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A short while after the ceremony, the young half grown dog found herself adjusting to her new life. She was beginning to find her instincts deep down, and she did not deny them. The pumpkins and squashes on the longpaw doorsteps molded as the master found the only thing he had to do was to rid of them, resulting in the circulation of flies and tiny winged insects and bugs. The great brown oak trees were stripped bare of their leaves, their remains crisped and crinkled as they lay flat on the soot colored earth. Rain came and went. Clouds thinned in the atmosphere, and rainbows were cast. Heavy, dark shadows would font the sides of the fence walls and bricks. The pack members never joined together for howling, much to her awe and dismay. Weasels and ferrets scouted the ground fields and areas, and she could barely remember the scenario in which she was kidnapped after straying too far away from he pack, and her family. The horizon sided beyond the young female, and her snout would track down small creatures and prey as she was required to bring for her pack. Blade made her do all the dirty work and succumb to her bidding. She would seldom give her propositions, as long as she acted on some of the milder stuff and reached her daily objectives to serve the Pack. She followed codes and chivalries from all of the higher ranking members. She guarded the estate, and would snarl and growl when a stranger neared the house.

She got her feed from a trough of slop, something which hogs ate. As long as she got something, she wasn't fussy. She was reliable and easy, pertaining to all of her codes and orders. Sometimes, however, she would ponder with herself for thoughts. Her nostrils and muzzle were buried in the flesh of a fallen rodent, displaying her carnivorous nature. She peeled back her lips before leaving the hollow, fleshy leftovers for the Omega, Bullet. Bullet whimpered and timidly stalked over towards his newly appointed meal, and looked to Mâché for approval, who nodded slowly. Thanking her, he scuffled it down his throat as quickly as he could before lumbering over to his corner, knees buckling and shoulders hunched.

Blade was in her den; she had birthed a littler six more pups, although one was born dead. The leader female drew back a shallow sigh before returning it to the mound of dirt she thought it would've originated in. Her claws clicked against the dirt as she plopped it inside, and kicked the dirt over it, patching it up. It was an unsolved mystery why she did things in that manner, but a mystery it shall stay. Blade yawned, before slinking her stocky body back over to her cohorts. Mâché noticed the sharpclaw--or cat--as she'd heard the longpaws address it by--seemed to differ from the other beasts of its kind. He was aloof, and seemed to keep to himself more. He seemed authentic, calm, and a genuinely kind , friendly, and generous elderly feline. Maybe she should become more familiar with him...hmm? Mâché clayed with her thoughts for quite a bit before returning to the pampered spot of her den and resting her head on her paws. She caught a brief glimpse of Barnacle, the cat, staring at her with his wide emerald orbs, oh, how they were still, testing the young female's mind...he began tearing a hole in the screen, and crawled through it, disappearing into the midst of nothing. Mâché blinked it off, cocking her head. She shrugged it off and soon fell into a peaceful slumber.

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Lucky was the new leader of his pack . His chest swelled with pride, and he let out a howl of victorious triumph. He was congratulated by his warriors, and he thanked them as well before licking his cheek. His tongue ramped out of his mouth goofily. His mate, Sweet, mumbled to herself and paced back and forth in circles in the center of his camp. He had set up his campsite in the ravine of a forest, surrounded by shells and beachcombers. Lucky yawned and combed his fur, washing himself for fleas and deer ticks. A crow--his lucky harbinger of peace and goodwill--flew over the sky in an aviating fashion, squawking as he navigated back home, leaving a yellow dipped black feather to fall like fate between the golden hybrid's long, limber forepaws. The rest of the dogs were relaxing lazily, slouching and lingering around the Wild Pack camp. Hay was sprawled out near the rest of the dogs' sites and send and they lay on it, snoring soundly--ever so peacefully. Lucky smiled to himself brightly, and clamped the crow feather between his teeth as an astrological sign of good fortune--a beautiful, winsome omen. Something he earned--something he deserved when he became titled himself as the new leader...