The Wolves – The Hungry Packs

• Symbolism: Emerging nations and regional alliances (BRICS, African blocs, Middle Eastern powers).

• Traits: Agile, hunting in groups, thriving in cooperation but fierce in rivalry.

• Conflict: Struggling to resist domination while learning to use their numbers against the bigger beasts.

• Theme: Unity, resilience, the rise of the many over the few.

At the edges of the valley, where forests met plains and shadows mingled with moonlight, the Wolves gathered. Unlike the solitary Bears, the Wolves hunted in packs. Unlike the Eagles, they did not soar above the world, nor like the Dragons, did they wait centuries in patience.

They moved in coordinated chaos — quick, cunning, and hungry.

The Wolves had always been underestimated. The Lions dismissed them as small, the Eagles barely noticed them in the air, and the Dragons thought them merely opportunistic. Yet in numbers, they were fierce, adaptable, and relentless. One pack could harass the strongest lion, one whisper could sway the direction of younger beasts.

At the Round Table, the Wolves did not claim a single seat. They sprawled across the floor, circling the legs of the great beasts, their eyes bright and calculating. The youngest among them sat at the edge, ears twitching at every word, learning the rhythms of power from those who had walked the valley for centuries.

The Lions snarled: “You dare squat among the kings and guardians? You are nothing but hungry scavengers.”

A gray-furred wolf stepped forward, teeth bared in a grin that was more cunning than threat. “We are more than scavengers. We are survival itself. We move where the old kings falter. We rise where the mighty stumble. We are the packs you ignored until it was too late.”

The Eagles flapped, circling overhead, talons glinting. “Your numbers may be many, but you lack wings. You cannot strike from above, nor claim dominion over skies and seas.”

The Wolves laughed, a sound like wind through the trees. “And yet, even the sky is shaped by what happens below. The young beasts we raise, the alliances we form, the borders we test — all of it reaches your feathers without your knowing.”

The Dragons observed, coiled silently. One whisper from a Dragon could have flattened a pack, yet the Wolves moved unafraid, their trust in numbers stronger than fear. They were patient, yet impatient; small, yet threatening in coordination.

Even the Bears acknowledged their presence. One paw swipe from a Bear could crush a lone wolf, but a coordinated pack could evade, distract, and harass even the greatest predator. The Wolves were clever, their hunger matched only by their unity.

At the table, they circled the older beasts like a current of restless energy. They did not roar like Lions, nor cry like Eagles, nor burn like Dragons. But their growls carried a subtle warning: power was not owned, it was earned. It could be seized by the many, not just the ancient or mighty.

The youngest Wolf, barely grown, stepped closer to the table’s edge. Its eyes gleamed with the reflection of the Dragons’ fire, the Bears’ shadow, and the Eagles’ sky. “We learn from you,” it said softly. “We watch, we test, we wait. But know this: the valley will not remain as it is forever. Seats at the table are temporary. Packs endure.”

The Lions hissed, the Eagles preened, the Dragons narrowed their eyes, and even the Bears’ low growl trembled slightly. For the Wolves, though smaller individually, embodied the inevitability of change — the rise of those once overlooked, underestimated, or dismissed.

And in the moonlit forests at the valley’s edge, their howls rose together — a chorus of hunger, unity, and ambition. Each howl carried a promise: the Round Table was not eternal, nor unchanging. Those who waited, learned, and hunted wisely would one day challenge the ancient power.

The older beasts shifted uneasily. The Lions clutched their fading pride, the Eagles flapped nervously, the Dragons uncoiled slightly, and the Bears tightened their massive paws.

The Wolves, patient yet relentless, knew the truth: survival belongs not to the strongest alone, nor to the oldest, nor the wisest, but to those who move together in the dark, and strike at the perfect moment.

And so, the Round Table grew restless, for the hunger at its edges was only beginning.