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force his innards back to within his body. “Dolnaraq!” he cried in a raspy croak. “Help me to put myself back together! Help me put these in!”
    Dolnaraq stood horrified. What was he to do? Narmon was obviously beyond repair. How could he possibly expect young Dolnaraq to fix him?
    “Dolnaraq, please!” croaked Narmon one last time. But Dolnaraq fled with a quick hobble. Still, he seemed unable to outdistance the carnage. Everywhere, he saw those he’d known for the entirety of his existence falling to this superior force. There was nothing he could do, no direction he could turn.
    “Amazing.”
    The voice came from behind Dolnaraq. He spun around. Tresset stood before two males who were breathing their final breaths.
    “Amazing,” repeated Tresset, a broad grin on his pale round face, a look of shear awe in his milky eyes. “Can you see the strategy, Dolnaraq? Can you see how they swept in from the east, forcing our pack to retreat west? Then waves two and three, from the west and north, encircled us, cornered us against the caves. We were pathetic, with no plan, no countermeasures. But, these! These were magnificent. Our entire pack will have fallen within thirty minutes. It’s amazing.”
    The youth was enthralled, hypnotized by the battle. But he was also correct in his assessment. Dolnaraq could see that now. His own pack was doomed. Even now, they were down to less than half the number of the invaders. The only hope was retreat. It was not brave to die for dying’s sake, for this would only bring a greater victory to one’s opponent. No. It was time to flee. Dolnaraq didn’t know if this was logic speaking, or shear cowardice. But he knew it was right, that it was necessary.
    “Tresset,” he called. “Tresset, come. We must flee. Our pack has fallen. Come. Now.”
    “Do you see the discipline?” asked his friend. “Do you see it? Even those few who have fallen do so with grace, with superiority.”
    “Tresset, please. We need to go.”
    It was then that a large bear-like reyaqc fell upon Tresset. The youth went down with a panicked yelp, but no serious injury had yet been inflicted. Dolnaraq had no time to think, which was well, because had he had that opportunity he surely wouldn’t have leapt upon the brute, sinking his one long canine into the thing’s neck, clamping it there, pressing it deeper, deeper. Dolnaraq felt the things talons as it dug into his side. He released his hold, but the brute of a molt did no such thing. Now Dolnaraq was on the ground. Those claws raking at him. His own blood splayed across his foe’s gnarled face.
    Another joined the fray. At first Dolnaraq thought it might be Tresset, but the other youth was still on the ground, having scooted to the side after Dolnaraq had fallen upon the molt. Whoever it was, he’d somehow pressed himself between Dolnaraq and the other, and was now grappling with the larger reyaqc. Despite the molt’s injury to the neck, it was still a lopsided battle, and the outcome predetermined. The molt would be the victor.
    Dolnaraq moved to renew his attack but the other shouted at him. “Dolnaraq! No! Flee into the forest! Flee!”
    It was his father’s voice. And it was soon forever silenced.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    1897 – 1909
     
    The two young reyaqc had fled their native pack the night of the raid. Dolnaraq had witnessed his father’s murder. He stood horrified, nearly paralyzed with fear and fury. Tresset tugged at his younger companion, forced him to leave his dying father behind. Both youth had sustained minor injuries, and the pack they had known for the entirety of their short lives was no more. The surviving females would be carried off to the northern pack for sport and breeding. The adult males would all be slain and eaten, as would any youth old enough to hold revenge in his heart. Tresset had no desire to be consumed that eve.
    The Siberian night was cold and harsh, with bitter winds that sliced through the flesh, and a