The trees creak in the wind that stirs high above. Darkness is so deep here that no Hunter feels the need to keep their eyes open, for there is little difference either way. Senses are sharp, claws are drawn, noses are twitching. Every leaf, every stone, and tendril is accounted for. Every breath and heartbeat it heard, tracked, and payed attention to. The hunt is on.
   To my left, the huntress Shalré clings to the low branch of a young dark-tree, tail twitching with barely contained excitement. I crack open one eye, straining to see the movements I can sense, but all that is visible is a faint silhouette of my hunting party around me. I close my eye in defeat, and content myself with only feeling the stirrings around me.
   My party consists of four others, not including Shalré and I: two hunters, Elecó and Flanell, and two huntresses, Welena and Wingré. All had been chosen specially to take on the supposed grimwolves that were roaming this area. Each of us are perched stealthily in the branches of the trees, silent and watchful for our prey.
   Shalré makes a sweeping motion with her long tapered tail, drawing our attention northward. We all stiffen with anticipation, and nervousness. Shuffling down the slope below us are the bulky bodies of the pack. I can sense the shift of their fur, hear the rustle of their long tails of the leaf-strewn earth. Their breath comes in short snorts and excited whimpers. They can feel our presence, but are unable to locate my party in the pitch black.
   Grimwolves are native to light covered lands, equipped with long, dangerous claws, sharp snapping teeth, and an incredible sense of sight and smell. They are ferocious in the places they are comfortable. Every few sunrises the grimwolves tend to make their journey through our dark-tree forest, from one area of light to another. We don't care why they do it; we assume they simply travel to find better prey elsewhere, but we do know that they provide a fair amount of danger and fun on our part, and the meat is good to eat.
   A quiet murmur passes between us in through our minds, acknowledging the presence of the animals. As planned, we wait up above until the pack has passed beneath us, sniffing the air and growling. Then, one by one we stealthily slip along the branches of our trees, leaping from one tree to another without making more than a whisper of noise, following them.
   Our small group could not hope to take on an entire pack alone, so we resolve to split the pack in two, to pick out the weak ones.
"Do you hear that?" Whispers Welena. Her small voice passes through each of our minds like the swishing of leaves in the trees, gentle and lilting. "One of them has a limp. Towards the middle."
  We all mentally nod at her, tail tips twitching. I can sense the small male grimwolf, perhaps two years old, stumbling along in the heart of its pack. But it's heart beats unevenly, as if it is sick. I mention this to the others, and they agree that sick meat would not be desirable. We continue following the grimwolves unseen for another quarter mile, choosing the ones we will fight. Finally, with a strategy chosen, I dig my claws into the wood of my branch and run along it. I quickly overtake the pack and stop to wait in front of them, crouching in the low branches. I momentarily worry about my slightly glowing skin, but decide that once we get started, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. My ears flick, listening to the almost silent movements of my companions as two of the, join me up front, and the rest drop to the ground behind the pack.
   The wolves can't miss the thump of the Shadow Hunters' paws as they hit the ground. Jittery in the darkness, they immediately take up defensive positioning, pooling the young and weak ones in the middle, snarling, but with most of their backs facing Wingré, Elecó, and I. We wait in arms up in the trees while the others draw the grimwolves' attention. They lash at their noses with razor sharp claws, snapping, hissing, then jumping out of the way just before the deadly teeth of our prey close around their necks. As quick as the young hunters are, they cannot hope to draw more than a drop of blood from a pack of grimwolves and remain unscathed.
    Shalré's howls are the loudest, as she remains the most excited. My lip curls with concern. She's never been on this type of hunt before. But she discovered the pack, there's no reason to distrust her skills, I remind myself, just before I notice the opening we've been waiting for.
   The young grimwolf we chose moments before, is accidentally shunned to the back of the pack, as an older, stronger wolf pushes his way to the center, where Flanell is hanging from a low branch slashing at the noses of jumping wolves. As the young wolf is shunted away, a tiny hole is created in the throng, just big enough for one Hunter to fit in. I give the signal, and my group leaps into action.
   I give a mighty jump that lands me into the hole in the pack before it can be filled. Elecó, giving an earsplitting roar, startled the pack into noticing our presence so that I won't get bowled over before I can recover from my landing. At the same time, my third companion, Wingré, has swooped in on the young grimwolf we chose and drags him yowling deeper into the trees.
   My senses are soon flooded with information as the pack jumps into a flurry of motion. I am forced to lend all of my skill to the fight, bravely whirring on one wolf after another, trying desperately to make room for another Shadow Knight to join me in the middle of it all. Elecó is screaming at me in my mind, sending me bursts of imaging of the fight from his point of view, waiting to leap into the fray after me. I try my best to acknowledge the information he's giving me while simultaneously not getting my tail bitten off.
  Sound is useless to me now, what with every grimwolf snarling at me from all angles. The only hope I've got to stay upright in this kind of fight is my keen sense of shifting shadows, and of touch. I feel the hot breath of a grimwolf at my heel, and whip around to take my claws over his muzzle. But the scrape of teeth on my shoulder armor alerts me of another attacker, just as my left foreleg is caught in a pair of jaws.
"I can't keep fighting them off!" I hiss at all the minds close enough to hear me, ripping my foreleg free. Elecó sends me another update. "There's a tiny spot opening at your left heel."
     I whirl in that direction, roaring loudly. A few grimwolves flinch at the sound, and I take that tiny moment of distraction to swipe at their faces, struggling to clear a space for Elecó. Elecó hisses a warning at me before he leaps into the fray. Side by side we drive apart the pack, our claws bloodied, ears stinging from harsh blows received. Wingré eventually returns to the fight, having already silenced one grimwolf. She proceeds similarly to Elecó before following in after us- exchanging feelings and images via our minds, then leaping in when a space has been cleared.
    I have a vague sense of Shalré's group flitting around the edges of the pack, watching our backs and confusing the young ones. Every once in a while someone gives a triumphant yowl as a wolf goes down. Our prey begins to whimper in fear.
    Slowly, and with great effort, the entire patrol begins to split the pack in two. Shalré and her group soon finds room to join us in the center of it, so that we stand back to back with our haunches almost touching. Once in a while, one of us finds an opportunity to swoop in and drag a vulnerable grimwolf off into the forest to take it down.
   Then, just as our muscles are shaking with exhaustion and blood is dripping into our eyes, the fight ends. A single, unanimous thought sweeps through each of our minds, and we turn toward escape. Wingré and Elecó take to the trees above us, yowling loudly. Then Shalré leads her group in driving the pack back together, until there is an opening for two more of us to run. The pack is still viscous, filled with burning energy and rage. They will not back down, so we must, now that we have gotten what we wanted.
   In the darkness we suspend in the silence of the trees where the angry and injured pack cannot find us. We wait, sensing their noses brushing over the bodies of those who have fallen, which we have left on the ground for now. A few call out in anguish as they discover their fallen brethren.
    I gently probe the minds of my hunt-mates, taking note of their injuries and feelings. Shalré has taken a nasty bite to her shoulder where her armor as always been a bit softer than the rest of her body. I can hear the blood dripping down her leg and onto the wolves below. They a re excited by the scent of blood, and some have begun to convene under the branch where Shalré is perched.
"Leave," I hiss to Shalré, whose shaking muscles are sending sharp vibrations permeating through the air. She hisses softly back at me, "I'm fine, Cahlel! I want to finish this."
"You have finished this. You fought well, go home so we can clean up."
    When she doesn't seem to intend to move, Wingré pipes up, "Sister, we need someone to go bring a warrior or two to help carry some of these wolves back to camp."
"You're blood is stirring them up." Elecó adds with impatience. He waves his tail at the six of seven growling grimwolves  looking up to the source of the blood splashing on their faces. Shalré snorts once, but secedes. She whirls around to disappear into the forest. We send our senses after her until they cannot reach anymore, then drag our awarenesses back to the problem at hand.
    We need the remaining wolves to leave before we can drop back down and collect the bodies. But they won't leave now that they smelled the blood. For the moment we settle with simply dispersing ourselves among the trees, keeping a constant link in our minds as we tend to our wounds. I have only received a few shallow scratches along the length of my body, the one of my ears has been shredded by teeth. My left forepaw is sore from being bitten but it's nothing that a few good licks can't relieve. I let out a sigh.
   The grimwolves are also taking note of their injured, it seems. They are fairly clumsy in the dark, with no immediate threat to focus on anymore. Though their eyesight is good, they still struggle to move about, unable to sense the shifting shadows like we do. They are conversing with each other through short huffs and growls. A few younger wolves break the silence with a whimper, but they are quickly shushed.
"What do you think, guys?" Flanell asks from a few branches up. His tail is twitching tiredly. Welena pipes up from two trees to my right, where is assume she's leaning over her branch, sniffing the air.
"It won't take long for the Warriors to get back," she says, "but the wolves need to be gone by the time they do."
   I nod in agreement. The sun should be setting over the plains fairly soon, and we need to make sure that every warrior is up for the fight that comes with it. We can't afford any injuries, especially since this will be the first sunset since Sadir and I separated. Besides, the best way to take on a grimwolf is by using the element of surprise, like we did, and a lumbering warrior is anything but surprising. The pack would descend on them like it's nothing.
"Everyone up for a run?", I ask, even though every Hunter has already stood up and positioned themselves. Elecó snorts in affirmation, then let's out a long, loud yowl. The grimwolves stand at attention immediately, their once murmured growls among up in volume again. Grimwolves never do know when to stop fighting.
"Let's move! I take left flank, Wingré, right. Welena, foreword. Elecó, stick to the trees with Flanell!" Now that Shalré has left, the one who originally had the right to lead the hunt because she found it, I decide to take up the slack. I am filled with a rush of satisfaction when every hunter doesn't hesitate to follow my orders.
    Wingré, Welena, and I all slide down the trunks of our trees, landing with harsh thumps on the uneven soil. The males continue to egg the grimwolves on from above, yipping and hissing with renewed vigor. Before long, we are all running within an inch of our lives, drawing the pack as far away from the hunting sight as possible without getting ourselves bitten again.
   Despite our injures, it takes nearly two acres of tees for the wolves to tire, which is dangerously close to the East border. We leave them there, to return to their sunlight.