“It— it’s dead!” a scout howled.

The rest of the patrol pricked their ears, thundering down one by one to the source of the howl. A deceased body lay still on the shore as the waves lapped the sand. It reeked of carrion and its face was still plastered with fear. Its scaly skin was getting pale as well.

“What in all of North Pack—” Fomar breathed.

This was not the body of a man or the body of another wolf, but rather one of what seemed to be an overgrown lizard. It was huge, bigger than the Lake Pack wolves that were already smaller than average. One that seemed like it came from mythological tales and stories that elder wolves told their grandpups for a scare. Fomar immediately suspected that it was a Scaletooth. How did this body end up here, the patrol questioned? Of course, the island of Labuli was only one of the many local islands. They could be seen high up or from the shore. Perhaps this strange being came from one of them?

“This is to be reported immediately,” Lacus ordered. He was one of the senior hunters of the pack and was leading today’s patrol. “One of you shall catch prey before we return to camp.” 

A few of the canines spread out, one of them being Fomar. The first storms of the winter were coming soon, and his silver coat ruffled in the wind. He swiftly caught an oblivious rabbit that was dwelling near the delta, biting down on it and killing it. The silver canine returned to Lacus and the waiting patrol with his contribution of prey. Fomar looked concerningly behind his shoulder. Surprisingly, he pitied the deceased being on the beach. They probably lived a great life before being slaughtered or dying of natural causes. The patrol padded forward as soon as the wolves caught prey, returning to camp with their news to tell.

***

“And this animal was..?” Lipha inquired about the body. She was one of the alphas of the Lake Pack. 

“We do not know,” Lacus replied. “It is like nothing we have ever seen before.”

“Describe it to the best of your abilities.”

“One of our scouts said it was like a giant lizard. It was bigger than all of us. However, it’s body had spikes and what seemed like wings.”
Lipha mused on the senior hunter’s description.  “Thank you. I would like you to lead another patrol this evening. I must know more about this strange animal. You are dismissed, Lacus.”

The dark furred hunter nodded, turning and padding out of the alpha’s den. 

In the clearing, Fomar was picking at his share of the pack’s evening meal. The silver canine watched some pups spar playfully in the dirt. So carefree and lively, he only wished he could be like that again. He caught sight of the large, dark furred hunter that was padding towards him.
“Once you finish your meal, have some time to rest up before we head out for the requested evening scout.” the senior hunter rasped.

Fomar nodded in acknowledgement. He scarfed down the last few bites of his meal and padded across the damp earth to his den. Pawing away some loose scraps of moss, he curled up comfily on his bedding. His eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, falling into a peaceful slumber. 

The dream the sleeping canine had encountered came and went, but it was different than the ones he usually got. Hunting with his friends, hanging out near the water. This was not one of them. It was strange, really. He sat in a strange, bright realm and stood on nothing. The world seemed endless.

Distant murmurs and howls of wolves passed through his mind, but all he could do was stand there. Strangely enough, there were also faint rumbly growls and roars. Did it mean anything? Fomar wondered. Mesmerized by the rhythmic vocals, he felt at peace.

Suddenly, he felt a warm muzzle pressing against his body. It was Lacus, his deep yellow gaze meeting his own. Was it already time for the evening patrol?

“Wake up, Fomar. You nearly overslept. We’re leaving now.”
“Sorry, Lacus,” the silver canine murmured. His mind was still on his dream. It wasn’t new for him; he strangely encountered these dreams more often. Pitter patter went the drizzles of cold rain as he stepped outside, mud getting on his paws. He gathered near the wolves for the patrol, noticing one of them was Clarus, a friend of his. Their gazes met, and he nodded his head in greeting.

“My group will head out to the moorland and then to the shore. 

Be wary and prepared,” the senior hunter ordered. “Clarus, your group will patrol the border and renew the scent marks. I expect good leadership from you.” 

The tan canine nodded, gathering a portion of the scouts and led them into the forest. Their tails flicked droplets of water as they padded on. Fomar watched his friend disappear into the dark overgrowth, eyeing the forest within. He shifted his gaze, realizing his group was already advancing ahead. He swiftly caught up with them, the mud squelching with each step.

As the group reached the shore, Fomar stood and looked out onto the grey horizon, shaking out his damp coat. Traveling to one of the many islands would be a miracle. Perhaps only the great North Pack knows what lies beyond. 

The wolves spread out on the beach as Fomar idly pawed at the damp sand beneath him. He shifted his gaze to a rocky part of the shore where the waves lapped aggressively. Carefully clawing his way across the rocks, he encountered a large hollow at the base of a stony cliff. The silver canine peered inside the dark cave, water drops from stalactites echoing. A large, shadowy figure sat hunched over as it caught sight of the small wolf. Its deep, blue gaze was intimidating. Fomar’s fur bristled as the figure crept towards him. As the being was finally out of the cave, they could finally be properly studied. It was a Scaletooth.

Fomar wasn’t that surprised. Scaleteeth have the ability to fly, so it wasn’t irrational that one could find its way to another island. However, this one did not match the descriptions that the silver canine had been told. It was thin instead of muscular, and it seemed exhausted out of its mind. Despite Fomar’s bravery, he couldn’t help but fear the unfamiliar creature.

The Scaletooth had rasped something, but it was unclear. Something in their own language, Fomar assumed. But soon, he understood its rumbly growls.

“D—dog,” it rasped. “Help me. Us.” Its speech was broken up, but that was understandable. 

What would you need help with? Who is “us?” The silver canine silently questioned. “I don’t—” Fomar started, but stopped himself. He tilted his head in confusion, telling the large lizard-like being that he did not understand. 

The Scaletooth breathed an irritated sigh. He felt its warm breath reach his cold, damp fur. It swiveled its head out to the grey ocean, pointing out to a small and distant foggy shape. It was another landmass. “There. Out there. Home. Help.”

The silver canine fit the pieces together. It came from the distant island it pointed to. It needed help. Help to get back home? Help for its homeland?

Great North Pack, Fomar prayed. Please assist me in this now.