1. Under Attack
Daria - Bloodcurdling screams, shouting, howling, wafts of smoke, and the strong metallic smell of blood is what stirred me from what I had become accustomed to calling sleep. Pain seared through my body; I could no longer determine if it were from the intense cold, my festering wounds, the most recent beating I had received, or the wolfsbane laced, silver shackles I wore. I blinked my good eye, by good I mean not swollen shut like the other, my limited vision cleared, it was almost pitch black; however, a dancing glow of orange light could just be decerned. I attempted to swallow what saliva my mouth contained; it had been so long since I had any fluid pass my lips; with what strength I had, I attempted to stand, my weak disused legs, were barely able to support my diminished, almost skeletal figure. Finally standing, I could make out the cell window, even thru the grimy glass and bars, strewn with cobwebs, my eye could see the orange glow stronger now, and it was not the rising sun; the pack, my horrid pack, was under attack.
My legs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor, my lips parted as my breath, and a silent scream escaped me, the only sound was a definite crack; I must have broken yet another rib, the pain surged through my body, amplifying the already present pain. A trickle of blood escaped my lips; my tongue darted out to savor the fluid no matter what it was; I attempted to swirl the small amount of blood around my mouth; this small amount of moisture felt blissful. A gruff voice bought me from my pity-party, “thought you died after yesterday’s beating. Your one stubborn little she-wolf, I’ll give you that.” I ignored the comment from the rogue; Lucas, who at one point had made it his mission to vex me, now I was not too fond that he pitied me above all else. Even he had to concede his internment in the cells was more privileged than mine; I never told him my supposed crimes nor that this was my pack, my own blood doing this to me.
With the little energy I had left, I crawled my way back to the far corner wall; I felt every rough stone and dirt crevasse that made the cell floor. A sigh escaped my lips as I finally made it to my destination, to my scraps of blanket that I still cherished dearly; this blanket I held had been hand made for me by my mother, the old Luna of the Night Walker Pack. My eyes drooped from exhaustion, I rested against the wall, allowing my limited hearing to take in the ongoing screams, growls, and howling that seemed to be getting closer. I wondered which pack would dare launch an attack on the Night Walker’s and what would happen to those here in prison. No consideration was needed for me, I had noticed my breathing shallow and my limbs now tingled from oxygen deprivation; I welcomed what was finally happening.
As my mind clouded, I could hear the rattling of chains against the cell bars, loud indiscernible hollering that grew more and more muffled until there was nothing. My pain subsided, the feeling of weightlessness consumed me, and finally, I was no longer cold. A small sigh slipped past my lips as my heart gave one last pounding thud, completing its 17-year, 11-months, and 26-days of forcing life into my shattered and abused body.
Lucas - The screams, howls, and sounds of fighting were music to my ears; this pitiful pack was under attack, the Night Walker Pack was finally getting their dues. Having had the unfortunate privilege of crossing the pack borders four months ago while fleeing a rather feral cluster of rogues, I had been captured and placed down here till they could decide what to do with me. Deciding what to do should not have taken this long, but I am now locked in this cell for four long months. My adjoining cell companions were Greg, a rogue who had been banished for standing against his Beta on a pack related issue, and to the other side, a frail she-wolf who never talked; I swear she died after her beating yesterday but here she was struggling to stand, “thought you died after yesterday’s beating. Your one stubborn little she-wolf, I’ll give you that.” As usual, there was no response from her; it was almost like she hadn’t heard me; Greg told me she was here long before him according to the other prisoners' rumors.
We were fed the minimum, porridge in the morning, and a chunk of stale bread in the afternoon. I had not seen her given food, water, or any acknowledgment other than brutal beatings in my four months of captivity. Her beating yesterday had been conducted uncharacteristically in the cell. In front of the rest of us, I found myself wondering, were all her beatings like that, or were they worse when she was taken to the ‘interrogation room.’ The bastard guard beat her till he could not swing his fists anymore, which for a trained werewolf, was not a short time span, then to mine and the other prisoner’s disbelief, he relieved himself on her.
I looked over at the young she-wolf in the cell; maybe the unknown pack would win and grant her her freedom. No one down here knew who she was or what her crimes could have been to warrant the treatment she received. I looked longingly at the small cell window; the fight was coming closer, soon someone would win, and hopefully, they would come and check on the prisoners. As I looked back at the tiny she-wolf, I saw her chest sink and heard an uncharacteristic loud thud of her heart before nothing; I blinked several times, focused on the rise and fall of her chest, there was none, straining my heightened hearing, I tried to hear her heart beating, but it was gone. Even though I did not know the she-wolf, I was hit with sadness; this close to possible freedom, she had finally lost her fight. I started hitting my chains against the cell bars; the loud echoing clangs had to draw attention to our plight before we became like her.
The other prisoners joined me in clanging their chains as well; we were making a real ruckus, someone had to hear us if someone came soon enough, maybe, just maybe the she-wolf could be saved.