Page 112 of Scarred Savages
I don’t need to be told twice.
I launch myself, startled by my own speed. The sensation is incredible—my muscles working in perfect harmony, the ground flying beneath me, the wind rushing through my fur.
I dart between trees, leap over fallen logs, and spin in dizzy circles. After years of being told I was defective and that my wolf was too damaged to emerge, the joy of this moment is overwhelming.
My senses guide me to a small stream cutting through the forest. I stop at the edge, peering at my reflection in the clear water. The face looking back at me is… strange. Not quite what I expected. My muzzle seems shorter than Hudson’s, and my ears are more prominent. But before I can examine myself more closely, a fish darts beneath the surface, instantly capturing my attention.
I paw at the water, fascinated by the ripples and the darting silver shapes below.
Everything is a new discovery, a delight to my enhanced senses. I can hear birds calling to each other high in the trees, each species with its distinct voice. I can smell the rich loam ofthe forest floor, the sweet sap of the pines, and even the faint musk of a deer that passed through hours ago.
Hudson appears beside me, his massive form moving with surprising agility. He nudges me gently with his muzzle, then turns toward a game trail leading deeper into the forest. I follow eagerly, every nerve singing with excitement.
We trot along the trail, Hudson occasionally pausing to let me investigate whatever has caught my interest—a peculiar fungus growing on a rotting log, a beetle trundling across our path, the elaborate nest of a woodpecker high in a dead tree. Everything fascinates me; everything demands my attention.
A butterfly flutters past, and I can’t resist chasing it, darting and leaping as it dances just beyond my reach. I hear a rumbling sound and realize Hudson is laughing at my antics, his wolf form somehow expressing amusement.
We reach another clearing; this one is dominated by a massive old pine tree that towers above its neighbors.
Something primal stirs in me at the sight of it—a territorial instinct I’ve never felt before. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m trotting around the tree’s base, rubbing my flank against the rough bark, marking it with my scent.
Mine, I declare.
This tree is mine.
Hudson watches from the edge of the clearing, making no move to challenge my claim.
Satisfied with my claim, I returned to him, feeling ridiculously proud.
Look at my tree! Isn’t it the best tree ever?
I can’t express the words, but the sentiment bubbles up.
Hudson responds by playfully bumping his head against mine, nearly knocking me over despite what seems like a gentle touch on his part. His size is much greater than mine, his strength so much more formidable, but I don’t feel threatened. Instead, Ifeel protected and secure knowing this powerful creature is on my side.
I retaliate by darting around him, nipping playfully at his legs, and dancing away before he can respond. A game develops between us, with me using my smaller size and quickness to dart in and out, and his greater experience to anticipate my moves. We chase each other through the forest, our paws barely seeming to touch the ground.
We pause, both of us breathing hard from our exertions. Hudson lifts his massive head, eyes closing as he draws deep breaths. Then he opens his mouth and howls.
The sound shivers through the forest, hauntingly beautiful.
I lift my head, trying to mimic his posture. I draw in a breath and open my mouth, letting the sound rise from my chest…
But what emerges isn’t a howl.
It’s a strange, high-pitched sound; somewhere between a yowl and a screech. Definitely not the deep, melodious howl that Hudson produced.
I stop, confused.
That can’t be right.
I try again, concentrating harder this time. Again, that odd screech erupts from my throat, echoing through the trees. A nearby bird takes flight, startled by the sound.
Hudson’s head swivels toward me with amusement in his eyes.
Determined to get it right, I make a third attempt. I position myself carefully, draw in the deepest breath I can manage, and put everything I have into producing a proper wolf’s howl.
The result is the same—that strange, almost feline screech that sounds nothing like Hudson’s magnificent call.
