This is a flash fiction (unseen chunk of character life) from my upcoming novel, Echoes of Winter. It features two characters, sisters named Amore and Morte. They are wolf-dog hybrids, bearing both the blood of the wolf and the abandoned dogs. To find out more about the characters, you can also send me a donation here: http://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/invest.....r-swag-bag-882 or follow my pages on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Echo.....55235744499607 and here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Domi.....50907358312446

Morte growled as she pounced onto her sister, snapping gently at her shoulder before flopping beside her, panting lightly. Her breathing rattled her rather stocky rib-cage as she tipped her head at the limp body of the young wolf-dog who was the utter opposite of her – slender where she was stocky, lady-like where she was tom-boyish. Their eyes and coats were even the same opposites, light on one and dark on the other. Her voice was sweet, high-pitched in its youth and innocence.
“We need to go back to the den, Amore. Dad’ll be home soon, with the hunting party…and I’m hungry!”

The female sighed beside her sighed lightly, twisting to her feet in a single movement before shaking off her coat and then lapping away as much off the mussed up, dirty pelt down as she was able to. Morte watched her sister carefully, frowning a little when she noticed how quiet she was, when normally getting her to shut up would have been like trying to get a crow to stop cawing, or a rabbit to stop thumping; you’d need to really make yourself heard for that to happen.

It made Morte frown, before she slunk closer to her sister and prowled along at the side of her smaller twin, her head swinging about as she played at being a guard – the position in the pack she could see herself occupying easily enough. They were the first line of defence in the pack, the first ones to answer a threat and put them down completely.

The pair brightened up swiftly, as yearlings often were. Their tails wagged as they chased each other around the territory, trusted now to do things like that – their pack was strong enough to withstand those on the outlying borders, and they were in the very depths of the woods. Morte often bounded at Amore, who was more agile, darting out of her way and developing a stinging nip which was forgotten moments later.

It didn’t take long for them to end up at home, despite the playfulness. Their tails wagged constantly as they licked lightly at each other’s cheek before composing themselves. Their heads lifted proudly, their ears were perked and their paws lifted high as they trotted forwards, containing their excitement and presenting themselves as they should be – the heirs of the pack, growing well and with all the manners they had been taught to show.

It was only as they neared the den that Morte hesitated, one of her paws lifted as she growled uncertainly, her head swaying before her whole body went slightly limp. There was something about what was waiting for them ahead that had her breathing get faster, her eyes go cloudy – and Amore rush back to her side with a gentle nuzzle that did nothing to bring her from this fugue.

It seemed to be almost timed. As Morte lifted her head up, focusing her eyes on her sister, a grieving howl rang out ahead of them.