My ears flick, I hear a sound, a metallic noise of sort, my nose quivers, a scent of fresh blood. To the source I go and what do I see, a pack of wolves, with two large males fighting to reign supreme, one a seasoned elder, the other a yongblood, a sight for me to see. Their fur bloodied and matted, their bodies, broken, bruised, and battered. The youngblood makes a move, there was a flash of fangs, a bright red spray of blood followed, comming from the elder wolf's right side. Another red spray do I see, pouring from the younger wolf's right-back heel, the achilles tendon severed in two, forcing him to fight on three legs. The two warriors circle, growling, snapping, showing their teeth, waiting to see who would make the next move. Another flash of fangs, this time from both, and thus the metallic clang I hear once more. The youngblood charges the elder and misses, sliding into a tree being knocked unconscious. Growling, the elder approaches the younger male, ready to administer the killing blow. There was a flash of fangs and the elder staggers back, blood pouring from a fatal wound in his neck. As his life seeps onto the ground, he makes one final look at the youngblood, his golden yellow eyes full of deep sorrow, taking one last breath, whimpers and falls to the ground dead. There was no cry of victory, nor a joyous howl, the youngblood walks over to the elder and instead releases a mournful and sorrow filled howl, for the one he killed to be leader of the pack, was his very own flesh in blood father.