedient, and they let me through without further challenge. It'd been much worse than this at first, and I used to stick very close to my vanquisher for safety. By then, it'd become increasingly neutral. I occasionally wondered if they didn't pick on me out of tradition alone.

The provision overseer stood among a forest of drying smoked or salted meats, hanging from poles. A bit further, two wolves were busy gutting and skinning. The old rust-colored canine grinned happily when he saw us approach. My alpha was his favorite tribe member. Because of him, his task was easy. He even looked cordially upon me.

-- Another good hunt?

We dropped our catches.

"Anything I can offer in return?"

My wolf simply tapped the old one's shoulder.

-- No.

The reddish lupine hesitated for a moment. I chuckled inside. I knew what was about to happen.

-- The chief could use some new advisors... he started.

My alpha turned away.

"... On matters of hunt and war! I could recommend someone!" unsubtly hurried the overseer.

I turned my palms up amusedly, and then I tagged along before the large wolf got too far. Other Huntclaws -- and especially the provision overseer -- constantly tried to get their Iron Moon victor to assume a role of leadership. He was highly respected and even admired as top hunter, but my alpha was wholeheartedly uninterested in matters of social hierarchy and tribe politics. Had he been like most wolves, he would be well on his way toward becoming the next chief of his tribe, but he wasn't like most wolves. Even compared to Huntclaws, he had a wild heart, content to train, hunt, provide for his tribe and protect them from threats. Those threats included Blackpaws like me, of course.

We made it 'home'. He pushed the entry curtain aside and entered the small isolated hut. It wasn't all that different from most Huntclaw dwellings, save that it was further apart from the rest of the village. We were in view, but there was no risk of anyone wandering here by accident, or while headed elsewhere. I supposed that was the point.

I remained outside, because I hadn't been told to come in. I walked to a small area alongside the hut, where we trained. I stared cynically at a precise spot of beaten earth, where my stake used to be, back when my alpha still bothered leashing me with a rope. That hadn't lasted long. These days, I just tamely took my place, kneeling quietly aside the entrance. Every day, I waited there, displaying my defeat and my status as a prize for my conqueror. In that specific spot.

He liked trophies. In his home, he kept the skulls of the greatest and most dangerous animals and foes he'd slain. He was proud of them. I presume they were meaningful to him because he'd earned them. Much in the same way, he'd earned me. I was a mighty warrior, and he'd beaten me. The skulls didn't squirm entertainingly, though.

A few minutes went by and, suddenly, he was out again. He rooted himself in front of me. It's terribly embarrassing how much I was thrilled that he was giving me attention. I hated waiting outside alone and bored; it could last for hours. Luckily enough, it didn't, most days. Still, I felt like a dumb pet cheering his proprietor, and I hoped to hell it wouldn't show too much. I made sure to appear annoyed.

-- What?

-- Want to train, blue wolf?

Oh boy, did I ever! I looked sideways, nonchalantly returning my eyes to him, detailing his lighter beige fur running from his lower jaw, along his chest, all the way down to the insides of his thighs, and covering his hands and paws, as if I was considering whether or not it'd be worth my time. I sighed loudly.

-- I guess so, if that's what you want.

Careful not to get up too enthusiastically, I moved along with him and faced him on the beaten dirt. This was fists and claws only, but neither of us wore any real protection. All we had were our loincloths. My alpha wasn't big on armor and clothes. He felt that using them was like admitting his own fur wasn't enough. I'd laughed at him the day he'd explained that. Since then, I'd been restricted to wearing as little clothing as he did. Needless to say, I'd soon learned better than to mock my alpha.

We circled each other aggressively, gradually approaching. Fighting claw-style was different, and there wasn't much of a point in adopting a defensive approach with it. After almost a year of it, I was getting good though. I was getting real good.

I swiped from the left a bit too soon. We weren't close enough yet, but my sparring partner leaned backward to dodge anyway, so I succeeded in grabbing the momentum. Without wasting an instant, I leaped forward to strike with my right hand, but had to change my approach in a split second when I saw my rival positioning, ready to catch my arm and lock me in a grapple. I knew damn well that I couldn't let that happen; he was strong, and that was how he'd won our Iron Moon duel.

I brought my arms together and allowed myself to ram into him. He tumbled backward with no resistance, and I was surprised to feel his legs push my weight along with even more force, making me overshoot completely. I crashed heavily onto the hard soil behind him, chastising myself for attempting to use his own moves against him. He also had to take the time to stand back up, however, so he couldn't press his advantage. We ended up face-to-face like before, but I'd taken quite a kick in the belly. We circled each other once more. Out of nowhere, he spoke.

-- You will fight?

At first I figured he was taunting me, but then he added:

"It is soon."

I grasped what the brown wolf was talking about, and it astonished me how much I was troubled just thinking about it. He was right. In less than a week, I would be set free in accordance with traditions common to both of our tribes. In less than a week, I would be presented with the opportunity to regain my honor. A full year had nearly gone by.

The Iron Moon was coming.

I hid my nervousness. I didn't want him to know.

-- Why? Are you afraid?

My vanquisher grinned nastily.

-- Afraid you make it too easy. Like last year.

Ouch. I knew it wasn't true. It'd been so close, last year. He was merely taunting back, but it hurt. I'd been beyond impatient, early on. I'd spent this entire year, praying for days to fly by faster so that I could regain everything that I'd lost, and so that I could prove my worth, prove that I was the better fighter, and escape this humiliation. These last few weeks had been different. The closer the Iron Moon, the worse it got. I almost feared it, now.

"Do Blackpaws hold grudge?"

My alpha was chatty. It was rare, but it happened when it was just the two of us. He enjoyed learning about my tribe, but this wasn't random conversation. I wondered how much he sensed my trouble.

-- Not particularly. Not any more or less than you guys do.

We kept circling.

-- They happy when you go to them?

-- I guess. They won't throw me a party or anything, but I don't believe they'll be too angry. It's not like I lost on purpose.

My opponent nodded in understanding. I wondered if I was being truthful. Yeah. I mean, I did worry about going back home and seeing my people's disappointment in their eyes, but that wasn't what concerned me most. I couldn't put my claw on what it was.

The Huntclaw attacked. It shook me, for I'd been lost in thought. I struggled to react. He'd jumped high, and was striking downward for my shoulder. I barely dodged in time, but not completely. I felt the burn over my pectoral, exactly where I'd struck him with my blade a year before. My wound was superficial, but the pain woke me up. I got back in fighting stance, shaking my doubt-filled thoughts. And then...

-- No.

My alpha stepped back and signaled to stop.

-- What? We're just getting started!

-- Distracted blue wolf. No point.

I protested, but as I focused on convincing him that I was focused, he slid up to me, kicked me in the legs, and caught me by the nape as I fell. He held me like a silly pup.

"No point. Wolf will spar when you are warrior again."

I was dropped upon the dirt and abandoned there, immensely frustrated. The Huntclaw casually rejoined his hut.

"Right now, you afraid like defeated pet," he sneered. "Come be defeated pet inside if you want."

His challenge issued, the brown wolf disappeared, and I was alone. I flipped on my back, breathing heavily, and struck the ground a few times in anger. It didn't help much, so I ceased. I lay flat on my back until I was calm. The air grew colder. The sky quickly turned darker, and then black. I watched it happen. At last, I pulled myself up. Whatever I was afraid of, it wasn't him. I refused to let him think that I was afraid of him. The rules still made me his, and I didn't need his pity.

I lowered my ears and snout, removed my loincloth, and I went inside.

I stood in his hut. The Huntclaw sat naked on his bed -- a mattress filled with soft spruce branches and moss, covered in thick furs. He sneered silently when I came in, instantly flustering me. I looked away to the side, and instantly regretted displaying what I felt. By all the spirits, could he be aggravating! I tried to ignore how attractive he was, what with the shadows catching in his shapely muscles and virile-looking crest of longer dark fur descending from the top of his head along his spine... Damn it. It wouldn't have been as bad if I hadn't been so painfully aware of what a pleasing prize I was; a subjugated warrior of equal prowess, conquered and cowed. Yet, I shrugged and let my arms fall down flatly against my sides, standing helplessly in wait and display, showing my strapping nude form, my blue and white fur. Showing the power that he had broken. He didn't need to do anything particular with me. Having me was plenty. He made the face: subtly cheerful, subtly sympathetic, subtly self-righteous. Ugh. I wanted to give him a good punch on his black nose. I experienced this state where you get so worked up that it becomes funny. I chuckled and couldn't refrain from throwing some defiance at him.

-- You got lucky. You know you got lucky, right? I was kicking your ass. You know what I'm talking about.

The brown wolf raised an eyebrow. His smirked widened and he tilted his head. He didn't have to voice anything. It was beneath me to look for excuses. That was the message. Then, he pushed himself to the side, making me some room, and leaned back on his bed, knowing full well that I'd go and curl up to him with perfect obedience. I was invited, and we were both aware that I was his. Would I sleep outside like a dog to spite him? Would I lie on the floor instead, to pretend I wasn't aware of my place? I could have, but it would've been weak and ridiculous. He never truly made me do anything. There was no need. Relying on his mercy to maintain an absurd illusion of my independence was just as degrading, perhaps even worse than accepting the truth:

He'd won. For now, he was the top; I was the subwolf.

So, I breathed out, deflating my insolence because I couldn't win. All I could do was to dig my humiliation deeper, same as usual. Stepping through the small hut, I played my role, lying down and cuddling up to my owner, letting a peculiar instinct take over. I'd never known I had this instinct before my defeat, but I did, and I had to assume everyone else had it too, though most wolves certainly preferred to ignore it, viewing it as low and unacceptable. The instinct to submit and please, and beg, and thank. My vanquisher excelled at bringing it out of me, gently, confidently, and I both loved and profoundly resented him for that.

The cocky bastard snuggled right back, obscenely pleased at what he could make me do, make me desire, and I sensed my face growing hot, sensing, smelling his arousal. He placed an arm between my shoulder blades, and pressed our fluffy chests and stomachs strongly together. I sensed his fangs on my soft ears, squeezing gently, dominatingly, while our lower bodies rubbed. He was hard and I was quickly following suit, shamefully responding and grinding my sex against his thigh as I clutched at his lower back. We meshed for a while, softly at first, but not for too long. Our battle-forged forms did what came naturally, but I panted first. At this point, he pressed the back of my neck with insistence, until I lay flat-chinned on his chest. He made me gaze into him, then, ears low, docile, reshaped into his playful puppy like so many times before, and he rubbed my nose in it. I couldn't fully hate or love it, nor accept or refuse it. No matter what, he was special to me. He was my Huntclaw rival, my mighty enemy wolf.

He patted my head, running his sharp claws through the longer tuft of brown fur between my ears, breathing hotly on my snout. He held me in place, and within his hold, I sought his erection and serviced it with my delicate pads. He breathed more heavily. As I pleased him compliantly, I jammed my stiffly puffed-up cock between our bodies as best I could, and I humped urgently. My pleasure began to sparkle.

-- You kick no ass now. Look defeated, maybe not so unlucky.

I flinched, brutally aware of how pathetic and needy I was for him, with terribly embarrassing sexual pleasure as a background to these feelings. My glare was both vexed and pleading. I whispered:

-- Did you have to? You could've let it go. I'm trying to be enjoyable. Don't you think I'm low enough already?

The wolf smiled once more. He hugged me happily, generously accepting my offer of truce, and I knew that there would be no further retaliation for my earlier cheekiness. I continued to stroke his full length, bringing him ever closer to satisfaction. He groaned deeply, and this drove my own arousal higher as well. One hand on my firm bum pushed my waist against his belly even harder, trapping and squeezing my wet erection into our soft furs, and the sudden pleasure surprised me, searing like fire from a stormy sky. I moaned in turn, accelerating my handjob and my frenetic humping in equal measures, whimpering for more, and caring less and less if my desires were exhibited to my alpha. He'd never been a jerk about it before.

At last, I heard myself gasp in a less controlled manner. It was high-pitched and too honest a noise to be dignified, but I couldn't find any emotional room to give damn as my pleasure mounted too wildly to be stopped by any force. I erupted, and my 'enemy' thoughtfully grasped and wrapped me in his arms and legs, and plunging his muzzle under mine, shoving his head into my neck, overwhelming my senses as I climaxed. He growled louder as I ejaculated, but it was involved rather than aggressive. He pressured my hand over his cock, and I sensed as it began to throb as well, discharging thick liquid over and into my hand as I kept pleasing him until we were both done. I felt messy, and the hut smelled of sex, but I was in that moment when that type of concern bears no weight. I let myself rest against my top wolf, and I caressed him.

He was content. In a sense, so was I, but I wished I could've had that on different terms, without this impression of being so... possessed. While I recognized my owner's efforts not to make it too uncomfortable on me, it still wounded my pride as a Blackpaw warrior. I should've been on top, and he should've discovered the burden of showing deference and obedience. He wouldn't act so smug and satisfied if he was made to know how easy it was to fall into those submissive instincts...

The Huntclaw priest came on one special day. I woke up with a disoriented grumble, balled at the end of my alpha's bed. Shifting around, I noted that I was by myself. I made an effort to remember my brown wolf departing, but I failed, so I assumed I was asleep when he did. Then, I wondered why I'd woken up. Had someone called me from outside? It was still early, I could tell from the temperature, the relative darkness, and the humid morning smell. There was something else. I detected familiar scents outside. One was my alpha, and the other was the priest, but I wasn't sure about the other one at that moment.

-- Blue wolf! the voice called for the second time.

I sleepily looked for my loincloth. I knew it was around, but I couldn't find it immediately in the somber hut. Damnit! That was an odd way to start a day, and this oddity finally prodded my mind into getting to work. Adrenaline shot into my blood. This was it. The Iron Moon would rise on that night. Solemnly, I ducked under the curtain, and found myself standing stripped in front of the Huntclaw priest that had presided over the ritual during which I'd become a slave. I blushed hard under my fur at his conceited expression. He probably thought it was fitting for a Blackpaw to be ordered and walked around, naked and subservient. Next to him, my alpha didn't even seem to notice. He never really connected with the reason why nudity was supposed to be shameful. Nevertheless, the priest did his job.

"The sun is rising over the day of the Iron Moon. With respect to our most important traditions, I declare you to be free, Blackpaw. You must go back to your kind. Once you leave this village, you will once again be considered a warrior enemy of the Huntclaws, and you may not return."

The tan-furred priest with the discolored ears smirked condescendingly, glancing at my exposed white belly fur.

"That is, unless you'd care to renounce your weak tribe and take your rightful place in permanent service to us. I wouldn't be surprised; you look half-trained already."

On this, the priest laughed and padded away, swishing his tail like a prick. A bird cawed, and a gust of fresh wind infiltrated my fur. The brown-and-beige canine remained by my side.

-- You free to choose now, blue wolf. Choose wise. If you fight, you fail again. Mine again for a year.

Free. I turned to the warrior that used to be my alpha. He broke into a wide cruelly teasing grin.

"But if you not fight, wolf will be disappointed," he added.

I wanted to respond. I wanted to tell him that he would be way more disappointed when I'd beat him down and make him submit in front of everyone, but the words got blocked in my throat. In the end, I stared down at my paws, upset.

I retreated back in the hut, found my loincloth under a fur that I'd thrown aside while getting up, and I left the Huntclaw village. I walked in the forest alone, thoughtful. It seemed as if it had emptied out for my sake. Branches didn't shake with birds landing or departing. I heard no small critters running around and hiding. I tried to get a grip over myself. I shook my head violently, until my neck hurt, but I didn't feel more anchored.

Free. It'd happened fast. I told myself that I should be happy, and I was, in a way, but I also had a decision to make. On that same day a year prior, I'd joined my Blackpaw brethren without a single doubt plaguing my spirit. I hadn't even considered defeat. It was impossible for me to lose. That -- I knew -- was the right mindset. It didn't matter if it wasn't the truth. It was necessary all the same for a warrior to commit, to strive for victory, but I lacked that clarity of purpose, on this day. It'd been replaced by a new, problematic thought:

What if I lost again?

I couldn't avoid the implacable fact that, if I fought in the Iron Moon challenge, I might make it to the top, and I might be undone for the second time. There was no rule in this world, no physical or spiritual barrier to prevent this. There was no doubt in my mind about which Huntclaw would represent their tribe. From the bottom of my soul, I was certain, perfectly and genuinely convinced that I was the better fighter. I could best him. Absolutely guaranteed. That certitude wasn't wavering.

And yet I could lose again.

I could also do nothing. The Blackpaws had other strong warriors, and one of them might triumph. If I walked away, I wouldn't be made a Huntclaw trophy for another year. If I walked away, then I'd have control. I'd return to my tribe quietly, accept my defeat, and live like any other wolf, with no further risk to my honor. I'd gradually climb the ladder again from the bottom, safe. If I walked away...

After a while, the fresh air and exercise helped empty my thoughts. I let them go blank. It was much better. When the palisade of the Blackpaw village entered my sight, I smiled faintly. I reached the entrance. I waved at the sentinel nervously, and she waved back. Her name was Lastha. She shoved her spear in the ground and patted my shoulder when I got close.

-- Welcome back.

She meant it, but she said it joylessly. Good enough for me. As I'd said to my alph-, to that one Huntclaw, I hadn't exactly expected a big celebration for my return. By my fault, the year had been rough for them. I was about to step in, but the sentinel's arm barred my access.

"Um, before you head in. Stuff happened while you were gone. Old Chief Melienko died."

-- Oh.

Lastha shook her head unhappily.

-- Yeah. He fell sick three months ago. We were all broken up about it. The new chief is doing okay so far, though.

-- Who is it?

She locked eyes with me.

-- Bors. It's Chief Bors, now.

-- ... Oh.

A vivid memory imposed itself of holding my blade to the throat of the black wolf until he was forced to whimper and surrender his title of champion to me. He'd triumphed over the Huntclaws for two years in a row, until I'd taken his title and proceeded to lose in the name of our tribe. I suspected he might not be pleased about that.

-- And, this is embarrassing, but I'm afraid your hut was, um...

-- Redistributed?

-- Yeah...

-- I saw that coming.

-- With the Huntclaws encroaching everywhere, we had to increase the number of hunters and foragers. Can't let anything slip by us in the territory we still have. We couldn't afford to spend much time building and, you know...

-- It was my fault?

-- No, no! It's just that you weren't going to use it for a year. It was empty and people needed it.

She lowered her white arm, allowing me passage.

"I'm sorry. It'd be cramped, but if you have nowhere to go tonight, after the ritual, come stay with us, alright?"

-- Thanks, but I'll try to sort it out. Maybe I'll see the chief about it.

Lastha nodded, and I wandered inside.

Things hadn't changed too much. There were no new constructions, and the lupine faces were a tad gaunter than they should've been around the muzzle, but they seemed to be getting by. The tribe was busy already, preparing for a day of challenges to select our champion. They were packing up material and basic necessities to set our temporary camp, which would house some food and the wounded. We didn't need tents for everyone; we never spent the night on ritual grounds.

I followed along the path between the orderly dwellings up to the chief's hut, in the center. The tall black wolf was outside, talking with members of his tribe. I approached, intent on waiting my turn, but all three canines turned their snouts to me. I wasn't the first defeated champion to return, and yet they acted as if the possibility of ever seeing me again had never even grazed their minds.

-- You're back, said Chief Bors.

-- It's the day of the Iron Moon.

The dark wolf sighed. He judged my extremely light outfit, and shook his head at the Huntclaw loincloth.

-- Yes, so as you can imagine, we're very busy. Glad to have you with us.

The chief faced the other wolves, dismissing me implicitly, but I insisted.

-- I'm told I don't have a place to stay anymore.

-- I have important problems to solve! snapped Bors.

-- Having nowhere to stay among my own tribe seems like an important problem to me, chief.

-- It is, admitted the chief. It's terrible for you, and I'll deal with it, but for now, I have to focus on the Iron Moon. That's how stretched thin we are. You must be patient, understand?

I understood.

-- I know who the Huntclaw chosen hunter is going to be.

Now, that caught their attention. They all stared at me with round eyes, ears stiff with extreme awareness.

-- Same as last year? asked Bors, apparently fearing the answer.

I nodded knowingly. Bors made a downcast face, but he didn't seem shocked.

"You're certain about this?"

-- I know them. He's their best. I haven't a single doubt that he'll win their challenges. If he doesn't, we got lucky. He's the worst case scenario, the one we have to prepare for.

The chief and the other two warriors glanced at each other. Bors softened on me.

-- I'm sorry for asking, but I must. How did he beat you?

It was my turn to sigh bitterly.

-- I messed up and I let him grapple me. He's absurdly strong. Whoever will battle him should be extremely careful to keep him at range, and fight defensively. He's aggressive and leaves plenty of openings for counterattacks, but he's also agile and unpredictable, so don't commit too much. It's hard not to make any mistakes; he's all over the place. He learned since then, but he hasn't changed too much. There's really only one way to fight claw-style. If you give him an opening, it's over. If he grapples you, it's over.

They drank every word, looking at me with puppy eyes. Bors appeared almost touched.

-- Thank you. That's truly helpful. We'll share that with all the warriors.

The lupine trio gave me curt nods of grateful acknowledgment, and I left silently. After three steps, I heard the chief again.

"I mean it about your hut. I'll fix it soon, alright? Give me time."

I roamed around the village, trying to make up my mind about what to do. I observed the Blackpaws preparing for the short trip to the edge of the forest. I attracted attention, but nobody talked to me. What could they say? Therefore, I used that time to try and identify what I feared. It wasn't my Huntclaw rival, and it wasn't even the consequences of losing. I knew what those were. True, I didn't relish getting shoved into a submissive role, and having the undeniable fact that it was possible to impose this crushing humiliation to me exposed to everyone. I had precious little desire to be made into a Huntclaw trophy for another year, but these weren't the thing. Getting defeated again wouldn't bring my status any lower than it was already, either, and the guilt about my tribe wouldn't be lessened if I let someone else be beaten in my place, when I knew I should've been the champion, so what stopped me? Why did I feel so paralyzed? I was a warrior, and warriors fought under the Iron Moon. If I skipped it, what was I? I wanted to fight. I did.

I entertained these thoughts while I followed my kin through the forest. They had finished their preparations, and we all traveled wordlessly, together. They were uneasy as well. Eventually, I realized that Lastha had drifted closer to me, with a bundle of tent poles under her arm. No one had asked me to carry anything, and I suddenly felt useless, so I offered to take some of the poles. She smiled.

-- I'm good, thank you.

We walked some more.

"I wanted to ask you. Are you planning on entering the challenges?"

She sounded grave.

-- I was thinking about it, I responded with perfect honesty.

-- Maybe you shouldn't.

I was astonished. I expected encouragement from her.

-- Why not?

I wasn't even trying to dispute her proposition. I genuinely wished to know.

-- You lost last time. You reached the top and you lost. What if the same thing happens, while someone else might've won?

I frowned.

-- What if someone else reaches the top and loses, while I would've won?

She reflected.

-- Do you think it's going to be a different Huntclaw? Chief Bors said it'll be that same brown monster.

-- He's not a monster. But yes, it'll be him.

-- Same opponents, don't you expect the same results?

-- I don't know. Many things have changed. I know him better.

-- Doesn't he know you better too?

-- Yeah. He does.

I concentrated on the march.

-- Sorry, she said after a while. I wasn't trying to be mean, but things are bad. We mustn't concede everything to the Huntclaws for another year.

She stared at me, and I read her deep anxiety.

"We mustn't."

I wished I could reassure her, but I couldn't. My doubts were severe, and they would weaken me. Then again, if I entered the contests, and won, didn't that mean that I was our best bet regardless? By the time we reached the Iron Moon arena, standing alone in the middle of its plains, I'd made my decision. The entire point of the challenges was to find the champion. I'd join up and give it my all despite my uncertainty. If I lost, problem solved.

It comforted me to know my path. I breathed more easily. Our temporary camp rose quickly from the dirt, all around me. Heavy thuds of hammers driving pickets into the ground resounded, and I liked that numbing clatter. Most tents got up while some stone circles were being prepared for later in the evening, when it would get cold. I strolled away, and gazed back to the forest just in time to see the Huntclaws arriving. They were too far for sounds to carry, but I watched them come out from under the trees. There was only one hefty wolf in the lead, dark grey and decided, but not very elegant. I recognized their chief. He was wise, but he hated Blackpaws probably more than we deserved. I'd been careful to stay out of his way.

The lonely figure, made small by the distance, suddenly turned and watched more of his wolves follow. They too carried material to set up their temporary camp. They left the woods two by two. Then they did so in groups of three and four, and then they simply poured out from between the trees in an unquantifiable fashion, forming an ever larger mass at the edge of the ancestral forest. There were many of them, those rough beings that I would've called 'savage' before. They had no caste system like we did; all of them were hunters, soldiers and builders. All of them lived autonomously, and yet they pooled excess resources too. They still existed as a group. Our specialization made us efficient, but it also made us Blackpaws dependent on each other. These were strong individuals, and as I saw them continue to leave the forest and flow toward their side of the ritual grounds, I brought my attention back to us, as we built up our small camp, and I understood Lastha's fears. They outnumbered us greatly. They were all combat-capable. If we lost the Iron Moon again, and kept weakening during this year, it would disturb the balance between our tribes even more. It reinforced my decision. Every Blackpaw had to try their best.

I attempted to spot my rival among the Huntclaws, and I thought I did, but I couldn't be sure. Huntclaws were large wolves on average, and from that distance, I could see a few that could've been him. Still, I smiled from knowing he was in there, coming here to fight one of us. In that moment, I wanted it to be me. My blood pumped like crazy, and my doubts seemed just as far away as the Huntclaws still appearing from the forest.

I sprinted through the camp toward the center. A dozen of my tribe mates -- the most important ones -- gathered around Chief Bors. They were discussing how to fairly distribute the challenges, and which warriors deserved to skip the early rounds.

-- I want in.

The discussions ceased. The top ranking Blackpaw leaders turned to me, astonished by my daring. Bors looked cryptic. So was our head priest, but many other wolves seemed almost offended by the idea.

"I want to fight for the right to represent our tribe under the Iron Moon," I repeated.

-- He's joking.

The voice had come from behind. A small, fuming shape made its way through the much bigger wolves, and they moved aside to let him pass with respect. I saw the mottled fur, the lengthy snout, and I recognized him without delay. He and his mate were our top hunters. I'd begged my owner like a beaten pup in front of him, a few days before. He looked at me as if I was the most despicable worm in the ancestral forest. Standing in front of me, he barely made it up to my shoulders.

"Surely that can't possibly be allowed," he added.

Half of the wolves approved, including, of course, his mate. Even the warmaster, who'd trained me in battle, nodded in agreement, though he didn't seem nearly as resentful.

-- Of course, it's allowed, neutrally stated our priest. It's the very reason why the rules make us release defeated champions on the day of the Iron Moon. It's so that both tribes may have all of their best fighters available, should they want to do battle again.

The top hunter summoned as much scorn as he possibly could.

-- This is no champion. He lost and seemed quite glad of it, too. I think he did it on purpose, and will do it again to return to his precious Huntclaw master.

That attack was vile and unfair, and I refused to stoop to even defending against it.

-- I don't think he lost willingly, said the warmaster, but the truth is that he lost. We all have our own styles and techniques in combat. We have particular strengths and weaknesses. It is possible that this warrior is simply not best suited to battling the chosen hunter of the Huntclaws, if it is the same as last year. Perhaps it would be best if he did not participate.

Murmurs of assent. The priest stepped forward again.

-- We all saw the duel, last year. This warrior earned his place, and seemed completely able to hold his own on par with the Huntclaw beast. I'm not so sure many of us could say the same.

Two or three voices joined the priest in support.

-- No! exclaimed the small hunter. I won't tolerate this! He won't disgrace us by fighting again.

He stared at me, and pointed away.

"Leave!"

Everyone shut up when Chief Bors stepped up.

-- I understand both sides, but it seems to me that our rules are clear. We have no right to ask our brother to withdraw from the challenges. If he wins, he wins. Under those unique circumstances, however, I will allow anyone who would wish it to defy him into a special first round without abandoning their right to skip the other preliminary rounds, should they win. If the loser lives, he will be eliminated for this year, just as challenges usually go.

Bors gently pushed the top hunter aside, and faced me.

"Is this acceptable to you?"

I nodded.

-- I came here to prove myself again. I came here to fight. It changes nothing in my mind.

The wolves looked on silently.

"If I lose or die, then I wasn't meant to fight in the Iron Moon," I added with a shrug.

The chief rejoined the group. The priest allowed himself a smirk.

-- So who will be first to fight our previous champion?

Hesitation made its way into the group, as some brutally remembered how I'd triumphed during the challenges before. It would certainly look bad for a high ranking Blackpaw to be defeated not only first, but by a 'lowly Huntclaw trophy' such as myself.

To his credit, after consulting his mate with a single look, the top hunter proved that he wasn't hot air and empty words. He snorted, pushed my right shoulder with his palm, and glared at my mostly unclothed body.

-- I defy you, Huntclaw bitch.

A wide ring began to form for the day's very first battle. More and more Blackpaws joined the living wall of wolves encircling the javelineer and me, interested in this unusual matchup. Most didn't expect to see me in the challenges, not to mention the fact that I would fight one of our top hunters in an early round. They spread large wooden shields around for the public to protect themselves, but there weren't quite enough for everyone who wanted to see, so the observers split into small dense clusters behind the shield-holders. That's when I realized how perfectly unfair that match was. I owned no armor and no weapons. The mottled wolf wore hide and thick cloth for protection, and three javelins, which meant he could throw two of them at me, and I had nothing to block with. Any of those javelins could fatally injure me, so it occurred to me that I was possibly about to die, unless I manage to feint and dodge flawlessly, or close the gap swiftly enough to force a melee fight. This was an expert hunter, though. He wouldn't miss if I went straight for him.

I got into a defensive crouch. We were about to start.

-- This battle is absurd, stated Lastha's voice from the public. He'll get killed.

-- Contestants are expected to provide their own arms and armor, flatly noted our priest.

The moment of embarrassment lingered. A single-handed sword flew and landed at my paws. It was an impressive short sword with a smooth, straight blade that I'd seen before. I picked it up, and it instantly felt strange in my hand, though some more-or-less buried instincts also recognized the quality of the weapon.

-- As chief, I won't be fighting in the challenges anyway, said Bors.

I nodded in thanks, but I wasn't completely sure of how much help it would be. Against a ranged opponent, it was a shield that I needed most crucially, but I wasn't terribly surprised that no tribe member was very willing to give me their own.

The challenge was about to begin, so I closed my eyes and focused. Soon, I was interrupted by shocked and concerned yaps. I opened my eyes to see everyone draw their attention to the side, including my immediate opponent.

A colossal brown Huntclaw, dark, serious, and as tall as I was, wearing the exact same kind of loincloth as I did, traipsed alone through our camp like it was nothing. Defensive and angry snarls rose from everywhere. I watched the unprecedented audacity of my ex-owner as he wisely stood further apart, near one of our tents, and crossed his arms, silently daring us to be dishonorable enough to attack him while he was alone and clearly without hostile intention. He waited, looking intently at me. After a while, all muzzles turned to me as well. This was unheard of, and they struggled to understand, but I did. He was last year's victorious chosen hunter. His battles wouldn't be until much later in the day. He'd come to see me fight, and perhaps to make sure that I was participating in the Iron Moon. He appeared... pleased.

Many among my tribe voiced their surprise in strong words. Our priest spoke calmly to restore order, which was never very difficult among us cool-headed Blackpaws.

-- It seems this Huntclaw warrior is here to watch. I know of no rule forbidding this.

This eased the spirits. If our priest said it was okay, then it couldn't be that bad. The fight garnered even more interest. Other combatants designated for the preliminary rounds interrupted their preparations out of a desire to ascertain why the greatest Huntclaw warrior stood alongside them. As for my brown wolf, he was patient and immobile, as a skilled hunter ought to be. Just seeing him there, I couldn't help but envision that time, soon, when I would face him. I knew how perilous that would be. Suddenly, fighting off javelins without protection didn't seem so menacing. I concentrated on my immediate foe with a new grin that obviously infuriated him.

If the brown wolf was there, then how could I not show off?

-- I'm ready, I said.

The mottled wolf advanced in battle stance, a javelin in each hand, and a unified bark announced the impending struggle.

The smaller wolf aggressively walked forward and took the middle of the ring, threatening me with a prepared throw over his shoulder. I leaped left, leaped right, and overall made sure to move erratically. I heard as the wolves behind me ducked behind their shields, and I envied them. It would be impossible for me to keep this insane dance up for long, but I couldn't go straight for him either. I could throw the sword, but he'd expect that, and if I missed, he'd be at even more of an advantage. Damn, that sword felt awkward in my hand.

The javelineer threatened me, and I kept moving, gradually approaching. As soon as I got close, he jumped forward, lunging with the spear in his left hand. Surprised, I backed off; losing the ground I'd gained in a lengthy backward dodge. I kept in mind the cold sensation of the sharp iron tip tickling into my fur. My opponent bounced away as well, keeping control of the center, and me at a distance. He threatened me again, and I had to resume moving around.

He tried to bait me by stepping closer, but I could see in his stance that he was ready to jump back and throw his spear at me. I pretended to take the bait, brutally sprinting until his arm jerked, and I ducked to the side, rolling on the hard earth back onto my paws.

He threw only then.

Time appeared to slow as the deadly projectile flew toward my chest. The Blackpaw hunter's first arm movement had been a feint. There was no time to dodge again. I barely saw what happened. My muscles reacted by themselves, in a spontaneous last ditch effort. My blade flashed hysterically in front of me, and I felt the heavy weight of the thrown javelin impact with a metallic sound as I went rigid and even shut my eyes. The weapon's trajectory sent it cutting superficially in my left flank as it grazed me. The audience gasped.

It took me a while to understand that I was alright, and that I'd deflected the projectile with my blade. My opponent didn't like it at all, and I could hardly believe it myself. That had been too close, though. I couldn't try that again. I was lucky to be alive and I thanked those years of practice and developing my battle reflexes. I repressed a powerful shiver when I grasped how near that spear had been to lodging itself between my bones. I shook my snout while the mottled wolf took his third javelin from his back. If I could avoid that one as well, he'd have to keep his last weapon to fight me at melee. He prepared to throw once more.

I slowed my frenzied bounces, trying to get my muscles to relax and my movements to flow. Perfectly attentive to every little shudder of my enemy, I began to circle rather than jump around, making sure to keep my paws grounded so that I could drop down at any moment. Seconds passed, and the wolf hunter made many feints, trying to make me tense so that I'd waste my energy, but I didn't renew my mistake. I smiled. I'd been too scared, and it'd almost cost me the fight, and maybe even more... I could dodge that javelin; I had the alacrity to do it. I just had to trust myself, and wait until I was sure he actually threw it.

The world changed. The wind got fresher. The plains colored in beautiful meadow green, and the edge of the forest, in the horizon, turned to flashy autumn oranges and yellows. The sky exploded in beautiful deep blue with tranquil light grey clouds. I saw my foe, and I could read his figure, his posture. It was easy. In a split second, the universe transformed, or rather, I did and everything therefore appeared different. I inspected my surroundings with no loss of focus. I glanced to the Huntclaw warrior, and his words about being 'afraid like a defeated pet' rang in my head. He'd been right, but no more.

Suddenly, I knew what to do. I saw how I'd win this battle. I saw a hundred ways to win it, but I picked only one. I needed something, a noise or any distraction, no matter how small. I waited for it.

My Huntclaw shifted his weight forward, absorbed by my battle, and this tiny movement caused the nervous Blackpaws closest to him to shift their collective attention. I needed nothing more, so I stood and aimed my muzzle at the slight but sudden activity at my side, looking startled. Immediately, I heard the javelin being thrown. I looked at its path, tilted my body diagonally, and sensed it pass me by. That was it. The advantage became mine. The mottled wolf appeared frightened, and with good reason. In close quarters fighting, the sword was better. I'd be able to cut off the tip of his spear with my sharp blade, so he'd have to watch out for that. Of course I was going to do that.

I dashed forward, inescapable and invincible. My enemy prepared for me to reach him, knowing full well that the logical thing for me to do, the Blackpaw thing for me to do, was to press my advantage and go melee.

I threw the sword in the middle of my charge.

The mottled wolf was so utterly astonished, he didn't even try to dodge, and the short but heavy blade penetrated his left shoulder deeply. He dropped his weapon and fell in pain. I'd continued my charge, just in case the sword throw wouldn't work, so that I could at least use it as a diversion while I closed the gap and grappled the smaller wolf, but all of it ended up unnecessary. My foe was down. I pushed my paw under his chin, and pulled my blade out of his wound. He screamed but I silenced him with a gurgle, pressing hard and choking him. He raised his hands in surrender, and I witnessed the terror filling his round, soft, sorry eyes.

-- I'm no one's bitch.

He nodded hard, twisting in pain, and I released his throat. He coughed.

"Submit."

He appeared so pathetic, under my paw, that I expected him to whine and sob in surrender, but his face hardened, and he simply stared.

-- Yes, he said in a coarse voice. You really are back. I submit.

I let the moment linger. He'd been quite a dick.

"Spare me?"

I pressed a little harder on his throat.

"Argh. Please?"

-- You've been very rude. All I did was to respect the rules of the Iron Moon.

The aggravated wolf was in no position to argue, though his bad mood was evident. I wasn't reminding only him. I said that for everyone else, too.

-- Yes, yes. I apologize.

-- I accept your apology.

Stepping back, I offered my right arm, and the hunter took it after a few seconds. He got on his paws. The fight was over. I read some surprise that I'd let him off the hook so easily. He clutched his profusely bleeding shoulder while his mate and a few others approached to help the first wounded to a healing tent. He didn't break contact immediately.

-- How? he asked.

I waited for him to clarify.

"How did you deflect a spear with a sword?"

I emitted a short huff.

-- To be entirely honest, I'm not sure. I may have gotten lucky there. I wouldn't try it again.

The mottled wolf nodded, and was carried away by his friends. Our priest walked forward.

-- Does anyone else wish to challenge this warrior's right to fight for the Blackpaws?

Nothing.

"In this case, let the regular challenges begin."

Victorious, I turned just in time to watch my Huntclaw intruder quietly stepping away, heading for his side of the temporary settlement. He'd probably seen what he'd come to see. His departure considerably eased the nerves of the multiple armed Blackpaws that had discreetly surrounded him, and the atmosphere around the camp went back to normal.

I fought up through the ranks, securing win after win against the more humble tribe members and inexperienced warriors. The matches weren't balanced in any way. Since our laws permitted anyone to participate, many young Blackpaws used the Iron Moon as a relatively safe opportunity to get their first real taste of battle, sometimes against hardened adversaries. After the initial fight against the top hunter, most of my assigned opponents proved fairly thankful to be matched against from me; they joined to learn -- not with any actual hope of winning -- and I did my best to fight straightforwardly, punishing their mistakes and giving them enough battle time to soak in the feelings of real combat. I was also careful not to hurt them, which was always difficult against untrained opponents, who could try some very weird, very dangerous moves at any moment. Between bouts, I noted the many more living rings that had formed all around us, as the Blackpaws split in order to have multiple matches simultaneously. The warm sounds of struggle filled me, and I felt comfortable among the new, warm-nosed warriors-in-training. I was home again.

My fourth victory came against an oversized whelp, wielding a battle axe so huge that he could barely swing it. I had no doubt that the beige-furred pup would grow large enough to use it properly, in time... In his teenage years, he was almost my size. Still, I taught him the problems of using a weapon inappropriate to his size, dodging his lumbering strikes, and easily moving in too close for him to be able to use his axe. In the end, I simply grabbed it from him and shoved him down with a kick. Bowing and thanking me for the lesson, the young wolf removed his tightly-woven, double-layered linen armor, and offered it to me. Gratefully, I took the thick brown cloth cuirass, and slipped it on. Only unproven fighters scoffed at quality cloth armor. I knew exactly how much stopping power it could have, and in most cases, it beat leather.

During all four matches, the awkward sensation remained. Lack of practice with a sword had made me a different, more hesitant warrior. It caused me no problem in the early fights, but as I fought on and grasped the real possibility that I might end up as the Blackpaw champion once more, my worries made a flamboyant comeback.

How would I fight him?

I shook off the gloom. I still had a way to go before that would transform into an immediate problem. To free my mind, I moseyed through the camp for a few minutes until my next challenge, checking the other duels and, in a way, checking the competition. The spectating Blackpaws made me room when I approached and joined this or that ring, apparently honored that I joined them to watch the low tier fights. I couldn't help but notice that their attitude had changed. I'd defeated one of our top hunters, our priest had publically sided with me, our chief had granted me his sword, and even the greatest of our enemies had bothered to cross to our side to watch me in action -- something wholly unprecedented. It plainly occurred to me that, unofficially, I was back among the top of the pack. The Blackpaws expected me to win again, and I thought they were right. Which meant...

Argh! No matter what, my thoughts brought me back to it. I would have to fight someone who had proven that he could beat me. It seemed impossible that such a mighty warrior could fall. Paradoxically, I remained convinced that I could defeat him. I could. I probably would, but it wasn't certain. I could mess up again. He might have thought of some new tricks during that year of getting to know me. Two of us, and only one that could win, so it might not be me. It was logical and unforgiving. Something terrified me there, and I still couldn't figure out what. I wheezed, and rubbed my snout with my forearm. It was time for my next battle, anyway.

As soon as I reached my next opponent, I saw that something was wrong. He stood in a ring of witnesses already, getting prepared to fight another wolf. He seemed surprised to see me.

-- What are you doing? he asked. Are you here to watch?

My puzzled face said plenty.

"I guess nobody found you to tell you. The chief just decreed that, as the previous champion, you would skip the rest of the challenges straight to the final."

-- Why?

The wolf shrugged.

-- He said something about it being unfair to make a proven warrior fight in the early rounds. I don't know. Talk to him, I guess.

I walked away, determined to do just that, but as soon as I ran around a tent toward the center of the camp, I stumbled upon Bors. The black wolf stopped me with a gesture.

-- You'll fight no more until the final. Whoever wins all the challenges will duel you for the title of Blackpaw champion this year.

-- Why would you do that? Is it even allowed?

-- The priest grumbled, but I made him admit that it wasn't against the rules. Technically, everyone's right to participate is still respected.

-- But why?

The chief gave me a quizzical glance.

-- Walk with me.

We walked out of our camp. Every time I thought he was about to stop and say something, we kept on going further. We reached a gentle hill, and didn't stop there either. We climbed. Halfway to the top, the chief finally ceased moving, turned, and sat in the grass. I joined him. From where we sat, we could see the entirety of the small plains in the middle of which the Iron Moon arena rose. Each half of the arena was surrounded by the Blackpaw and Huntclaw encampments. The Huntclaw encampment was twice as large as ours. It was easy to see it from there. Bors rested his gaze pensively upon the palm of his open hand. His claws waved faintly.

"I felt outmatched, last year. I fought you and I wondered what I could've done different to stand a chance. I hated losing to you, but at least, I was convinced we'd win. I couldn't imagine a Huntclaw beating you."

The wind blew softly. It was peaceful here, but the chief closed his hand into a tight fist.

"I'd like you to be honest. Do you think I could've won against that Huntclaw?"

I took a moment.

-- I can't know for sure.

-- I know, I know. But what do you think?

I sighed.

-- No.

Bors nodded.

-- Do you think anyone else might have a better chance of beating him than you do?

-- No.

The chief leaned forward over his knees and clasped his hands.

-- Then you know why I removed you from the challenges. I think you'll win. We don't like to admit it, but there is a significant advantage to skipping the early rounds. The warriors aren't as tired or wounded as they would've been otherwise.

-- I did the early rounds, last year, and I still became champion.

-- Of course, but don't you ever wonder if you would've won the ritual if you'd been more rested?

-- Not really.

-- Well, I do.

The wolf chief paused once more, twitching his nose at the panorama. He pointed to the Huntclaw camp.

"Look at them. They are a strong tribe. Lately, they are much stronger than us. Those two Iron Moon victories we won in a row did us a lot of good. We caught up a little, but last year was hard. I spend my days denying this, trying to prevent a panic, but we are weak. If we lose again, we may be unable to preserve the balance. We could be at their mercy. It would be terribly tempting for them to be rid of us forever, to not have to share the land. They know it too, and push their advantage. They're encroaching everywhere."

This fun little talk did nothing to ease my anxiety. Regardless of their feelings, the Huntclaws had always respected our right to live alongside them in the forest. I doubted that they would be so keen to slaughter us even if they had the opportunity, but I certainly did understand Bors' desire not to find out.

-- I'm terrified that I could lose again.

That brutal admission had come up unexpectedly, but it felt good to say it out loud.

-- Of course. Last year must've been harsher to you than anyone else.

I said nothing to that. I wasn't certain if the words were accurate, but I knew that it wasn't the reason for my fear. Spending another year at my Huntclaw's paws evoked... complicated feelings. His satisfaction of proving his superiority over me for the second time would be insufferable, though. It would suck, true enough, but was I threatened by it? Not really.

"All I can fairly ask of you is to do your best."

-- I will.

-- Good. Don't tell anyone about this talk, or your new hut will stink.

We laughed. Bors left, but I stayed a while to rest, lying in the grass.

Much later, my heart stomped behind my ribs. The sun had gone down, and was about to disappear. The Iron Moon would rise in less than an hour, and I paced waiting for whoever was to be my final challenge before the ritual. The last ring formed around me. The other Blackpaws undoubtedly knew who'd won, but I didn't ask. I'd find out soon enough, and it didn't really matter.

A group of four Blackpaws arrived, led by someone I knew. They caused quite a commotion upon revealing that they'd visited the Huntclaw side, and that the latter had tolerated their presence. Why not, after all, if they visited us? The white-furred sentinel wolf stepped right into the circle, and then she faced me with a dreadfully serious look.

-- The Huntclaw challenges are over and they've selected their warrior, Lastha announced.

We held our collective breaths. She stared at me, and by the way she did, I knew.

"It's the one."

Those of us that had hoped for an easier opponent let their grief be seen and heard. As for me, I'd never doubted him, but still, my guts twisted at the confirmation. Now, there was no avoiding it, unless I lost here.

"It's time for us to fight," she added.

-- Us?

She nodded. I understood. Lastha was a supremely competent soldier, and the leader of the sentinels. It would be a fair match, but I knew her well. I'd trained with her. I expected to win. Maybe, accidentally, I gave her a look.

-- I may not win against you, she began, slightly offended, but I consider it my duty to take the position of champion from you. You fought that wolf before, and you lost. I don't believe you'll win this time either. I ask you once more to withdraw from this contest, for all of us, but also for you. Let me fight him, instead. It won't do you any good to end up as a Huntclaw prize for another year. That'll break you.

It hurt. Whatever the reason, this hurt. Lastha genuinely didn't believe I could win, and there was a possibility that she was right. What if, indeed, I lost again? Would it really break me? I recoiled. I could barely breathe. Everyone stared at me.

-- I can't, I whispered. I can't guarantee that I'll win, and I can't give up. If I don't try and someone else loses in my place, it'll be just as bad. I must fight. For me and for the Blackpaws.

She growled ponderingly.

-- This may be the wisest course. Trust our old ways. Trust the challenges to find the best warrior, regardless of anything else or external considerations. But it isn't smart to expect a different outcome from the same situation.

-- Things have changed. I was too confident. I won't make the same mistake.

Lastha showed no emotion.

-- I hope so, but I refuse to risk it.

She dropped her spear, and pulled a blade wrapped into a cloth at her side. The sword was jagged, and dark sinuous claw marks had been dug into the flats. My old sword. The weapon of my defeat. I was happy that someone had kept it, had wanted it, and thought it precious.

"I challenge you for the title of champion of the Blackpaws," the white wolf proclaimed, brandishing the blade. "Let's not drag this around. Give me your best shot."

I accepted, and we took position in the huge ring made of all the Blackpaws. They growled, higher and lower, rhythmically shifting from one to the other. I stood immobile, but in reality I was afraid and exhilarated. The fire of battle was my home. I finally understood. In an eerie vision, I saw Lastha as a perfect mirror of the warrior I'd been. She moved like I did a year before, she even wielded my weapon and wore a leather armor. It took me back there, and to the utter joy that I'd discovered fighting a truly worthy opponent. I wanted this. It was impossible not to want this. Then, I saw an image of myself, beaten, perhaps for the second time, with my pride crushed and my spirit conquered.

That was it.

I was afraid of the effect it might have on me, to lose again. To be humiliated again. I was terrified that my pride wouldn't heal, that I would give up. Terrified that the truth of my inferior fighting skills would break me. Terrified that I would lose this joy forever. It was absurd to be afraid of myself, and of my own reaction, but there I was.

So, I laughed. What if I lost again? A year later, I'd still show up for the Iron Moon, and I'd still vie for the honor of fighting the Huntclaw chosen hunter -- the exact same as if I'd won. There was no cause to think about balance between the tribes, or about my status. I was a warrior. I'd join the battle regardless, and I'd do my best regardless, as long as I could. There was nothing to worry about. There was only my enemy -- my real enemy -- and the struggle to defeat him. I would never give up. I couldn't wait to kick his Huntclaw butt.

With my awkward sword in hand, I charged. Lastha approved by charging as well. I recognized the stance and the style. Undoubtedly, she'd thought a lot about my final defeat during that year. She was using the moves I'd used against my Huntclaw, the ones that had worked well until my crucial mistake. She'd prepared, specialized for this, even. She'd trained for defeating the greatest Huntclaw. That was our strength, after all. We theorized combat, inventing forms and stances, and taught them, perfecting our styles. Huntclaws didn't bother with that -- they trained in the field, through actual combat and hunts, valuing cold experience alone to inform their instincts. It probably wouldn't be enough for her, however. Not against this magnificent destroyer of a wolf. She wouldn't beat him. He was mine.

I read her moves. It was easy. All I had to do was to picture what I would've done, back then, and she did it. We were charging each other, so, of course, she prepared to strike from the right -- like I had. I lifted my sword with both hands, high overhead, and I jumped.

Instead of swinging for her, however, I aimed for her weapon, since I knew exactly where it would be. We struck.

Blinded by the moment, I sensed only my motion, as my blade went down, and I realized how untrue it was. I almost missed, hitting the base of my old sword instead of the center, despite having exactly every advantage in this exchange. Still, in a vibrant clash of metal, the weakened jagged sword shattered. The chief's blade had proven to be a far superior weapon.

Lastha spun gracefully, without delay, recoiling from the impact. Carried forward by my weight and speed, I kept moving, gradually coming down to a halt, and then I turned to face my opponent.

She stared disappointed at the grip of her sword, broken a mere two or three centimeter above it. The growls of the tribe went silent.

"I really liked that blade," she said.

Frustrated, she threw the handle onto the hard earth, among the rest of the pieces.

-- It's over.

-- I know.

The bitter white wolf knelt.

"You win. May I go?"

I padded to her. I knew how angry she felt, at me and at herself.

-- You fulfilled your duty as a Blackpaw warrior. You did your best.

She sighed despondently.

-- I hope you know what you're doing.

-- I'm trying. It's all anyone can do.

She glared.

-- That's not what I want to hear.

I looked around at the troubled faces of my tribe. The confirmation of the brown Huntclaw's return had been terrible news to them. There was still one more thing I could do. I grinned confidently, showing my fangs.

-- I'll beat him. I swear I'll beat him. Don't be nervous. The chosen hunter won't stand a chance.

Suddenly, they smiled. A few looked at each other with ironic chuckles, but it didn't matter. They saluted their champion. They'd needed to see me confident, so I gave them that. Perhaps that made me their champion more than my victories in the challenges. Lastha finally smiled, and she left. Our priest came out of the ring to fetch me. The two of us walked alone toward the arena. We sat at a small isolated campfire near our side's entrance. The priest sniffed dryly and stared into the flame.

-- Champion again, eh? Seems like just yesterday when we last did this.

I couldn't help but agree with the old wolf.

-- It's been an eventful year. Champion, slave, champion...

The priest's ears rose high, indicating his profound curiosity.

-- How was your experience with the Huntclaws?

I pondered what I could say while the logs crackled.

-- Formative.

-- Hmmm.

The old one got up and crouched next to me.

"This thing that happened... The chosen hunter coming here, and some of our warriors visiting them in return... I'd never seen that before."

I bobbed my muzzle gently, but responded nothing. The priest rose.

"You should prepare. Take some time to focus, and connect with the spirits. I will bring the champion's armor."

Alone, I stripped, and knelt to meditate. I wondered if I felt as solid as I had a year prior. I'd known true defeat, and that couldn't be undone, but I sensed that I was ready to fight. I yearned for it once again. I had a score to settle.

The priest returned with the new leather armor, made specifically for the Blackpaw champion, and a cup of black oil. He placed the armor down, and pointed to me.

"See."

I looked at the dancing shadows on my white-furred abdomen. I closed my eyes, and tried to sense my own form, my body and my muscles. I attempted to be mindful of my whole existence, including my physical might and my new knowledge. Perhaps. Perhaps I was stronger than last year.

"You have the power. You have the skill. You are the proud warrior of the Blackpaws."

The priest lifted his open hands to the moon.

"Let no weakness touch this warrior!" he pleaded to the gods.

Let no weakness touch me, I thought.

The priest dipped his fingers in the cup, went down, and smeared my white ankles and paws with the thick black oil up to my calves, until they were as dark as my finger and foot pads.

"You are ready, but remember the strength of your enemy. Trust your training and feel the presence of your brothers and sisters in spirit. Vanquish your foe in the name of the Blackpaws. For our sake, do not hesitate."

The priest breathed deep.

"It's time."

The old wolf departed to announce that the battle would begin soon, and that everyone should start taking place into the arena. As per the strict rules of the Iron Moon, both entire tribes had to witness the ultimate battle, so as to make any contestation of the results impossible. This would determine the dominating tribe for the following year.

Examining the leather armor I'd been provided, I found a folded pair of breeches with it, to replace my obviously Huntclaw waistcloth with something more appropriate for a Blackpaw warrior. I took the garment, but decided against the armor, that I deemed inferior to the strong linen covering that the young wolf had gifted me. I dressed up. Without anything more to do, agitation overcame me, and I paced alone. How I wished that the battle could happen right then, without having to wait for the tribes to be ready and settled in the arena. I strolled around to calm down, and unavoidably ended circling around the ancient arena wall, toward the neutral empty area between the Blackpaw and Huntclaw camps. That's when I remembered the very first time I'd met my rival, a year before. I stared in the dark, further along the wall, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the thick night refused to open up for me.

I felt oddly nervous as I wandered further, carefully -- almost sneakily. I wondered if he would be there to meet me before our battle, like that first time. I slipped through the shadow, and out of nowhere, he was there. The silhouette became a great brown wolf leaning against the wooden wall, patient and solitary. His ears moved, and he turned his tough-looking muzzle to me when I approached. He wore only his loincloth, so I could easily notice that he bore no new scars. His Huntclaw challengers had apparently not been too taxing for him. The face he made told me: "I thought you wouldn't come." He said nothing however. He simply rose to meet me.

We stared for a minute. Despite the adrenaline and the very real anxiety, I couldn't help but smile at my enemy. He looked forward to our battle as well; I could see his anticipation in the way he moved purposefully slowly, to hide his twitchiness. There wasn't much we could hide from each other after a full year together. Despite everything he said, I suspected that he had something to prove as well. I'd always insisted that I'd only lost our first battle because of a dumb mistake -- which I still believed -- and it was possible that he viewed this rematch as an opportunity to prove his might once more. What would I possibly say if I lost again? It would truly be nothing but an excuse. I had no desire to find out that he was, after all, the superior fighter, but oh, how did I yearn to test myself against him. How fulfilling it would be to defeat that flawless beast! He stood in my face, and yes, he was taller. Taller and stronger, but just a little.

The brown wolf gazed at me differently, however. To him, I was an enemy warrior again. A threat to be neutralized.

-- You made your choice, Blackpaw. Don't regret.

I nodded.

-- I guess we should taunt each other.

He smirked.

-- When you defeated again, Huntclaw will show tribes how happy it make you to be owned, blue wolf. They surely enjoy.

What an ass. It was so mean! He would probably do it, too. He was quite capable of it. Exhibiting my gentle submission to everyone would do fine as a ritual humiliation. A scene flashed in my mind. In it, I spread, bent or on my back, and I was made to squeal under his attentions as he demonstrated his control over even my pleasure. How demeaning that would be... It gave me chills.

-- Fine. In a few minutes, when I win, I'll prove how easy it is to housebreak the proud and wild hero of the Huntclaws. You won't get lucky this time. I'll tame you in real time. We can talk about our respective places then, while you're fetching sticks.

He squinted, affected by the crude proposed depiction of himself.

-- Don't give wolf ideas, prey. You lose soon, come home not so cocky.

I snarled.

-- We'll see.

Ugh! We both growled, infuriated and amused in equal measures. We knew how to get on each other's nerves. We split. The encounter had the desired effect. We wanted to kick each other's ass. As I returned to my side, I prayed. I rarely did bother the gods, but this time, I needed to. If there was any power, or any spirit watching over me, weaving our fates, I begged them to spare me another humiliating defeat. Not twice. Please, not twice. I didn't want my rival to exhibit how pleasingly submissive he could make me. Everyone might actually start to believe that I was losing on purpose, if he did. I didn't want to concede everything, and finally be forced to admit that I was inferior. I knew that it was a risk. I accepted it, but at the same time, I begged to be allowed to put him in his place. It would only be fair, right? Then again, the gods didn't have to be fair. We all knew it.

And so, I was quite tense as I made my way to the arena. I grabbed my sword, and the nagging awkwardness instantly came back. I dropped the sword. No. I truly was out of practice with weapons. It was a weakness. Could I beat my enemy like this? I doubted it.

An insane idea invaded me. As soon as I contemplated it, I found myself unable to let go. It could be a mistake. It could be a critical, terrible mistake that would make my victory impossible, or the mistake could be to ignore it. Overconfidence had defeated me the first time. Was it happening again already? I simply didn't know. I could see little advantage in starting to second guess myself. I heard the priest's voice, in my head, telling me not to hesitate, and I made up my mind.

I ran through the crowd of my tribe mates heading to the arena, searching frantically for the old wolf. I found him standing by near the entrance, with Chief Bors. I dashed to them. They gave me worried glances.

-- What's wrong? instantly asked Bors.

I ignored him, and talked to our priest.

-- You must request to make the challenge unarmed and unarmored.

They thought I was crazy.

-- Why? asked the old wolf.

-- Impossible, said the chief. That's what the Huntclaws prefer. You wouldn't stand a chance. You almost beat their warrior with a sword last year!

I swept my hand.

-- I know, I know, but it's not good anymore. Since my defeat, I've trained claw-style exclusively. I'm out of practice with everything else.

The holy wolf shook his head somberly.

-- I don't think this is a good idea. You should use what you know will work.

I shouted at them.

-- It won't!

The flow of wolves stopped, and the tribe stared at us. I lowered my voice.

"I know how it sounds, but I've trained in claw combat against him often. I know how he fights, and I can beat him. I can't afford not to be at my best. It's been weird all day, using a sword, and I don't want to feel anything else than solid for the Iron Moon. It's too important."

-- You can't do that, whispered Bors on the verge of panic. It's nonsense!

The priest silenced him with a gesture.

-- Are you sure?

I wasn't.

-- Yes. Trust me on this.

The old wolf sighed.

-- Alright.

Bors frenzied.

-- No! This is a catastrophe! Use the damned sword!

He faced the priest.

"Don't allow this!"

-- It's not our decision to make, chief, stated the wise one.

Bors turned to me.

-- Don't do this! You're messing it up! You're giving up your advantage like the first time! You're condemning us all!

I nearly gave in. The panicked chief was almost too much.

-- No, chief. I'm champion. It's my decision.

I locked eyes with the old wolf.

"Do it. They will accept."

-- On this, we agree.

The priest seized the chief's arm, and gently led him inside. The black wolf seemed in shock, betrayed. I stood aside and struggled to calm down for the remaining few minutes. Everyone was in. I stretched my arms and shoulders, jumped a few times, and then I stepped under the arch.

Hard dirt under my paws. A legendary opponent. A captivated crowd. A decisive battle with terribly high stakes. This should've been exciting -- and it was -- but the tension was mostly crippling. I wished the duel began already. My heart seemed to burn in my chest. In front of me, about fifteen meters away, the familiar colossal brown-and-beige Huntclaw busied himself removing his iron shoulder guard and armored belt, keeping only his loincloth. His artificial claws already lay on the ground, so I knew that my offer had been proposed and accepted. He seemed grave but pleased by the unexpected turn of events. I removed my cloth armor as well, and we both stepped forward to signify our readiness. Our respective priests rose from their front seats.

-- The Huntclaw chosen hunter! announced the tan-colored wolf.

The Huntclaw side of the arena went a little crazy with violently enthusiastic howls. Contrary to tradition, my rival made no movement, and not a sound. He stared with an intensity that I found unsettling. I understood, though. When the Blackpaw priest announced me as our tribe's champion, I refrained from joining into the thundering but orderly Blackpaw bark. This wasn't for show, to us. It was between him and me. It was about settling the score. We both had something to prove on these moonlit grounds.

The Huntclaw priest spoke again:

"With consent from both warriors, the duel will be unarmed and unarmored."

Suddenly, the public understood what was up with us removing our armors and weapons. Consternation spread through my tribe, while our wilder adversaries approved and cheered.

-- I guess we're getting our doggy back, said one of them.

Many roared with laughter. I ignored the two sides of the audience. I noted that my opponent wasn't overly amused. Maybe this decision increased the tension for him as well. He knew how good I was, and getting defeated claw-style by a Blackpaw could be all the more embarrassing to him. Or, perhaps he simply couldn't wait to find out what I'd learned from him. This wasn't morning or afternoon practice next to his hut. Only here would we give everything we had. Only the Iron Moon results mattered. I shook my muzzle, and I bounced forward.

Game time.

The burly brown wolf crouched threateningly, opening his mighty hands wide to his sides to be in position to swipe with either arm. I couldn't just dive in there. Too risky. But I wanted the momentum. I needed him on the defensive. I got closer, adopting a stance extremely similar to his. I was preparing to strike at his stomach when he did what I hadn't dared to do, and plunged forward, claws first. I threw my weight to the side, barely avoiding getting crashed into by that formidable force, but I tried to slash at his shoulder from the left as he passed me by. I felt fur and flesh against my claws, but I also sensed a terrible burn on by bicep, since I'd exposed my arm as a potential target. I quickly rotated in the same movement, to get my left arm out of his way, but it was too late. My focus dulled the pain, however. He landed onto his four limbs, like a wild beast contracting to pounce again, and before I could even notice that he was turning my way, he was leaping once more, snarling with all fangs uncovered.

This was bad. I wouldn't win if he could do whatever he wanted, and I only reacted defensively, but I was still shocked by how fast and aggressive he was. It was easy to forget. Without a range advantage, I couldn't threaten and punish him easily. At the same time, this was good. The pain was good. The adrenaline was good. I felt alive.

The lethal lupine flew toward me. I had exactly no time to analyze; he was already in midair, so all I did was to witness my own reaction. He was aiming for my chest, so he hadn't jumped that high, but I instinctively launched myself flat under him, pressing my body as tightly against the earth as I could. I sensed his form brushing my longer brown mane running down the rear of my head, and the hackles of my back. I smiled inwardly. Yes, my body was more used to dealing with his insane speed than my mind. This could be an opening.

I pushed myself up in a blink and I dashed, hoping to tackle or slash at his back while he faced away, carried by his weight, only to realize that he'd kept going into a frontward roll, instead of fighting his momentum to turn and attack again. He rose safely away, much too far for me to use his missed attack to my advantage. These lightening fast engages and disengages had always been part of his style, and so I wasn't particularly surprised. We faced each other, evaluating the results of this first round, and began circling, gradually closing the gap again while we caught our breath. I'd cut into his left shoulder; he'd dug into my left arm. Neither wound bled much, and they appeared rather superficial, so as far I was concerned, we were still on even ground, though I had to admit that I didn't feel very in-control of the match thus far. I would've preferred to be on the offensive.

I pushed forward decisively, clawing like an enraged madwolf as he simply and calmly stepped back to keep slightly out of my range. After the third strike, I feinted high and swept low, leaning forward in a sudden crouch for increased reach. He hopped away in time to protect his legs, but that was what I wanted. I rose and pressed the attack while he regained his balance, swiping for his chest, expecting him to dodge or block because he wasn't in a good position to slash with both hands in front of him. Instead, my claws sunk into his abdomen. I saw his vicious expression as he winced, and then the world faded to black searing pain as he brutally extended his right arm and jabbed with his strong, closed fist into my muzzle. I wobbled back, flailing my arms to protect myself as I managed to open my eyes but he was already on me, following up with a low strike. He caught my right thigh, shredding through my blue fur and my flesh. I kept going, desperate to escape, but he simply pressed forward. He roared loudly with effort as he clawed at my head. Panicked, I reflexively blocked, and he cut deep into both of my forearms. Time appeared to slow as I was getting ripped into wolf ribbons. I had to try something to get him off me. I placed my arms against my chest, and as he struck for the third time, getting another good hit into my flank, leaving more red streaks into my body, I did something risky, but under the circumstances, I didn't know what else to do. He had me right where he wanted me, and I had to get out.

Knowing that I wouldn't manage to simply distance him by moving away, I shoved into him. I placed myself even closer, right between his arms, where he could've grabbed me easily, and I ferociously pushed him off with both hands into his chest, frantically praying that he wouldn't see it coming.

He didn't.

In fact, saying that it astonished him would be an understatement. I saw the utter confusion in his face as he fell down, flat on his back. He fucking fell. I dropped onto him, almost as surprised as he was, reaching for his throat while he struggled to seize my arm and stop me. I felt my claws scratch at it, but couldn't quite lock around it. I growled with fury, barking into his face, powering to gain the single centimeter that I needed to win. One centimeter! One damned centimeter and the fight was mine! I too grabbed my own right arm with my left hand, and muscled against him. He'd proven slightly stronger than me a year ago, but was it still true? I began to doubt it as we both strained ourselves into a standstill, our powerful forms shaking with the deployed force. I'd learn only later, as I heard others whisper about it, how tense our tribes had been, drawn forward, on the edge of their benches. The entire arena must've seemed petrified, with the statue of our tangled struggle in the center of attention, unimaginably close to an historic Blackpaw triumph in claw-style.

He couldn't move me away. Of course, being on top, I had my own weight to help me, but I couldn't quite close my claws in a good grip! It was maddening! I shoved repeatedly but he held firm, perfectly aware of how close he was to a humiliating defeat. He began to squirm, moving his knees under me, trying to draw them up between us. With a desperate heave of my entire body, I used everything I had left then, as he lost focus for a splinter of a moment.

My claws closed onto his throat. At the exact same moment, with his paws placed against my lower abdomen, he launched me away so vigorously with his legs that I flew, ripping himself away from my hold before I could lock my fingers.

I landed roughly into the dirt, knocking the air out of my lungs. As soon as I could breathe, I let out a frustrated, disappointed groan as I slowly attempted to compel my muscles into further movements and efforts. With great difficulty, I rolled to my side, fighting to get up. Hurt was all-consuming. I could barely see. The arena seemed hazy; my opponent, an ill-defined blob that was curving over itself and getting up. I coughed, and tried to assess the situation. My head hurt.

Thick blood dripped from both of my forearms. I closed my hands into hard fists, and intense pain flashed through my flesh. More blood leaked. My left bicep also stung, but my flank didn't feel too bad. My thigh, however, felt horrible, with every movement excruciating. I breathed deep and worked to accept the pain. In front of me, the chosen hunter was shaken, panting as noisily as I did. Thin scratches ran around his neck. His punctured abdomen bled, but his shoulder seemed fine. Physically, I suffered more from this second round, but in his eyes, I saw some real resentment. He'd examined defeat from up close. He took me seriously, now. I smirked to piss him off some more. He sneered.

-- Wolf wipe that smile from your face.

-- Try it, Huntclaw.

We moved closer, carefully. I feigned a pounce, but he barely reacted, not buying it. I wasn't even sure that I could effectively jump him with my wounded leg, even if I wanted to. There wasn't any point if it was too slow to surprise him. I watched his dangerous claws. This was crazy. Claw-style was crazy. There wasn't any hope of getting close enough to strike without stepping into the other's attacks. What could I do to catch him off guard again? I'd been so close!

Frustrated, I brutally obeyed an impatient instinct to slash at him, possibly out of anger. We collided and grappled. He'd done the same thing, at the same time.

Alarm flooded my mind. No! I flung my right arm around his back, trapping his left hand tightly between our chests while his right arm caught my left wrist. He forced my wrist down while his left arm began to wriggle out. Desperate to escape the heavier wolf without allowing him to catch my free hand, I pushed and pulled our bodies in an attempt to trip him, but he was agile, and with a quick leg movement, he tripped me instead.

Oh no, please, no! I prayed as I tumbled. When my back hit the earth, I sensed his weight settling over me, and a strong sharp grip closing upon my right wrist. He sat on my waist, pinning both of my arms down at the sides of my head. I threw my legs about, trying to knee him in the back as hard as I could, to no effect whatsoever. I squirmed, and thrashed with a sinking sense of crushing powerlessness, as he closed his knees more tightly around my flanks, and I found myself more and more immobilized under him. A wide toothy grin hovered over me.

-- Caught a blue wolf.

The logical voice, the Blackpaw voice in me said that there was no way to turn that situation to my advantage. He was stronger and he held me down, well balanced on top of me. I didn't even have my arms free to push us to the side. Yet I resisted pointlessly, refusing to submit, hopelessly calculating, going over my training and digging through my experiences to find a solution, an escape, but I knew there was none. He held me in check. As long as he kept pinning my arms to the ground, and remained balanced on top of me, I was doomed. All he had to do to finish it was to calmly grab my throat, and I wasn't strong enough to stop him.

"Surrender. You lost."

He... he was right.

In theory.

But if there was something that I'd learned, it was that the world wasn't theoretical. Fighters like us weren't flawless. I roared, loud and clear, and I strained against him. Being stronger, on top, and holding my arms in a position from which it was difficult to apply strength, the brown wolf shook his head, waiting for me to cease embarrassing myself. The Blackpaw side was dead silent, but the Huntclaws scoffed, understanding that the battle was over.

-- Witness the might of the Blackpaws! said one of them.

They laughed and continued to mock me. The effort hurt my arms. I trembled, giving everything I had, but I didn't budge. My soon-to-be-alpha lowered his muzzle. He whispered gently.

-- It okay. Good fight. Give up.

A bit more, and he'd rub his muzzle against mine, soothingly, to put me at ease. I smiled acceptingly. That's when I crashed my snout into his with the full weight of my upper body behind it.

"Uuurgh!" he emitted in total shock, reflexively tilting back and grasping his face.

The pain was truly unthinkable in our poor squishy noses, but I'd expected it. Not losing a moment, I used my free arm to push the ground violently. In a flash, I'd rolled on top. The entire crowd gasped. I plunged down and coiled my arm around his neck before he managed to catch it again. I tightened the lock mercilessly, choking him between my arm and shoulder, sensing his hot, vigorous body under my control. All the while, he clawed at my back, my shoulders, everything he could reach, without much effect.

-- That's a fucking winning hold! I yelled throatily.

My arms burned with the tension, I growled roughly, taking quick, deep breaths. I counted. Soon enough, the struggling ceased, and the greatest Huntclaw warrior went limp. Only then, did I release him. He coughed and wheezed, half-conscious, while I flipped him on his belly, and cut off his loincloth with my claws. I threw the cloths away, and used the rope to tie his wrists in his back with a solid knot. Then, I flipped him onto his back again. I rose, towering over the defeated, watching as he slowly regained full awareness. Suddenly, he looked around, and I put an immediate stop to his wriggling by placing my inked paw on top of his chest. I shoved him in his rightful place, bound and stripped under my pads.

"Down boy."

I saw it. I beheld in his eyes the confusion, the terrible refusal to accept an unforgiving truth. Heck, I couldn't believe it myself until I read it into him.

I'd won.

It washed into me, cleansing every worry in a magnificent wave of pride. Every doubt dissolved, all the pain vindicated. I felt so light that I imagined I might fly straight up into the night sky and touch the moon like a god. I'd done it. He was mine! I knew I could beat him, and now so would everyone else! I turned to the Huntclaws, who were still dazed and muted.

"What's wrong?" I roared mockingly as they lowered their eyes in shame. "Not having any more fun? Watch what happens to your precious champion, he's about to have a bunch of fun in your name!"

I briefly diminished the pressure with my paw, only to shove the beaten hunter back down into the dirt to underline my words. I lowered my bruised muzzle to my squirming captive. The conquered proud wolf raised hesitant puppy eyes, and the savage joy of payback filled me. So that's what vengeance was all about! I knew exactly how he felt. I remembered every moment of helplessness, every gut-wrenching humiliation. Most of all, I remembered knowing that my fate rested fully into someone else's hands, and how scary and demeaning that had been. I'd learned what it felt like to be very, very low. He'd taught me so many things, I figured he deserved a bit of a lesson of his own.

I grabbed my glorious, robust new pet by the long, darker fur growing from the top of his head down along his spine, and I dragged his bound form before the rest of the Blackpaws. The wild wolf didn't put up much of a fight when I placed him on his knees to present him. He stared at the ground, absent, his fiercely independent spirit in full revolt against the inescapable reality that was about to crash down on him. It'd been damn hard on me, and I was used to the strict military hierarchy of the Blackpaws. It was impossible to even imagine what it'd do to him...

I couldn't wait to find out!

Until that moment, my tribe had been just as quiet as the sorry Huntclaws, disbelief painted in their faces. It kind of annoyed me that they'd been so convinced I'd lose. I walked in front of the waiting, bound wolf, addressing my own tribe.

"Look."

I pointed to the kneeling shape behind me. His ears twitched backward briefly.

"Pretty sure we won," I said teasingly.

At last, life returned to them. Happy faces burgeoned, and celebratory whispers began to run around the crowd.

-- Wow, he doesn't look so tough anymore, commented someone.

-- Right? I responded, moving behind my ex-alpha.

I placed my hand onto his neck, and bent him forward before all Blackpaws so that they could admire the impressive nude body of the enemy warrior that they'd been so anxious about. I slapped the side of his butt. He tried to turn angrily to me, but I held his neck in place, and his muzzle soon dropped again.

"Go ahead," I commanded. "You know how this goes. We're listening."

He hesitated. I knew damn well how hard it was to forsake one's own dignity. It was just about the last thing a wolf warrior wanted to do. We were proud creatures. The alternative, however, was cruel and bad, and nobody really desired it.

"Come on. You know the rules."

To encourage the right mindset, I crouched all over him and I stroked his inner thigh possessively, still keeping him in place by the nape. He tried to move his head, and I let him. The Huntclaw glanced at me, and I recognized the exact same pleading expression I'd thrown him precisely a year before, day for day. I must admit that I enjoyed it thoroughly, and to confirm his impression of complete vulnerability to me, I gripped his heavy nutsack. His tied wrists fought the rope pointlessly. I squeezed very softly. He couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He mumbled something perfectly inaudible.

"Say again?"

-- Huntclaw lost.

At last, his ears dropped, he bowed his head, and I sensed it as he surrendered to my total ownership.

-- And...? What does prey do if it wants to live?

Trampling agonizingly all over his pride, my wolf squeaked and whined adorably into my grasp, curving his back lowly in a defenseless begging position. It was amazing. I pulled up my vanquished rival to his paws to show him off. Watching that force of nature comply and stand meekly for me was an experience all of its own. Was it so intoxicating for him when he beat me and paraded me around? I bet it was.

The tribe cheered loudly, our victory fully confirmed, raising their fists in the final release of their worries for an entire year. Me, I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that I'd made this invincible beast submit. He was mine and he knew it. I disliked no part of that notion. Our priest stood among the crowd to make the announcement. He sounded proud and fulfilled, and spoke loudly to the opposing side of the arena.

-- Your chosen hunter is defeated, and has submitted in your name! he hammered to the dismayed Huntclaws. We claim the honor of alpha tribe! Know your places!

I led my surprisingly well-behaved wolf in the center of the arena, enjoying the spectacle of the tribe that had derived so much satisfaction from my pathetic groveling as they fled the scene in humiliated silence, pushed by the mocking laughter of the increasingly jubilant Blackpaws. I snapped my fingers at my Huntclaw's face, and pointed my finger down to the ground at my heels.

-- Sit.

The rest of his kin frantically attempted not to look as I broke the hunter that had symbolized their arrogant power into an obedient slave. He sat at my legs, watching his brethren egress, abandoning him to us.

-- Leaving already? I taunted them. Why don't you stay and find out what a Huntclaw's place really is.

It was a special kind of crushing distress to be cast off to your enemies. My muscular pet watched his tribe mates go, one by one. Soon, he'd lost everything that he'd known and valued, including his very dear freedom. I remembered that sentiment too. I raised his muzzle to stare into his sad eyes. He seemed lost and fearful. I wiped a trickle of blood under his nose. I nearly reminded him that he wasn't alone; he knew me, and I remembered how -- as a general rule -- he'd been forgiving and caring. I'd pay him back for _that_too. I wanted to reassure him, and I'd do it, but later. First, I decided to let him fully 'appreciate' the submission ritual... like I had.

I strolled to one of the old wooden walls of the arena, and struck hard into it using one of the steel-clawed gauntlets still lying on the ground. Shreds of dry lumber were dislodged and flew around. I picked up the biggest piece of wood, one that fit nicely in my hand, and returned to my pet. The puzzled audience quieted down as they wondered what I was up to, but the sorry look in my subjugated rival's face indicated that he understood already, as I approached. I presented the bit of wood to his snout, and I tossed it aside, not even three meters away. His expression informed me that he hoped I was kidding. I was not.

"Fetch."

He soured up. The Blackpaws burst in authentic amusement.

"I did say I'd civilize you. Fetch."

The brown wolf remained immobile, half-defiant, half-pleading. I'd made that mistake too: thinking that somehow, somewhat, I'd be spared the worst degradations. I could nobly refuse it, or my tormentor wouldn't push me too far once he'd realize how terrible it was for me. We all seemed to think that it couldn't happen to us until it did. Perhaps, without this illusion of control, true arrogance became impossible. Here, I'd learned that the world wasn't mine, and that it didn't care about my pride. That had been my toughest lesson by far. I grinned nastily.

I would gift him with that new perspective as well.

I gave an ostentatious glance to the Blackpaws.

"This is a bit complicated for him."

They snickered.

"Don't worry," I told my angry pet. "I'll teach you how to do it."

Without delay, I pulled one of his soft pointy ears, compelling him to drag himself along on his knees with a pained whine. Then, I shoved his head down, his black nose into the earth, but he refused to unclench his teeth to take the improvised stick. I pressed harder on the back of his skull.

"Open up, or you can stay here and kiss the ground. I have all night."

I rubbed his snout harshly into the dirt to make my point.

"You like that?"

A response fused from the crowd:

-- Of course, he does! Huntclaws are dumb enough to eat dirt!

My captive winced and squirmed against the rope. I shoved him into the earth some more in punishment.

-- Hmmm! Delicious, right? Obey me, pet. What else can you do? Take the stick in your mouth. You know the rules. You don't want to dishonor yourself and your tribe even more, by making us discipline you, do you?

-- Get a new dog! shouted another wolf from the public. This one's too thick to learn tricks!

-- Oh no, I said while patting the naked curbed back before me. I think I can train him.

I bowed near my subwolf's face, stern.

"Take the stick."

With a last mournful whimper of penetrating shame, I saw the fangs unclench. He took the wooden shard. Immediately, I brought him up to show him holding it obediently into his mouth.

"See?" I gloated. "Not such a wild spirit after all."

Many applauded and whistled. I dug my claws into the brown neck. The mighty wolf tensed up with the pain, and let me carry him back to where we were before.

"Now, you return to master."

Releasing my ex-alpha-now-pet-in-training, I stood in front of him. I offered my white open palm, smirking as smugly as I could.

"And, finally, you give, like a good boy."

I savored the demolished expression over the muzzle that advanced timidly and placed the stick into my hand. I scratched the beige soft chin as a reward while my tribe cheered.

"You managed!" I cooed ironically. "Congratulations! And that's all there is to it!"

I ceased smiling, and threw the stick further. My previously proud warrior rival looked at it despondently, and then back to me.

"Fetch."

Thus, my pet learned his new status, dragging himself on his knees for our entertainment. He approached compliantly to return my stick, only to fetch it again and again. Witnessing such a strong and noble body under this total disgrace and perfect susceptibility to my whims was thoroughly exciting. Soon enough, I felt satisfied and ready to impose the next humiliation upon him. He returned the piece of wood, and this time I dropped it. He seemed initially happy about that. I gripped his muzzle, and placed him in front of my crotch, on his knees.

"There is something else that I owe you, my tamed Huntclaw."

He looked worriedly at my breeches.

"Yeah, I remember too. I had the inner strength to accept my place, and the consequences of my defeat. I honored the rules. Will you?"

As soon as I challenged him, I noticed a slight resurgence of defiance. I patted the side of his muzzle.

"Open that maw and serve your vanquisher."

Shame and anger battled it out in his eyes as he opened his mouth and waited submissively. Shame won when I took my engorged erection out of my breeches.

-- Oh damn. Isn't that a bit risky? asked a Blackpaw.

I stuffed my dick into the open muzzle, and pushed behind his head to settle in deep. He moaned plaintively and shut his eyes, unable to maintain contact any longer.

-- Nah, I responded. He knows his place.

As if to prove me right, the tough muzzle went to work. The beaten fighter, the strongest and possibly the most lethal wolf I'd ever seen, knelt stripped and bound in front of me, and serviced my cock. He was beyond attractive. The idea that he was all mine for a year drove me crazy.

I couldn't help it, and I caressed his head and brushed through his thick dorsal fur with my fingers, just like I did for him sometimes when I was the bottom wolf, and I lay with him on his bed. His dutiful tongue rubbed under my shaft. I gave a slight impulse with my hips, and sensed the back of his throat on the sensitive head of my limb. He opened his eyes in surprise, and coughed, but kept performing his chore with a short neutral moan. Mock-endeared sounds echoed around us.

"Doing good."

I thrust delicately with a waving motion.

"You want me to remain gentle? I don't have to."

In lieu of example, I meanly shoved my large dick down his throat. He choked and looked up to me with affronted, watering eyes. I chuckled.

"So?"

I pulled out of his mouth, pinning him down with an oppressive stare. I teased the cold tip of his nose with my wet bulge. He nodded weakly. I turned my gaze up to the public.

"See that? The invincible Huntclaw would appreciate it if I took it easy on him."

Taunts rained, but I looked kindly upon my prey.

"Yeah, okay," I simply agreed. "Back to it."

The defeated wolf resumed suffering this merciless public ignominy with admirable nerve. Accepting his punishment to the end, just like I had, he opened his muzzle again and took in my hard cock. He licked and tasted it as my arousal mounted fast. Wow. He took his job seriously. He wasn't half bad at this.

"You don't look so unhappy to be defeated either," I teased him.

He glared darkly, but not too long. I pressed firmly against his head, threatening to go deeper, and he soon adjusted his attitude to something more appropriately imploring, and focused on my satisfaction. He gradually learned how to use his muzzle the right way, attending all of my length, but concentrating on my bulging tip with the back of his tongue. I encouraged him with strokes and pats, comfortably embedded into his warm serviceable maw.

A few minutes later, I sensed that it was about to be too much. He wrapped and coiled around my throbbing erection. It became difficult to feel anything else, or to envision something other than his sexy compliant form and his restrained brawn, now mine to direct. I shoved deeper one last time to have my splendid rival squirming and gurgling pitifully for my finish. I shut my eyes hard as I tensed up and went over the point of no return. I groaned; the pleasure seared almost unbearably.

"Aaarh!"

Blackpaws whistled and jeered when I climaxed, spurting hot seed, filling the obedient mouth. My living prize attempted to jerk back.

-- Hmng!

Quickly, I caught his chin and his upper jaw, forcing them shut as he complained and swallowed, then gagged and swallowed some more. My whitish come leaked along his chin while he received everything I gave him.

-- Hahaha! Not so boastful now, are you?

How shattered the Huntclaw champion appeared! I let go of him, and watched him cough and pant as semen dripped from his tongue and chin. In order to complete this perfect tableau, I placed my cock on top of his snout and squeezed it with my hand, leaving a nice final white sticky streak on the bridge of his nose. It was the cutest thing. I brought my deflating member back into my pants. He knelt there patiently with big puppy eyes, waiting for my verdict. I scratched behind his ear reassuringly. The submission ritual was over. The tribe expected my decision.

"Yeah, I'll take him in. He can come back with us."

The Iron Moon arena slowly emptied out of the celebrating Blackpaws. When I'd lost, I'd been brought to the Huntclaw village on a leash, roped and muzzled. I considered many options that seemed sufficiently degrading while we dismantled our camp, but, in the end, I could pick only one.

I watched Lastha and another warrior cheerily go by. They each held one end of a bundle of tent poles. Hanging from the poles, attached by his wrists and ankles, my prized adversary wriggled in boundless outrage, silenced by a rope gag. True, his fury was far from unjustified. He'd been a good boy, heeding all of my orders, and that odious disgrace was his reward? It wasn't very nice of me at all. At least, Lastha had been quite happy to get to see the monstrous Huntclaw that she'd trained so long to defeat from up close. I'd told them to go ahead and place him somewhere nice in the village. I'd take my time and let him simmer until he was nice and polite again, even if it had to take until morning. Only then would I show him the same tolerant fairness that he'd shown me. I'd take good care of him, in the end. I knew I wouldn't be able to restrain him too much. It'd make him miserable without a doubt, and I didn't want that -- especially considering how he might pay me back a year later.

I chuckled. There was no sense in concerning myself with the next Iron Moon, yet. I disposed of quite a while to think of some fun and interesting things to do with my haughty wolf.

That year promised to be reeeeal nice.