Like most mornings, Durro and his band relished in the pleasure of raiding one of his brothers. It was wrong; he knew it was wrong, but his livelihood as he saw it depended on the act. His two brothers, also gang members themselves, were quite rich, and the land suffered atrophy because of them. Villages were pillage for money and food, leaving other wolves helpless in the wake of Nape and Drake's reign. Also, the mark of death on his life by both of his brothers fueled his vice. It was revenge for Durro: steal from his brothers that were rich and give to the poor, that being himself and any other wolf in need. He was what you would call a “Robin Hood” but even Robin had no real reason to steal. Nonetheless that was Durro and his crew followed him. Today he chose to agitate the middle son, Drake. Durro positioned his band just at the boundary of Drake's territory. A scout was sent out to get a closer look, and came back quickly to give the details.
“Your brother is nowhere to be seen. As usual the five barns are guarded by five soldiers each.”
“Good,” he said. “The last thing I want is to get in a scuffle with him.”
“Why?” said Casey looking over Durro's shoulder, “You knock him out every time you fight him.”
“Yeah, but I beginning to feel sorry for him.” he said pulling on his goatee. “You hit the nearest barn and you all know the rules: kill no wolf unless necessary, get in, take what you can carry, and get out.”
The order was given and executed. The five wolves guarding the closet barn were either knocked out or gagged and bound before they could call for help. Two of Durro's crew stood outside to keep watch and the rest went inside for the plunder. They worked quickly grabbing corn, bags of rice, cornmeal, fruits and vegetables. Within five minutes they had manage to nearly wipe out the entire stock. Into the wood they ran with the intent on delivering the plunder to the poorest village under Drake's jurisdiction. The run was swift and Casey went to grab his hat to ensure that he would lose it, but when he expected to catch the brim he only caught a handful of fur.
“My hat,” said Casey patting his head in disbelief, “I forgot my hat!”
This distress was only a minor thing, but to Casey it was the greatest trouble in the world. He had had that top hat for seven years: through fights, through peaceful times, through spying, and all the like; and to lose it on such a beautiful winter morning would have wrecked his entire day, if not his life. He doubled back to the barn. The five on guard were still gagged and bound. Casey went inside.
“Now where did I place it?” he said searching diligently, “I know it has to be here.”
He attention was so preoccupied with his hat that he didn't notice noise from outside. He finally found his hat, placed on a shelf near the cornmeal and rice. Casey took hold of his hat happily as if it was a long lost friend.
“Found you! I putting where you belong.” he said applying the hat to his head.
He turned to leave and suddenly he realized that he had made the biggest mistake of his life. His body began to shake and he stumbled backwards to the back of the barn. Casey, knowing it was his last chance of survival, gave a loud howl hoping that Durro would hear it.
What Casey was afraid of was the figure standing at the barn door. He knew who the wolf was, there was no mistake it was Drake.
Most wolves in Gosha were no more than seven feet tall and weighing between two hundred and three hundred pounds, Drake was the exception to the rule. He was head above all in Gosha with no rivals to challenge his insurmountable features: Dark brown fur, nine feet tall, three hundred fifty pounds, a mane that spiked, like a porcupine, with such extremity that it made him even larger than described; and with muscles cut as if a master sculptor had fashioned him, Drake had the privilege to place fear into any creature who dare to stand in his way, especially those acquainted with his adopted brother Durro. To add to his frightful appearance, he wielded a large iron hammer that was molded into the image of a wolf's head, which bore a vicious grimace.
“There's a fly in my web, “ said Drake walking in, “And I know this fly.”
Casey howled again, but his efforts were unanswered. Drake quickly came upon him, dragging Casey out of the barn into the snow, where a host of ten wolves looked over him waiting for Drake's command to kill him.
“Drake,” said Casey tipping his hat, “I just came back for this. I was on my way out until, you know, you unkind blocked the entrance. If you would kindly let me go without any broken bones of wounds I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Always a clown, aren't you.” said Drake placing his hammer on his broad shoulder, “You came for your hat because you came with my worthless brother to steal from my pantry. Now what's Durro's motto?” he said scratching his chin pensively, “Oh, yes take from rich and give to the poor AND HIMSELF FOR THAT MATTER!”
“Well, what can I say,” said Casey with a smirk, “Durro has a kind heart.”
“And your not going to have one when I get done with you,” said Drake raising his hammer for the kill, “If you want to run with Durro you'll suffer his judgment!”
Casey placed his hat over his face anticipating a swift and painful end to his life, but the iron hammer would not fall, at least not today; for a snowball, perfectly thrown to the back of Drake's head, stayed the hammer. Drake turned around to descry the origin of the projectile and was rewarded with another snowball to his face. When he wiped the snow from his face he saw Durro standing twenty feet away with his crew around him.
“Come for your prize?” said Drake standing stout in front of Casey. “Your prize may come with a heavy price.”
“The payment is worth it,” said Durro heroically.
“Has he hurt you, Casey?”
“He was about to,” he said standing to his feet, “I just came back for my hat.”
“You should have left it.” said Durro.
“We all have our vanities,” said Casey pulling his hat snuggly on his head, “My hat is mine.”
Durro smiled, for Casey, despite his obsession with his hat, was a loyal friend worthy to fight for, even to death.
“Let him go, Drake, and I shall not break your jaw.” he said crossing his arms.
“Make me,” was Drake's quick rebuttal, “If you want your prize, you must earn it: it's a perfect day to settle the score.”
Drake was expecting a frontal attack, but was surprised to see his brother turn and run in the opposite direction. Even Casey was horrified, and for a moment thought that his leader, a white wolf, had become a white chicken instead. Yet, Casey had no need to worry. Durro was still all wolf and made a surprise attack by backtracking around the barn and coming from Drake's right side. The surprise wasn't as effective as Durro wanted but it gave Casey enough time to break away from Drake's group to avoid the onslaught. Durro came viciously upon his brother, throwing wild blows upon his person.
A heavy right hook met Drake's jaw, but it did not break. Drake countered with a sweeping kick that sent Durro upon his back. The hammer was brought down hard into the snow, narrowly missing Durro's head. Drake swung his hammer with masterful precision: spinning it around his body. Durro matched his brother completely by dodging it. The rest of the crew had nearly won the fight and Durro thought it time to flee. The white wolf planted a punch right into Drake's stomach, which barely phased him. Drake went to backhand the white wolf, but to no avail. Durro ducked, slid behind Drake, and bit his tail. The scream that came from Drake was so loud and potent that it was heard nearly fifty miles away!
Drake ran up and down in the snow holding his tail, as his pack watched in slight hilarity. After the pain was gone (the pain being his pride abused rather than his tail) Drake was ready to carry out his next attack, but found that his brother and his pack were gone. “After them!” was Drake's command to his pack. “We can still catch them.”
“You're not going to do anything.” said a voice from behind him.
Drake turned around quickly, and saw Bertha. With a smile on his face he said. “Mother, its great to see you.”