Phraya Chambers
It's that time again.
They were coming.
An army of Alphas and their warriors, coming to thin the herd of criminals they'd banished to this goddess forsaken mountain. To kill those, they'd abandoned and tossed out like trash.
Every two years, like clockwork they came with their 'righteous' anger and violence, hunting us through our forest and chasing us through our trees, corrupting our land with their arrogance and malice.
They'd abandoned their weak here, they banished their strong here, anyone who spoke against them or anyone who did not conform to Pack Society or more like Alpha whims was sent here without a fair trial. The King's oldest son banned the practice of exiling wolves from the pack and creating rogues like he had any real power over the older Alpha's.
The traditional old dogs ran their packs as they wished far from the eyes of their soon to be King.
Rogue Mountain was a prison, a place the murderous, the disobedient, the weak and the wolves who challenged the status quo were sent to go lose their mind. Alone and afraid, weak without the protection of the pack and always on the verge of madness.
It was a place for the feral to ran wild and free, to be one with your wolf in a way those domesticated pups forgot.
Since we'd banned together formed a pack of our own, we'd hidden, use the terrain against them and guarded I our secrets.
Every two years, like clockwork they came to hunt and kill us.
But I was tired of hiding from weaker animals who'd deluded themselves into thinking they were strong.
This year, when they came to our prison, to our mountain, we would show them what it means to hunt as wolves. We would not hide and run, we would welcome them into the forest, and they would wish they never stepped foot on our land.
They come to hunt rogues but what they'd find was the strongest pack to wolves to ever exist. My pack!