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A cacophony of howls fills the empty air, piercing the chilling silence of Lost River’s meadows. Kismet’s ears perk, then pin back against his head as he realizes the source.
The Victorious Valley Pack.
Their distinct low howls, already full of triumph, were enough to make even the most valiant wolf turn tail and run. Kismet is loyal to Lucky Pack, sure, but nothing could ever convince him to fight them.
Most newcomers to Lost River sneer at the name of Victorious Valley Pack, finding it over-the-top and egotistical. That may be true, but that doesn’t change how many packs they’ve slain. Four doesn’t seem like a big number, but it is when referring to how many packs have fallen at their paws.
Kismet shakes his head. He’s marking borders, not wallowing in fear.
He looks around, regaining his bearings– right, he heard Victorious Valley Pack’s howls. They must be trying to claim another chunk of land.
Well, trying is an understatement. If they have their eyes on that land, it’s already theirs. Only a coyote-minded wolf would try to fight them off– brave, but not very bright.
Kismet grimaces, turning away and heading in the opposite direction.
* * *
Kismet eyes the freshly-caught hare at his paws. It’s the first prey he’s been able to catch in days, but it’s hardly more than a snack for a pup. He sighs, crouching down and tearing mouthfuls from it anyway.
Normally, when the seasons pass by and the elk migrate to different elevations within Lost River, the packs shift their territory accordingly, allowing every pack to have at least some territory that currently has elk in it. No honorable pack would let another pack starve just for extra territory they don’t truly need.
The Victorious Valley Pack isn’t an honorable pack.
The Victorious Valley Pack has taken over the entire southern half of Lost River, where all the elk currently are.
Kismet’s mouth curls into a snarl at the thought. There are only seven wolves in their pack; why do they need that much territory?
The answer is that they don’t.
Kismet finishes devouring the hare. He stands up, licking the blood from his chops before walking off.
He narrows his eyes, hoping to glimpse another hare, but it’s fruitless. He can barely see past his own snout in this fog.
Kismet stops in his tracks, furrowing his brows. Fog? Where did that come from? It was clear just a minute ago.
A howl splits the air.
Kismet jumps, eyes widening. He turns to face the source of the sound– it was almost incanine. The howl echoed like it came from within a cave, but it was only a creek’s width away.
He creeps towards the source, a growl rising from his throat.
"Who’s there?" Kismet takes another step forward. "Identify yourself." Another step. "...Er, hello?"
He spots a glimpse of movement.
Kismet tenses up and lunges forward, eyes straining to see who exactly he’s attacking in the fog.
Kismet’s claws land on nothing, the lunge sending him tumbling to the ground. He snarls, scrambling back to his paws and taking a defensive stance.
Then, a wolf emerges from the fog.
A pale gray wolf, the same color as the fog, steps towards Kismet, blank yellow eyes locked onto him. The wolf’s fur almost seems to move with the swirling fog–
No, not fur.
Mist.
The wolf’s form is made up of mist.
Kismet snorts to himself. What a fun little coincidence; the mist looks like a wolf!
…It, uh… Should’ve lost its form by now. It should not still be in the same exact place, the only part of the fog not moving.
Kismet’s amused smirk falls as it straightens up, towering over him.
"Victorious Valley Pack can only be felled by fate himself," it whispers.
Kismet slowly backs away. As soon as the figure takes a step towards him, he whirls around to take off…
Another misty figure shows itself.
"Variance is power."
Another one emerges.
"That is the power Victorious Valley does not possess, and it has tipped the power dynamic in luck’s favor."
"Uh, are they, like, inbred or something?" Kismet cracks a joke nervously.
"TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY!"
Kismet whines and shrinks back as one of the figures snaps at him, lowering himself and tucking his tail. Getting yelled at by a foggy apparition is oddly terrifying.
The fog presses closer, consuming the misty wolves within its depths, leaving nothing but the churning haze.
Nothing fills the silent air, not even the rustle of leaves being brushed by the breeze.
Kismet looks around, raising his head again.
The air explodes in a symphony of bird song, each bird squawking for dominance in the discordant melody.
Kismet grimaces, ears pinning flat against his head as he tries to muffle it.
A hawk’s call pierces through his fruitless auditory shield, ringing through his skull.
As soon as the hawk’s cries cease, a raven’s caws take its place.
A blue jay, an osprey, and a jackdaw conjoin their dissonance. A crow and a falcon both call out weakly– perhaps chicks?
Then, a voice whispers in his ear, "A hawk and a jackdaw will fall to fate’s claws, a jay and an osprey will fall to its jaws, and a raven will desperately call for a draw."
Everything goes silent.
Kismet is left crouched on the ground with bristled fur, whimpering, as the fog slowly dissipates. He only dares to stagger to his paws when he sees something approaching from the corner of his eyes.
"Kismet? Why are you crouching there like a cornered hare?"
His packmate, one of many among his kin. Kismet turns to her, taking a deep breath.
"Er– well– I… I guess all that fog and those birds squawking spooked me," Kismet chuckles, deliberately omitting the details that would make him sound utterly insane.
His packmate furrows her brows, looking at him like he’s utterly insane.
"...What?"
"Uh, did you not see the fog or- or hear the birds…?"
"Kismet, are you feeling okay? There was no fog, and I didn't hear any birds."
Kismet blinks, shrinking in on himself slightly. "O– oh, uh, I must’ve fallen asleep and had a weird dream, then, haha…"
'While you were hunting? Kismet, you know better."
"It won’t happen again."
"Good. You mustn’t let your guard down, not while Victorious Valley Pack still poses a threat in this area. They have new pups– Crow and Falcon, I’ve heard they’re named– this year, and they’ll be even more aggressive about taking territory and intruding for food… And fights. Ha, they might as well be named Victorious Bird Pack!"
"You’re right, they’re all named after birds, aren’t they?" Kismet snorts. "Like, come on, have some variance with– with… It…"
Kismet trails off. Variance is power.
No, that’s stupid. How could their names be their downfall?
He doesn’t even realize his expression had turned into a frown until his packmate asks, "Kismet? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I need to get back to hunting."
His packmate nods.
"I’ll see you back at the rendezvous site, then."
Kismet heads off, southbound.
* * *
Kismet takes a deep breath, staring at the distant town, long-abandoned by the humans who used to live here. None of the wolves in Lost River care about what befell the humans, nor does Kismet. All he cares about right now is…
Well, not getting his hide ripped from his body.
This is so incredibly stupid. Why is he doing this?
The tang of scent markers floods his senses; is that the sharp scent of freshly killed prey, or do their scent markers actually smell like blood?
Kismet catches a flash of movement up ahead. He locks his eyes onto a grassy meadow, just on the outskirts of the town, and partially obscured by a towering boulder.
His breath catches in his throat as he locks his eyes onto the wolves there.
This is it. Victorious Valley Pack’s rendezvous site.
He needs to figure out what that prophecy means, and if it means spying on the most dangerous pack in Yellowstone, so be it.
* * *
Kismet watches with narrowed eyes from the bushes, eyes on the rowdy pack.
He watches as Osprey grapples with Jackdaw, the two wolves snapping for each other’s throats. Raven and Hawk, the pack leaders, exchange an annoyed glance before grabbing them by their scruffs and pulling them away from each other.
"You’re packmates. Act like it," Raven says coldly.
"We’re just practicing!" Jackdaw complains.
"Not true, he attacked me over a hare!" Osprey pouts.
"Shut up, both of you!" Hawk huffs, raising his paw and thwacking Jackdaw, who hardly reacts. He then rounds on Osprey to give him a swat as well, eliciting a yelp from Osprey.
Kismet’s tail twitches. Not a very united pack, he takes it.
His eyes shift to Crow and Falcon, who are excitedly chasing each other.
"Ha, ha! I got you! You’re it!" Crow squeaks, whirling around to run from Falcon. Falcon giggles, darting after Crow.
Kismet’s expression softens.
He watches as Crow promptly crashes into Hawk, earning himself a snarl and a swipe from Hawk.
"Sorry, sorry!" Crow yelps, backing away and lowering himself with a frightened whine.
Kismet scowls, glaring at Hawk.
He forces his bristling fur to lie flat, resisting the urge to growl. He looks over at Jay.
Jay’s prowling around the clearing, a dark scowl on her face.
Kismet takes a small step closer, making sure he doesn’t step on any leaves or twigs.
Everyone suddenly goes rigid, fur spiking up.
Raven barks for Crow and Falcon to hide in the tall grass as the others start casting glares around the area.
Kismet’s eyes are wide, his breath hitching. How did they know?!
The wind is still blowing towards him, carrying their scent towards him instead of the other way around. He didn’t make a sound. He doesn’t know how else they could’ve sensed him. If they saw him, he’d be dead by now, so it was something else.
Jay runs over to the thicket Kismet’s hiding in, eyes narrowed as she searches the area.
A chill goes down Kismet’s spine, but he forces himself not to shiver enough to rustle the leaves.
Kismet stares at her. Her gray and brown fur seems familiar, beyond what he’s been told about how each of the pack members looks.
He only knew each Victorious Valley Pack member’s names based on the descriptions his packmates gave him, and yet Jay’s fur feels like something he’s seen for himself…
And it doesn’t stir about anything remotely positive.
"I’ll find you, you little rat! Come out, and maybe I’ll give you a quick death!" Jay growls.
Kismet barely suppresses a gasp. He’s heard that voice before.
Kismet finds himself within Lucky Pack’s rendezvous site, the one they’d been in a year ago, when Kismet was still a pup. His paws were too clumsy and inexperienced to choose fight or flight, and his body was much too big to be picked up by his packmates.
All he could do was freeze.
He crouched within the tall grass and prayed for the mercy of whatever being could’ve been listening. His packmates told him in the past that enemy wolves wouldn’t go for pups, but he still must stay hidden.
The clearing burst out into snarls, a jumble of incomprehensible shouts and commands. He didn’t care to listen.
His brother was still out there.
Kismet watched as his brother scrambled to join him in the bushes, and his fear eased as he realized he was almost safe within the tall grass with him.
A wolf lunged forward, her jaws latching onto his brother and snapping down on his neck.
Kismet could only watch as the gray and brown wolf dropped his limp brother’s body to the ground, forcing the wail threatening to escape him to stay in his throat.
Kismet can feel the blood pounding in his ears. Jay is the one who murdered his brother.
He won’t stay hidden this time.
Kismet leaps forward, tackling Jay to the ground.
Before Jay can yell out, Kismet darts down and sinks his teeth into her throat, feeling her blood well up into his mouth. He keeps his teeth sunk in as he shoots back up, ripping a chunk of flesh from her throat.
Jay lets out a choked howl of fury, trying to kick him off. Kismet keeps her pinned, refusing to budge.
"You killed my brother," Kismet growls into her ear.
Jay’s eyes widen for a second, but not in shock; instead, her eyes fill with indignant rage.
"Wh– what pa– pathet– pathetic wo– wolf would– still– be hung up– o- on–" Jay tries to choke out. She keeps attempting to speak, the rest of her words too garbled to make out.
Kismet backs up, grimacing. This was more gruesome than he intended. He almost feels bad.
Almost.
The moment he hears paw steps rushing towards the thicket, he turns tail and sprints away.
* * *
Kismet doesn’t stop, even when he’s past the border. He only stops when his brain convinces him that he’ll collapse if he runs any longer.
He creeps into some shrubbery for extra security as he rests, gasping for breath. Warily looking around, he lets his tense muscles relax as he sees nothing.
Then, the piercing caw of a jay makes him jump back to attention.
He blinks as he sees the corpse of a jay at his paws, killed by a bite to the throat.
What?
He scrambles back to his paws, brows furrowed. He carefully prods the jay’s body.
It dissipates like mist.
"The jay has been seized in fate’s jaws."
He stiffens, looking around for the source of the voice. However, the fog from before isn’t there, nor are any of the misty figures he saw.
Instead, his eyes lock onto a distant figure. Clearly not the one who said it, but it catches his attention anyway.
Because it’s Hawk.
"We should’ve known Lucky Pack would start stirring up trouble," Hawk grumbles.
Alarmed, Kismet strains to see if there’s anybody else with him. His fur lies flat again as he realizes Hawk is just talking to himself.
He gets up, creeping closer.
Hawk is at a cliff edge, surveying the Lucky Pack land below. Kismet's eyes widen as he realizes where Hawk is looking.
"Their rendezvous site is still. Most of them must be out hunting," Hawk mutters, his expression slowly turning into a sneer, "and that means their pups are vulnerable, waiting for me to use them as payback."
Kismet's lips curl into a snarl. He sneaks closer to Hawk.
Hawk perks up, instantly whirling around.
Kismet shoots up, standing tall again. How did Hawk know? Again with Victorious Valley Pack sensing him without scent or sound!
"You– you won’t touch our pups," Kismet growls.
"Oh? And who’s stopping me? You?" Hawk snickers. He looks Kismet up and down, expression growing even more amused. "I’m going to kill you, I’ll slaughter all of Lucky Pack’s pups, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Not alone, not with your jaws, not with your paws."
Kismet takes in a sharp breath. Hawk wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t killed Jay. He wouldn’t be plotting such a horrible deed this moment. But Kismet knows Hawk would’ve planned this sooner or later.
"I might not be able to kill you like I killed Jay," Kismet says, "But I don’t need my fangs to kill you."
Hawk bristles, a look of shock taking over his face. "You are a foolishly brave little pup, aren’t you?! You have some nerve to approach me all alone and admit to that!"
"She killed my kin first," Kismet takes a step closer. "I say it was only fair."
Hawk lunges forward, paws outstretched to tackle Kismet.
Kismet reacts a second too late, yelling out as he’s slammed to the ground. He looks up at Hawk just as he opens his jaws to bite down on his throat.
Kismet braces himself, then kicks him as hard as he can.
Hawk grunts, stumbling back. He gasps for breath for a moment, long enough for Kismet to run forward and push him with all his strength.
Hawk doesn’t have enough time to try to mitigate the force before he’s sent over the cliff edge, snarling in a haunting mix of fury and fear.
Kismet skids to a stop, narrowly avoiding falling with Hawk. He takes a deep breath as he looks down at Hawk…
Crack!
Kismet winces as Hawk’s body hits the ground, the crack of bones ringing through the air.
Hawk’s body lies limp at the bottom of the cliff…
Never to claim another life again.
Kismet backs away from the cliff edge, closing his eyes for a moment to steel himself to face what he just did. When he opens them, he nearly jumps back as he sees the limp body of a hawk at his paws.
Just like the jay’s body.
He prods it, watching as it dissipates.
A familiar voice whispers in his ear, "The hawk has fallen to fate’s claws."
* * *
Kismet stands tall in the clearing as the thrum of pawsteps draws closer. His packmates stand at his side, snarls and growls erupting from their throats. Kismet’s warning was necessary after all.
A black wolf is the first to show herself.
Raven.
"If you think we’ve been tricked, then you thought wrong." Raven scowls.
Kismet freezes, as do his packmates.
How did they know? It’s as if they have a bird’s eye view over the territory! This can’t be natural.
Then, one of his packmates– Sparrow– yells out, "The pups! They know where we hid them!"
Kismet whirls around, eyes set on the distant clearing, not stopping for a moment to doubt Sparrow. Sparrow has always had an unnatural intuition, almost akin to Victorious Valley Pack’s. Kismet finds it odd how the one wolf in this pack that's named after a bird shares the same uncanny ability, but he knows he doesn’t have time to think about the little irony.
* * *
Kismet leaps forward just in time to tackle the first wolf he sees to the ground. His tail lashing, he pins Osprey.
"Jackdaw!" Osprey yelps out, fur bristling. "I need help! Damn it all!"
Jackdaw looks over at Osprey, narrowing his eyes at his current predicament. Then, Jackdaw turns away, sprinting for a nearby thicket.
Kismet’s eyes widen, and he quickly bolts forward, releasing Osprey.
Jackdaw’s pelt bristles as he senses Kismet’s vicinity, stopping in his tracks and turning around, but not in time to react as Kismet bowls him to the ground. With a sickening crack, Jackdaw’s head bashes against a rock.
Kismet straightens up, taking in a shaky breath as he looks up at the thicket where Lucky Pack’s pups are hidden away. He silently prays that the shrubbery is concealing the scene from them.
"The jackdaw has been brought down by fate’s paws."
Kismet bats away the jackdaw corpse that appears at his paws, not bothering to watch it dissipate this time.
He then turns to face Osprey, who’s crouching on the ground, cowering.
"You seem awfully cowardly for a Victorious Valley Pack wolf," Kismet growls.
He steps closer to the cowering wolf.
"I know, I know! I’m not– I’m not made for this! I can hardly even stand the sight of elk blood!" Osprey bursts out.
"Then leave."
"...W– what?"
"Leave Lost River. Become a dispersal wolf in some other land, but you will not be welcome in this one. You clearly don’t want to stay in Victorious Valley Pack if you hate blood so much."
Osprey steps back a bit… Then, with a yielding dip of his head and a whine, he turns tail and bolts away.
Kismet glances up, seeing a bird taking off and flying away above him; an osprey. It soon fades like the others.
"The osprey has learned from fate’s maw."
* * *
Sparrow and Kismet’s other packmates burst into the clearing.
"Kismet?! Are the pups safe?!" One of the leaders demands, panting for breath.
"Yes, father, they’re unharmed. Jackdaw is dead, and Osprey fled to leave Lost River." Kismet tells him.
The two leaders– his parents– quickly rush to check on the pups, visibly relieved when they confirm that they’re all safe.
Then, a black wolf emerges from over the hill.
"Raven. You come back here and expect to win? Jackdaw is dead. Osprey’s fled Lost River entirely. Why are you still here?" Kismet growls lowly.
"None of you understand the power I have," Raven snarls, "you all are nothing compared to me!"
"How so?" Kismet’s father asks coldly.
"We all thought Yellowstone lost its magic long ago, but me and my bloodline still have it! How else do you think we knew everything?!" Raven yells.
"...I mean, I know a lot of things I shouldn’t naturally know, like–" Sparrow starts to mutter, but is cut off by Raven.
"Do you seriously not know? A wolf’s power comes from their name!" Raven snaps. "Every wolf named after a bird has that power! Our full potential has just been buried and tamed for so long that nobody knows how to truly harness the name they wield, except for my pack!"
Kismet pauses for a long moment.
"Variance truly is power, then." Kismet observes.
Raven’s eyebrows furrow.
“What?”
"Maybe if you all weilded different powers, your pack could've been more powerful," Kismet says. "Tell me, Raven, what power would the name ‘Kismet’ possess?"
"Why should I tell you? Your name is only as powerful as I allow it to be." Raven scoffs.
"It’s related to prophecies, isn’t it?" Kismet ignores the wide-eyed looks from the rest of his packmates. He needs to know this.
Raven’s fur bristles at that.
"...Well, er, yes."
Kismet opens his jaws to respond, but the nearby bushes rustle before he can. Two of his packmates enter the clearing, holding a black pup and a brown pup in their jaws.
"It was a mistake leaving your pups unguarded, Raven." Kismet’s mother huffs.
Raven glares over at the two wolves carrying her pups, eyes wide in outrage.
"I will murder all of you if you don’t put down my pups THIS INSTANT!" Raven snarls.
"We aren't like you. We won’t harm your pups," Kismet’s father says gruffly. "We don’t believe you’re fit to raise pups. You will lead them into battle, just to watch them die as your others did. Or, as you just did, you’ll leave them all alone in a fit of bloodlust."
Raven draws herself back, as if preparing to launch herself at Kismet’s father. He doesn’t flinch.
"You’re greatly outnumbered. No matter what you do, you will lose. We will let you leave with your life on one condition: You will leave Lost River and never come back. You are well beyond defeated."
Raven opens her mouth as if to yell, but she seems to think better of it as Kismet steps forward.
"Fine. You’ve taken everything from me; I will not let you take my life as well," Raven says. "Before I leave… Prophecy-bearer, you think you can change fate? It was Victorious Valley Pack’s destiny to rule over Lost River, and you’ve taken that!"
Kismet meets her fierce gaze with an even stare. He knows what the prophecies he was given mean exactly now. "Victorious Valley Pack has been felled by fate himself."
"I am fate."
Raven simply turns away, beginning to walk off.
"The raven has called for a draw."
She casts one final glare back at Lucky Pack, a silent threat in her eyes.
Ravens are known to hold grudges for their entire life, after all.