08-31-2018, 02:06 AM
Everglades National Forest, located in Southwestern, Florida was the home to the Crimson Wolf Pack. The Crimson Wolf Pack was, and still is, the dominating force of the Everglades Forest. Known for its power and sheer size, The Crimson Wolf Pack had always been feared and respected by the other, smaller, packs in the Everglades - they were the pack you turned to for protection, for food, for pretty much any basic necessity you needed.
That was until the great fire of nineteen ninety eight (1998); the fire wiped out much more than just the Crimson Wolf Pack. It wiped out a lot of the forest, a lot of the other animals that lived there. Now, the Crimson Pack, and every other pack along with it, had been downsized dramatically. After all of the fires had been settled, Parker Thompson took over for the Crimson Pack - It was not his place nor his time, but because the one true member of the Crimson Pack was still too young to take over, it fell upon Parker - the oldest survivor of the Crimson Pack.
Parker was a great leader, for a while. He was slowly starting to restore the Pack to its former glory; pups were being born right on time and adding to the severely lacking populous that the Crimson Pack needed in order to survive. Warriors were starting to show themselves more often, standing up to the wildlife that was more predator than prey, even to a shifter pack. They even had new pack members that had come from the other, smaller, packs that were still alive - The Crimson pack was no longer strictly red-wolf; there was a collection of Grey, White, and Black wolves alike.
Then, suddenly and out-of-nowhere, progress stopped. Pups were becoming few and far between, Warriors were dying on an almost daily basis. Parker was becoming greedy and power hungry, wanting to take more and more from the pack whilst he had nothing left to give. The rightful King, Rusty 'RJ' Jackson, had finally come of age to take over the pack and he had watched, for years, the fall, rise, and fall again of his beloved pack.
Rusty's Great-Grandfather, Grandfather, and Father were all leaders of the Crimson Pack before they died, from either old age or the fire - like his father - and Rusty was the rightful leader of the pack. Everyone knew it, and everyone welcomed it when Rusty challenged Parker for the title of Pack Master. Parker, the greedy man that he had become, refused and laughed in Rusty's face, stating he had no claim to the proverbial throne any longer - No one agreed with that statement, however. Rusty took it upon his own hands, then, and brought Parker down with no more than a few throat-snapping bites.
Once again, the Crimson Pack was under proper Rule. Rusty Jackson had taken his pack back, and had led them back to their former glory. Now, that they were doing so well, RJ had absolutely no problems with kicking back and relaxing now that The Crimson Pack, as well as the Everglades National Forest, was back to its former state of Power, Beauty, and Glory.
Rusty yawned loudly as he awoke that morning, the sun was beaming brilliantly down upon the grass that surrounded his and his Pack's den area. Rusty was happy he could stretch out, not surrounded by his pack mates that loved to sleep on top of one another in the dark cave. Rusty was a loner, by heart, preferring the company of only a few close friends or himself. Even sleeping, he hated being with the rest of his pack and often times slept outside, even in the rain.
Rusty stretched and stood up, intent on finding something for himself to eat for breakfast and go about his day as he normally did. Stretching out his back legs, Rusty groaned in a howl-like manner before taking off down his normal morning jogging path; he ran with the wind ruffling his rust-colored coat as he made his way down to the stream that ran through his territory.
Stopping by the cold stream, Rusty bent his head and lapped at the water, drinking his fill before he decided what he wanted that morning for breakfast - Go into the city and eat real food or act the animal and hunt my own... Decisions, decisions. He thought to himself mentally while scanning the area; of course, his decision was made quickly when he spotted a wild hare - a fat one - slowly ambling around in the field. Rusty set off and pounced on the unsuspecting Hare quicker than lightning and was soon chowing down on the now-dead creature.
Licking the blood from his muzzle, Rusty was satisfied and happy now that he had such a fulfilling meal; his stomach was full and he had nothing too important on his agenda for the day. He turned onto his back in the grass, half-eaten Hare still beside him, and he laid in the sun without a care in the world. Nothing and no one could scare the large red wolf - his sheer size spoke volumes and no one came near him unless they were 'in his league' so to speak. Being wolf royalty did that for a man-wolf, and he enjoyed it because it gave him the privacy he so often desired.
Of course, not every creature knew that he was King of Crimson and would approach him... What he did about that, though, would remain to be seen, until it happened.
You can lead a horse to water, but cannot force a horse to drink.