A grey wolf sat by a pool, waiting patiently while frogs croaked and peeped and the birds sang. The pine trees around the vernal pool towered above the wolf, dark green and silent. The wolf's unnaturally orange eyes peered upwards towards the blue, cloudless sky, barely visible through the tree branches. He was waiting for a sign, a sign that would tell him all was well -- or not.

This wolf was an Alpha of a pack called the Shadowpines, for they lived in the deep boreal wood. In a place where the living was harsh and the going never good, the pack always needed the strongest Alpha, which could be told by unnaturally orange eyes. The current Alpha, Steamwrath, had been the biggest of his litter, and the only pup of all pups born with orange eyes. His father had been the same, as well as his grandfather. They had all been first out of the den, and the first to be named at the Naming Ceremony. Steamwrath had his own pups now, and their Naming Ceremony was this sun. He fervently hoped that the future Alpha would be named -- the strongest and biggest of the litter, the first out of the den.

A scout approached, a white female named Mistrunner. She caught her breath before saying, "The Alpha Female requests your presence, Alpha Steamwrath. The pups are ready."

Steamwrath nodded, and quickly glanced at the sky again. Still blue. Cloudless blue. The Alpha gritted his teeth, then trotted quickly to the den, where his pack was waiting.

When he arrived at the den site, wolves howled, welcoming the presence of their leader. Steamwrath raised his head and tail, then strode over to the Rock of Honour, a flat, high rock designated for the Alphas.

He leaped up, then sat. Once the howling had died down, he spoke: "I have not been your alpha very long, but I have learned much. Since my father's early, foreboding death, I have made sure to check for bad signs, every sun, and now a moon." He paused before continuing. "I have found none."

A chorus of praising howls followed this statement.

"Today is the Naming Ceremony of my first litter, as you know. It is a happy time for everyone; pups are important to the pack, whether for excitement, new blood, or... mischief." Steamwrath smiled, a sparkle in his eye. "Today could also be the day when we name our future alpha, my successor."

Another chorus of howls rose.

"Let us begin, then." He motioned to the Scholar, who stepped forth to call out the den's residents.

The old, beige wolf, his gravelly voice catching, said, "In the Name of Great Sky, come out, Alpha Female Stonelasher."

A small, light grey, purple-eyed female crawled out, her eyes blinking rapidly, adjusting to the light.

“You are blessed, Alpha,” the Scholar intoned, touching his nose to hers.

She took a seat beside the Rock of Honour, well aware of Steamwrath's proud orange eyes staring at her.

“Pup, in the Name of Great Sky, come out.”

No sooner had the old Scholar spoken a pup tumbled out of the den. He was brown and brawny, and was, Steamwrath knew, the strongest male of the litter. But, as the pup looked all around him, the pack knew that future Alpha would not be named today; the pup's eyes were a light gold, the common eye colour.

“I name you Brushfell, first pup out of the den,” the Scholar said, his words breaking the silence that had ensued.

Steamwrath sat back, his orange eyes narrowed. He glanced at his mate, whose purple-eyes were staring straight ahead. This was her first litter. Only. But he couldn't help being disappointed, and the slightest bit annoyed.

He watched impatiently as the second, third, and fourth pups were named, then the fifth. There was a long pause, then the pack started shuffling and murmuring amongst themselves, and Steamwrath turned to go.

“Wait!” his mate called out, her small voice pleading. “Wait! I know there is one more, I know there is!”

“Yeah, a runt!” someone called out, and Steamwrath bared his teeth. Runts were discouraged, and were often killed. He got ready, digging his claws into the dirt.

Stonelasher may have seen her mate's face or not; nevertheless, she stayed in place, her paws kneading the earth, until the wolves calmed down.

“Come out, little pup,” she called. “Come show your face.”

A tiny pup, a small ball of black fur and the sixth pup, crawled out. The onlookers gasped in disbelief, Steamwrath in awe and outrage, for the pup's eyes were not the common gold, tan, or brown, but an unnatural, fiery orange.

The Scholar spoke: “In the Name of Great Sky, I name you Inquiry, the last pup to come out of the den, the Alpha's Successor.”