The chain of wolves was one that was held together by Honour, and by the pack structure.  Alphas ~ Betas ~ Delta ~ Hunters ~ Scouts ~ Pups ~ Omega

Snow had been told this, but she believed the pack inner workings to be more like stalactites and stalagmites hanging off the ceiling and floor of a cave.

They added to the caves density, and pathways it was confusing to follow, but they were not the cave itself, they did not make the cave nor support it. They merely attracting interested onlookers.

Much like the Waning Winds pack.

The wolves got thinner the further down the chain you went, even most of the Hunters were little more than skin, bones and blood.

Snow had noticed many wolves joining the pack over her life, the Delta, the Omega, the former lead Hunter.

The Delta shared his tales of the Old Life, of his old, nameless pack.

A pack of strong, well muscledwolves who's pelts gleamed in the sun like morning dew and who's jaws bit as hard as a bear.

Who would have lived to cherish many summers had sickness not stilled the bears in their hearts and stolen the breath from their lungs.

This stern hand from the heavens had butchered many of the most barbaric packs of the wilderness — who raced to war as eagerly as if they were racing to eat the cold, dead flesh of their enemies, cloaked in icy sapphire.

Such a meal would be ungainly for the daughter of the Alpha, and Snow appalled at the customs of the common wolf.