He kicks off the only thing his other form wore on his naked body, shaking out his fur, stretching his legs, wagging his tail in glee. He is free again, oh so wonderfully free. He does this a lot, and why not? They came to this land for the trees, for the isolation, the world of the wild right outside their den. They came here to run, to be free and let themselves roam. Not stay stuffed up in the den of wood, not in that other body, that powerless, naked body.

He does a lot, a lot, really quite often. More often than his mate, and he whines at the thought of his partner, guilty for not including him in this midnight run. But his other form, the powerless one, he fights too much with mate's other form, they fight far too much. Fighting is not good, and more often than not, his other form just wishes to escape. To escape and avoid all his troubles.

Not a problem with him.

He loves taking control, he loves to be allowed to be out, to run off his other form's worries and troubles. And sometimes all his other form wants to do is run. Run, and run, and run. And he can only happily oblige. He lifts his muzzle to the sky, mouth hanging open, taking in the scents of the night. There is rabbit, and there is owl. There are coyotes just west, and there is mouse just east. Farther off, to the south, he can smell them, the daft creatures the powerless ones raise. He could easily run to them, easily kill one. But something tells him not to, do not touch the daft ones. So he doesn't then.

And he can tell all of this just from standing right outside the wooden den where his mate and other powerless one rest.

He will hunt, look for deer, maybe catch a rabbit. But he must, he wishes to run. So he does. Gets up and starts off in a trot. He soon speeds up until he is sprinting, diving into the safety of the woods, zigzagging around trees and shrubs. He feels so good, with the moon on his back, the earth below his paws, his muscles bunching from the exertion of it all. It is fantastic. It is something he and his other self have in common. They both love to run. Nothing else compares to running. He simply runs to run, just to move. He chases nothing but his own desires.

But now he stops. Screeches to a halt, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring. What is that smell. He likes that smell. It is a good one. He knows what that is. Deer. Now he shall hunt. He shall hunt this deer and bring back its carcass as a prize. Perhaps his mate would be pleased with it. So he begins his hunt, creeping through the trees, never once losing track of it, never once letting it know of the impending danger it faced. It didn't know a thing until he was practically on top of it.

A buck, his horns still growing in, grazing on the grass of the earthly floor. So perfect, good meat, good bones. Almost too perfect. He only had to make one move and it would be all his. That wasn't any fun. So he growled at it. The horned head shot right up, and a second growl cause it to sprint away. Still way too easy. It took very little effort to chase after it, he easily caught up with it, no matter how hard it tried to evade and escape him. He'd nip at its heels, spurring it to run faster and faster every time.

He had surely chased it around the entire mountain side until it finally stumbled, too weak to carry on, chest heaving for air, like it was on its last legs and could go no farther. He was hardly tired at all. But his prey would run no more. So he lunged for its throat and easily brought it down, its neck snapping as his jaws clamped around it. It feel limp beneath his jaws, and he began the job of dragging it back to the wooden den. It was hardly any trouble, dragging the heavy deer carcass back across the mountain and through the trees.

The first ray's of sunlight were beginning to peek over the horizon when he finally arrived home. He had ran and hunted all night without even realizing it. His other form's loose leg coverings were gone from their spot when he had arrived, and he smelled the others from his pack around. They had discovered he had left. No matter, he had a wonderful gift for them now. He dropped the deer in front of the den, tipped his head back and howled to announce his arrival.

His mate was the first one to greet him, still in his naked powerless form. He could smell the annoyance radiating off his mate, but also worry as well.

"Altaïr" his mate said, shaking his head and stepping out from the den to sit on the ledges leading up to it. "Is that what you were doing all night?" he was asked, and he padded up to his mate, placing his head upon his mate's knee. He had brought a great kill, and his mate was displeased with him. Was it because he went off in the night without him? Yes, that was surely it.

Sorry he said by reaching up and licking at the whiskers on his mate's chin. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. His mate's single strange paw reached up and scratched him behind the ears. He panted happily, he was forgiven, surely he was. He was back, wasn't he? He brought food, didn't he? Those were all very good reasons to be happy and to forgive another.

"Altaïr, really? Really! If you wanted to hunt so bad, you could have waited!" was the voice of the other, the other powerless one that made up their pack. He didn't care about how upset the other was, didn't even so much as look at him when he marched out to inspect the carcass. He didn't care about what the powerless one said, he wasn't the alpha. He was just a weak subordinate. Shouldn't he be happy that his alpha brought meat? Good meat?

The powerless ones were so weak

It was a nice idea when I thought of it. Look at it this way, this is just a taste of what you'll see in chapter five of the main story.

So until then.