I rested my head on a log. The moon came five times since the wolves left. I was beginning to worry.
The baby chipmunk who lived in a burrow near the rock fence, Chip, claimed that they will return soon, but the snowy owl, Hoot, said they will never come. Today, I overheard the foxes talk about my mom, Bluemoon. They said that she probably died from old age, or was badly hurt. I didn’t believe a word of it. The foxes were usually known for not always telling the truth anyway. I looked up at the stars, and wished that the wolf pack will come back soon. I listened to the empty sound of the forest at night. Chip crawled out of his burrow, and scampered next to me. Chip was basically my best friend, not counting my mom.
Right then, I heard howling, and running from afar. I sat up a little, and Chip’s ears perked up. The sound didn’t get any closer. It seemed the wolves weren’t trying to come home. I tried to listen better. It sounded like they needed help! I stood up fully, and let Chip run up my arm onto my shoulder. We walked over to the sound. It was dark, but I could see the outline of a couple wolves. I ran over to them. Goose bumps filled my arms.
When I reached them, I saw they were all crowded over something. I pushed aside two wolves to get the spot in the circle.
She was lying on the ground; dead. There was blood gushing out of a hole in her beautiful body. I looked away. I could not bear to look at her any longer. I felt the tears run down my cheeks. She was gone.