The pack had not eaten for days.Their last meal was a small one, no bigger than a mouthful of meat for each member. The small ones were starving, dying, their mothers too weak to give nourishment in these lean times. The winter was too harsh for the pack this year. The hunters were half-dead with exhaustion, unable to catch any source of nourishment to regain their strength.

They loped through the woods doggedly chasing the vague idea of finding shelter in the vast woods to finally rest after their long trek. Most of the wolves knew when they finally lay down they would be unable to rise again. Such dire was the wolves' position that when the pack's leader stopped in the middle of an open field they had thought he was about to simply collapse and die. 

The leader pricked up his ears. There was a sound in the distance. A crash. Now a cry. The cry of a wounded animal. The cry of food. The wolf stopped and listened, hoping to track the sound he had heard echoing through the mountains. Another cry. What animal was this? No animal would scream like what he had heard twice. Quickly he commanded his wolves to turn and follow him east where the sound had resonated from. Summoning the remaining energy left in his malnourished frame he took off at a run leading a trail of staggering creatures to their last hope for life.

Half an hour had passed of slow tracking by the frequent calls made by whatever prey awaited the desperate hunters in the valley when a trail appeared in the snow. Undoubtedly their quarry was near. A long call only a few hundred meters away confirmed their hopes. The pack charged down the hill thinking only of the food to come. 

The trees suddenly opened to reveal their long hunted prey. Two creatures lay trapped by a fallen tree, helpless. They were two-legged beasts with thick outer cloths wrapping the abundant warm meat. The cries of the creatures stopped, their eyes wide with horror. Seconds later the two-legged's blood stained the white snow.

The pack was saved.