Once upon a time, there was a young maiden living in the forest by herself (because I've had enough of male protagonists). Her name was Hunter, and a hunter she was. She respected the wild, and in turn the wild respected her. If she was to be killed, she would not die a shameful death of starvation or thirst. No, she would die gloriously, in a majestic battle between beast and woman that even the gods would envy.
It was a full moon when Hunter left her abode, her trusty bow with her. She sometimes hunted during the day, but the moon was her symbol. Her eyes were keen and could spot prey that used the darkness as a cloak. Yet she blended in with the shadows of the night, her bow and arrows having no metallic luster that could give her away.
The cold kiss of snow on her face reminded Hunter that it was harder to find game when the cold drove most of the prey into hibernation, but she had always managed. Still, she had to go farther than usual, and it was not long before she heard them.
The howls.
A lesser hunter might have thought that it was the dogs of man intruding upon their domain, but Hunter knew it for what it was. It was the cries of a wolf. Even she feared the wolves, for alone they were savages, but together they were much more than that. The pack had discipline and cunning. They would use sly tricks to take down a foe much more formidable than they. Hunter and the pack had kept to their own areas of the forest, but those areas weren't like the civilized lands, with clearly defined borders. They changed with the seasons and with necessity. Even so, she knew with certainty that she was no longer the only predator. The wolves were here.
A strange, unexplainable curiosity propelled Hunter to see what was happening. She crouched down iin the shadow of a tree and saw the alpha male with his foot caught in a trap. It sickened her to see these creations of man bring down such beautiful creatures. Normally, she would immediately go to free the trapped creature or, if it was badly wounded, allow it to die with dignity. But she was not alone.
The other wolves of the pack surrounded their fallen leader. He barked and snapped fiercely, but Hunter knew it wouldn't be long before the wolves turned on their former ally. She was in a perilous situation, she knew that much. She had her weapons ready, but her bow would only be good for one shot before the wolves attacked in a flurry. Could she really hold her own against five wolves?
What should Hunter do?
