Once in a land not so far away but so far long ago, there was a native tribe named “Phoeni”. They lived in the great woods of north western America along side with nature. They shared the woods with their primary adversaries which would be the large pack of Red wolves east of where their village was. These wolves were ever so pestilent to the natives, (I mean both definitions, deadly and quite annoying.) especially when they would go and eat their livestock and occasionally the tribes people themselves. Every time a tribesman died by a wolf, a hunting party would go out and hunt for one wolf to bury with the one who died. So that they will have vengeance and peace in the afterlife, but what they did not know is that peace does not come from more death.
Once they killed the wolf to bury with the tribesman they were happy and they celebrated, but the wolves felt sorrow for their lost companion they felt pain for a lost brother and solider of their pack. So the wolves went upon the natives and struck them with a sudden and swift fury overall then slaughtering a few more of the tribesmen and women. This made the tribes people angry so they went back to the wolves den and killed a few more of the wolves in retaliation, but they only made the wolves’ anger and hatred even more furious and dangerous. So as the native walked back with the carcasses of wolves that they killed they danced along the path thinking they have won, but they got too ignorant and let their arrogance overwhelmed them. That is when the wolves struck with a final attack and the natives fought back, but in the end there was only two left. The chief and the alpha, they looked at each other with hatred in their eyes, but at the top of all the chaos they looked around in realization and saw what they have been doing and then both of them realized they have been blind. Once they realized their destruction they looked at each other with a new look of understanding and peace, with that look a new tranquility was born from the ashes of death and sorrow.