The Vow of Crimson Smoke

*Isabella*

October, 1885

Acrid smoke singes my nostrils. My lids heavy, I blink, trying to open my eyes. Even as slits, they burn from the gray cloud all around me. Faint sizzling crackles in my ears. The fire is close, so near I can feel the lick of flames devouring the ends of my fur.

The breeze carries shouts, screams, and howls of both the terrorized and the taunting variety. I struggle not only to regain my vision, but to remember what happened before the incessant pain that radiates up my left side sent me careening into darkness.

It all comes flying back to me with a force strong enough to topple the most formidable warrior. Shock from the memories so vividly displayed in my mind has my eyes flying open wide. I scan through the wall of smoke, looking for any signs of hope. Is anyone else alive?

The wind ripples what's left of the prairie grass on the edge of the forest, ash and fury whipping around the destruction before me. Bare feet flash by, followed by bloodied paws. I manage to lean up on one hand, mustering the strength to stand for only a moment. It is my doubt that sends me back to the ground, not weakness, although I suppose that's weakness, too-weakness of a different sort. If I get up, won't they just knock me down again? A burning ache festers up the length of me, and I know it's not just from where I hit the ground. My left shoulder burns from the bite that sent me sailing. I can't turn my head in my wolf form to see the damage, but the raw pain, the scent of blood, tell me it's bad.

Beside me, a large tree trunk burns. The heat is scorching. Wolves that fight with fire. My pa had warned me of them, but he's not here now. No one is here to save me or the others in my party. If I'm going to live, I'll have to get up. I'll have to fight-or find a way to sneak off into the forest. Thick smoke continues to billow around me. If I can get to my feet, maybe I can slip into the woods, make it back to safety.

That would mean leaving the others behind.

From my spot on the ground, I peer through the wreaths of gray. How many of them are still alive? In the distance, I see a small female wolf with blonde fur running for her life. A large male, dark, dirty, and drooling, runs behind her. Her yelps sound almost like human screams as he catches her, leaping onto her back, sending her into the forest floor with one crushing blow. Even through the crackle of the fires, I hear the snap of her bones. When he is sure she is dead, he steps away, chin dripping crimson. She does not get up.

I swallow hard and conjure the image of a face, the only one who can give me the strength to do what I must. I cannot abandon the others. I cannot defeat this throng either, but I must try.