It was the night of the first full moon in January. Called Wolf Moon. The other wolves of the new, small pack came out. Jake-Wolf was there, and searching, and howling. And a newcomer, Vicious was there too. But the alpha, the pack leader, Wulf Canavar was missing. Without his Hunger and experience driving them on, the others chased a person or two, but were ineffective. Foiled in the their need to feed the Hunger, and to spread it to others, they spent the night roaming the city and howling at the moon. And then they were gone.
Wulf could not hear them, and they could not hear him, no matter how he whined, no matter how he howled. And he could not hear them, no not at all. All sounds were muffled, DOWN HERE. For Wulf knew, somehow, that he was below ground. And all his strength mattered for nothing against iron bars, a collar, and two heavy chains. While huge and massive for a wolf, even unnatural, violent strength was no match for this cold iron.
But he DID know they were there. He could feel their Hunger, as they could feel his. They were searching, he knew, searching for him and his leadership, and then they would hunt together, and ravage everyone they found in their wrath!
Wulf hammered at the bars, tore against the chains, slammed his neck agaist the ground to knock at the collar. All useless. He raged, and raged, scratching and biting, jaws through the bars, teeth grating, scratching the iron. He injured himself in futlity.
And finally, the night was over.