The Black Wolf

During a blizzard in a shadowed valley somewhere in the north, a black speck could be seen in the center of a ravine. this black speck was a wolf.
He stood silent and strong in front of his home, waiting out the danger that threatened both his den and his love. He waited for days, sensing the lurking grey shadows on the nearby cliffs, awaiting their attack.
More days passed. It was soon evident that they, too, were waiting. Waiting for his guard to drop. But this black wolf stood a steady, unmoving vigil.
Yet more time passed, and the shadows grew bored. After careful dark plotting, they decided to attack. Twelve gray wolves thundered over the cliffside toward the black wolf. He shook himself free of the ice crusted onto his fur and stood ready to meet them.
His cool, gray eyes stared, unwavering, into twenty-four small beads of red. When they were nearly upon him, he sprinted toward them, and with a single leap, he soared over their heads to land softly behind them.
The mass of gray turned, teeth bared, just in time for him to lunge at the nearest. He grabbed the back of it's neck and snapped it. The others were at him instantly. He fought them off bravely. His home, his entire world was at stake. Bones snapped, flesh tore, howling echoed throughout the twilit ravine.
At one point, sharp teeth tore at the black wolf's side, and his own blood mixed with that of his adversaries' on the frozen ground, but this hardly slowed him. When only one stood, he bit down into it's throat, and ripped it free of it's neck. He stood panting, and looked about for signs of life.
Satisfied that they were all dead, he started shakily toward his den. His wounds were draining his strength. All at once, his eyes widened in shock. He looked around again, and counted only eleven bodies. He looked slowly toward his den, his eyes tracing fresh prints all the way into his cave. His heart raced, as did his mind.
His feet kicked up tufts of snow as he raced back to his home. He charged through the small network of caves and burst into his den, looking around frantically. He relaxed when he saw her, the delicate white wolf whom he called his love, happy that she was alive and unharmed. As soon as he relaxed his exhausted body, the twelfth gray wolf exploded into the cavern. Upon seeing the white wolf, he attacked her.
In mid lunge, however, the black wolf slammed into his side, hurling him into the stone wall of the cavern. The gray wolf barely had enough time to stand when he saw a black death charging his way. The black wolf smashed him into the wall.
A loud, echoeing crunch could be heard then, and a sudden, high-pitched cry. After he was dead, the black wolf stood panting over his body. After he had stood there for a few moments, the white wolf, quivering and afraid, approached him.
She guided him over to their bed of soft pelts and made him lay down. She circled behind him and laid down, herself. She pressed herself close to him and began cleaning his wounds. She carefully went over each, gently clearing them of blood.
She loved him with all her heart, and she knew he loved her too. She would not let him die, not ever. She loved the feel of his heartbeat against hers, and she would not lose that.
As for the black wolf, the warmth of his love's body against his own comforted him. Right then, he could feel in his heart that there was no more danger. Everything was all right.
After a time, they fell asleep. It was a beautiful contrast of soft white and hard black. They both lived on, and eventually had pups. A boy and girl.
The boy was black with a white diamond on his forehead, and had obvious muscle underneath his thick coat. He had the strength of his father. The girl was just the opposite, with snow white fur like mother, and a patch of black fur, in the same shape, on her fored. Her eyes were full of compassion.