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A/N - This piece is a request from Arctickit...I mean :iconArcticF0x:. Basically I was given the task of making up a back story for one of his side characters, a family of wolves who see a wolf and human coming into town together. The environment is from his Last of the Lycans story but the characters here are all mine.

Note - Adult for unshown drowning.

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The sun had just not even begun its rise over the Augret forest and the town of Amita contained within when a great brown furred mass began to stir in one of the small, hide huts in the village. The tinges of orange seeping into the sky caught onto a barely open amber eye as the old, brown Lycan extricated himself from his hide strapped bed, another form groaning and whimpering softly as he moved away from it.

As he stood up, his head still groggy from slumber, Olaf stretched his arms wide, feeling the stiffness from another night's sleep leaving as he lazily moved, his black tail swaying idly behind him as the black stripe down his spine twisted first to the left and then to the right as he flexed his back, twisting his hips to work out the strains of sleep before he went to do his duty to the pack.

Leaning down beside the bed, one knee alighting on the dirt floor, he gave his mate, still asleep until the pups awoke and her with them, a small nuzzle, seeing the tips of her lips rise in an unconscious grin before he had to let her go, padding over to the pile of furballs on the floor on the opposite side of the hut.

He smiled gently as he saw his offspring curled up in their sleep; the youngest sprawled on his grey back as his tiny black paws ran through an imaginary field in his dreams. His two brethren were surrounding him protectively, curled into tiny furry balls that Olaf knew could become bundles of energy once they awoke.

With a quick sniff of his thick fur, the male rationalized that he could go to the stream that evening and bathe; the tannery was nowhere that his scent could be noted. Stepping through the door of the hut into the still dim light of the forest and the town hidden within, he wondered what if he had not angered the elders...what if he could still be on the hunt.

He saw the agile young hunting packs gathering, planning their hunts, praying to the gods for their blessings before they headed into the woods. The smell of their offered incense hung heavily in the air, muttered incantations and supplications to the deities of both the Lycans themselves as well as the deities of the forest filled his ears. As his old, somewhat tired paws carried him toward the edge of town, the scents and sounds took him back...far back to younger days.

Many years ago, he had been a decent hunter in the town, well on his way to becoming a hunt leader as he grew. All of his previous hunting time, however, had been for himself, and with the hunting parties. Not on that fateful day.

The elders of the town had given him a young pup to lead. It was Jorgen, the youngest son of one of the elder wolves. His father could no longer hunt, but it was time for the young pup's first hunt, and the job of huntmate had been given to Olaf. It was his duty to protect and guide the younger wolf on this hunt. It was an honor for Olaf, but also a great challenge; he had only been hunting for a few springs.

"I will best you, old man," came the young brown-furred lupine's calls and boasts. "Follow me." The older wolf gave chase, paws tearing through the heavily wooded underbrush, the scents of the forest flooding through his nose as he followed the trail of the young, eager lupine deeper and deeper into the woods.

Through the smell of the forest, a thin scent of prey caught the attention of the lead wolf. The cinnamon-like odor of a small pack of ogapes was filtering through the air, not the world's most glamorous meat, but filling nonetheless. With a quick move, the lead wolf sprinted toward the scent. Just as the wolves always hunted, Olaf swung to come at their prey from downwind and the near side while Jorgan swung around to the prey's flank.

Paws slipped silently over the damp, muddy ground as the two wolves stalked closer to the source of the scent. Each step brought the scent of the ogapes thicker and thicker into their noses as they crept closer and closer to the stream where they could hope to catch their prey.

Closing on a small, open field, Olaf crept in wait as the small white creatures snuffled along the ground and slurped water out of the quickly flowing stream running next to the rocky field. On the other side of the river, he saw Jorgen crouched, waiting to strike as he caught my eyes. He had more ground to cover, so Olaf waited for the younger wolf to start his attack to make his own strike.

A shrill howl filled the glen as Jorgen sprang from the foliage on the other side of the river, a little bit farther back from the front of the gaggle of ogapes than he should have been. Olaf sprang from his own cover, thick growls filling the glade as the two Lycan hunters went after their prey.

Snarling angrily, both Lycans charged toward the squealing ogapes, the squat, white creatures scattering as Olaf knocked down one of the ogape, its squat white neck colored red with crimson blood pouring out as Olaf's teeth pierced the creature's neck and crushed its windpipe, the last gasping breath of the ogape squeaking into the air mixed with Olaf's growls.

As the ogape's death squirms and squeals quieted down, the frightened squeals of the rest of the pack of ogapes died into the distance, a strange sound replaced them, filling the air.

A yelping, young wolf.

Olaf looked around, amber eyes scanning for the young wolf. There was no sign of the young wolf along the riverbank or the field opposite the river, nor on this side of the river. Olaf searched the horizon, finding neither hide nor hair of the young Lycan. Until...

A flash of brown appeared in the river, some splashes following it as it drifted downriver.

"Oh shit!"

With a powerful leap fueled from desperation and fear, Olaf raced toward the river, not even stopping as he saw the younger Lycan face down in the heavily rushing water, small bubbles escaping from his mouth as he lay face down in the water, his black socked paw trapped beneath a small root of a small tree. With a rushing leap, Olaf dove into the water behind the young Lycan, one strong paw grasping a root outcropping as he pulled at Jurgen's shoulder, feeling the dead weight of the younger Lycan not budging as he yanked at him.

With a titanic heave, Olaf pushed himself up the river a bit, trying to get the stuck Lycan free.

The first heave did nothing but send a shock of pain through Olaf's shoulder as he hit the stuck wolf.

A second heave jostled him, his body jolting free for just a moment before the paw snagged on the branch at bottom of the rushing clear water.

A shiver ran through Olaf's struggling body as the rushing water pounded and swept through his fur, stealing every degree of heat that he had stored and a palpable fear rising in his throat as the burn of his muscles protested his every motion, streaks of pain shooting from his shoulder as his claws dug into the bark, tan scrapes marring the otherwise white surface of the tree.

There was only one thrust left in the panting Lycan's body...but there may have been no life left in the poor young Lycan beside him...but that mattered not as Olaf made one final thrust to free Jurgen. His muscles screamed as he pushed himself harder and harder against the raging current, trying to free the trapped male, wet fur dragging him back as his claws dug into the soft tissue of the young Lycan's shoulder, forcing the younger male's body back, finally freeing that stubbornly trapped paw, causing the heavy, furry mass to flow forth with the current and slam Olaf in the chest.

With a yelp, Olaf was swept back, his claws scrabbling against the earthen bank as they tried to grab purchase as his legs wrapped around the younger Lycan, his body still barely moving in the water.

As Olaf was swept past the field, his paw finally grasped a large, protruding rock, his claws digging furrows into the face as he achieved his handhold. With a sudden jerk at the newfound purchase, Olaf's shoulder yowled in pain, tendons and muscles snapping at the force before the Lycan managed to catch himself in a small eddy, giving himself the time to drag himself and the younger Lycan's body toward the shoreline.

With a mighty heave, Olaf pulled Jorgen's limp body onto the shore, vigorously rubbing at the younger male's chest, claws scratching shallow furrows in his body before he could do no more...

A howl of mourning left Olaf's muzzle...much as Jorgen's spirit had left his body.

As he walked into the tannery, the thick stench of ammonia and fat infiltrating his nostrils, Olaf idly rubbed at his shoulder, still sore and less limber than it was before that fateful day.

The elders and huntmasters had not stopped chastising him until the early morning hours after another hunting party assisted them to the camp that evening. Accusations of murder...of cowardice...of treachery flew from their mouths, searching for someone to blame...for someone to say that there was a reason that the wolf had slipped and had the bad luck to get caught and drown.

There was no honor in drowning...and because Olaf had let the Lycan in his charge die without honor, he was without honor. His sentence was to be, in the eyes of the pack...the scapegoat for the accident. He was assigned the most undesirable work for a wolf, that of the pack tanner, transforming the skins of their kills into usable materials.

The job was monotonous, malodorous, and melancholic, reminding him of his failures, not his glories. As Olaf dove into his duties, he put aside his thoughts of the past, only the scraping of rock on hide...the stench of boiling fat and ammonia...and the feel of drying leather entered and mulled about his mind through the day.

A small snack of jerkied meat made up his lunch, as he waited for the skins to finish curing before he could cut them. The sharp, salty taste caught his tongue, driving him to a couple laps of the cool water he had with his meals. As the skins finished cooling, Olaf's mind slipped back to work mode as he cut apart the finished hides, cutting some into attachment strips and others into replacement panels for the huts.

Piling the cured skins, Olaf saw the dying light of the sun falling over the forest, sending a sheen of red over the village as he finished making his pile, planning to go deliver the products the next morning. Deciding to call it a day, he walked out toward the small lake that bordered the tannery.

Stepping a paw into the cold water amidst the cooling night drove him to shiver, the shakes coming from the wet paws to the tip of his tail to the tops of his ears as they folded back. Diving in, Olaf felt the shock of the ice cold water blasting through both layers of his thick fur, sending a shock of memory through his mind, back to that horrid day.

Grasping a patterned stone, Olaf quickly scoured his hide, scrubbing the thick scent of the tannery and his own musk out of his fur. With each stroke, the rough surface of the stone would grab and yank at loose fur, a sharp pull registering in his mind.

After a couple minutes of rigorous scrubbing, the thick, chemical smells of the tannery had been expunged from his fur and his own scent was no longer overpowering, and for just a moment, he floated in the cold water...feeling the weightlessness of the water supporting him as he took in the few moments of peace that he would have before he went home.

His time up, the Lycan stepped out of the water, quickly shaking himself dry from most of the water that had clung to his fur before picking up his lunch sack and starting back toward the village. As he walked through the village, he saw the Roskon's decrepit old hut that he had mended a few years ago, the longhouse that was still awaiting the red dyed hide for decoration, the cracks in some of the other huts that he knew he would have to mend soon...hopefully the families that dwelled within would be forthcoming with payment for him.

As he strolled through the village, he saw no one nearby his area of the village. Walking toward the door of his own hut, he stepped inside the hide door.

Barely a foot was inside the door before two speeding masses hit him.

"Papa! Didya see it? Huh? Huh? What was it"

The questions came fast and furious as their black and brown furry bodies pressed against his legs, arms and legs wrapped around his as curious faces peered upward.

"See what?" Olaf questioned, a quizzical look on his face as his head tilted to the side.

"The furless monkey?"

"Huh?"

A pair of furry arms wrapped around Olaf as he felt warm breasts press into his back, another furry head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"A human," came the quiet whisper. "Someone from another village brought a captive human back. They went in to see the elder...they haven't come out yet."

"Hrm...we'll talk later...for now, let's eat." With a paw each, he pulled the two pups off his legs, carrying them by the scruff of their neck to a small fur in the center of the room where a small assortment of haunches and meats sat waiting for the family.

As the family circled around the meal, Olaf led the family in the evening grace.

"Dearest Sumitar and Arita, Thank you for the bountiful hunt you have led our hunters to this day...and thank you for the bountiful gifts which you have bestowed upon us this day. May you continue to grace us with your love and guidance until the day where we will undertake the Final Hunt."

As soon as the words finished, three apparently famished pups attacked the food, tearing large strips off one of the haunches. Two of the pups even went grabbed the same slice of meat and fought over it.

"Boys! Boys! There's enough food to go around." As the wrestling continued, Olaf just grabbed the offending strip of meat from the boys, seeing their stares as he swallowed it in a single gulp. Olaf licked his chops before one of the pups started growling softly at him. A swift swat with his paw stopped that in its tracks.

"What have I told you about growling, DeForest?"

"But you took my meat!" That earned a snicker from his younger brother before a glare from their mother silenced them both.

"DeForest! Leonard! What have I told you about fighting at the table?"

""Not to do it" was their groveling reply as their ears hung in shame, a giggle coming from their sister as they were admonished, her own maw wrapped around a okapi haunch.

"Don't do it again," Olaf admonished them, punctuating it with a low growl of warning.

The meal passed in peace after that, their portion of yesterday's hunt disappearing into hungry maws rather quickly, and without much conversation.

As the dinner concluded, the sounds of roughhousing pups filled the room as the three pups all took each other on. Olaf and Aela left the pups to fend for themselves until they heard yelps of pain...like always.

"So," Olaf began as they walked outside into the deserted air of the village. "What happened today?"

"An outsider from another village brought a human into the village. I don't know where she was captured...but I he went to the elder. I'm worried." Aela's arms wrapped around her husband, her head down against his chest, her frantic sniffing and sniffling clear to his ears.

His heavy paw petted down her back, softly caressing her as his other hand ran across her head before he answered her.

"I'm an old wolf, Aela. I can't fight like I used to. But if this means the humans are coming, they won't get you...I'll die before I let that happen."

Olaf and Aela simply embraced each other, their warmth contrasting the cool night air before they both walked inside, still silent and paw in paw.

Surprisingly, all three pups had tired themselves out to the point where they had fallen asleep in a small pile. Too afraid to move them for fear of awaking them into another energetic frenzy, the two mates simply left the pups as they were as they walked to the door before a soft knock near the door caught them by surprise. Olaf went to see who was at the entrance to their home.

Opening the door, Olaf was met with Raelin Whitepaw, first emissary of the elder. The silver bitch was all business just as she always was

"Are you Olaf Bloodpaw?"

"I am"

A hide envelope was thrust into his hand.

"You are here by activated to your milita duty at the rank of Captain of the guard for strategy. You are to report tomorrow morning to your superior at the center of the village. That is all"

Before Olaf could even think to respond, the bitch had turned and started off toward the next house on her schedule.

Olaf opened the letter, seeing a simple sheaf of parchment inside. Reading the scrawled wording he gasped. If he did his duty...and did it well, his pups would not be burdened with the failure of his youth...He would be pardoned.

"Who was that dear?"

"That was Raelin...They've activated the militia."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know." The two of them stepped into their bed, his arms wrapped around her.

"I just don't know."

A/N - As always, comments and thoughts appreciated