06 The Attack of the Pirates

Years passed beneath the green canopy of the forest, where the two boys—once fragile and unsure—grew strong and sure-footed under the guidance of their wolf family. They learned the rhythms of the wild: how to move with the wind, how to listen to the whispers of the leaves, and how to read the sky like scripture. In time, the forest became their true home. The howls of wolves lulled them to sleep. The breath of the earth rose and fell with their own.

Their lives were shaped by harmony. The wilderness was not cruel to them—it had adopted them, raised them as its own. In that wild and sacred stillness, they had become more than boys. They had become part of the pack.

But peace does not always last.

It happened on a day that began like any other, the light slanting gold through the trees, the air thick with the scent of pine and river moss. Then the wind changed. The wolves lifted their heads, nostrils flaring.

There was something new in the air. Something wrong.

Strangers had come.

They did not belong to the forest. They moved without grace, hacking through undergrowth, their laughter loud and sharp. Pirates—filthy, sunburned men with weapons at their sides and greed in their eyes. When they saw the wolves, they saw not sacred beings, but trophies, threats, or sport.

The peace of the glade shattered in an instant.

Steel clashed with tooth and claw. The forest screamed. Wolves lunged from the shadows, their growls deep and furious. The pirates fought back with fire and blades, their cruelty matching the desperation of the pack. It was a war neither side had sought—but one that neither could avoid.

Amid the chaos, under the cover of smoke and confusion, the unthinkable happened.

They took Little Two-Paws.

He was dragged away from the heart of the forest, his limbs flailing, his cries swallowed by the noise of battle. The wolves could not reach him. Bigger Two-Paws saw his brother vanish, and the look on his face was one of helpless fury. He fought to follow, to save, to stop them—but he was held back, wounded and outnumbered. In the end, he was left behind, panting beside Greymuzzle, who stood guard over the pack’s wounded and dead.

A silence fell over the forest, not of peace, but of loss.

Onboard the pirate ship, Little Two-Paws found no comfort. The sea stretched endlessly around him, a prison of waves and wood. Forced into servitude, he laboured under the harsh command of men who did not see him as a boy, let alone as something that had once run with wolves. The deck burned under the sun. The nights were filled with the slap of sails and the crash of waves. No stars seemed to speak to him now.

But inside him, the wild still lived. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the forest. He heard the voices of his brother and Greymuzzle. He remembered the cool breath of the wind beneath the canopy, and the ancient songs only wolves could sing.

Back in the forest, Bigger Two-Paws wandered the familiar paths in silence. The pack moved with him, protective and sorrowful, but none could fill the space that had been torn from him. The bond between the brothers had not broken—but it had been stretched across two worlds, the earth and the sea.

Though the story of the two boys had split, its ending had not yet been written.