*which means, 'The Carnivore.'
There before him, shrouded in the shadows of early morning, he perceived
an ominous silhouette. It was Akar, the lone he-wolf that had followed
his tribe for some time, living off the gnarled scraps of meat that the
hill-people left behind after every kill. Kalus had often wondered what
unaccountable circumstance caused it to leave the safety of the pack to
strike out and fend for itself.
At first he was relieved. For this was only a scavenger, probably
hoping to steal an unguarded morsel and slink away unseen.
But his instincts told him otherwise. There was something unnerving
about the way the beast just stood there, as if unsure of its own
intentions. Even in the dim light of the cave's entrance he could see
that it had not eaten for many days. Arching ribs protruded sharply
through an emaciated chest, and his eyes were wild with the blood-lust
of a carnivore.
Something stirred deep within the young tribesman as he realized the
true hopelessness of its plight. Cut off from the pack it could not
hunt successfully, and there now, it stalked a prey it had no chance of
killing. For all around him his comrades lay sleeping, and if aroused,
they would kill the intruder without hesitation.
Reaching into a crude deerskin pouch slung across his shoulder, he
pulled forth a long strand of cooked meat.
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