Page 18 of Untamed

I didn't bring my fish trap with me. Sniffling back tears, I growl in my belly, the low sound rumbling my tummy a little, but so quietly I can barely hear it myself.

I can't believe I forgot my fish trap. Sostupid, Willa!

I climb over the rocks, out of the water, with one hand clenched on the straps of my bag. No more losing things. I collapse a few times, my legs barely able to hold my weight. I pause, letting my knees rest, sharp points digging into every bit of me that touches the ground. At least I can still feel that pain. It means I'm not dead yet.

By the time I drag my body completely out of the water, the sun has started to rise. The sky is just a bit pink, with dark blue hues stretching into the black overhead.

I take off my Father's shirt, lay it out on a rock, then unpack my bag with bleeding and broken fingers, slowly warming back up.

Some of my things are ruined. Father's book of names is soaked, the ink running down the pages blurred into nothing. I lay it out in the sun to dry anyway. Maybe I'll use it to write in. Perhaps it's just kindling, but, like yesterday, I just can't bring myself to throw anything away.

The food is soggy. It won't last. That makes tears prick my eyes. I'm not doing so well out here on my own. The adrenaline of the past two days is catching up to me.

I just want to sleep. I reek of the river, the scent clinging stubbornly to all of me and everything that I own. I can still taste the water in the back of my throat, feel the cool dark liquid burning my nostrils, my lungs. My wolf is exhausted, curled up feebly in my mind.

Don't do this, Willa. Don't be adefeatist; dejected, gloomy, unhappy.

Mama says there's a silver lining in every cloud. She told me that I was her silver lining. I asked her what that meant, but she didn't answer.

The only blessings I can see are that the river carried me miles away from that male wolf, and I'm still breathing. Hopefully, I can find the strength to hunt soon. Otherwise, I'm in big trouble.

I wander a little closer to the treeline, inhaling deeply as I walk. Wolves. My feet falter. I smell other wolves.The Pack.

Goddess, help me.

Indecision makes my feet slow down. I need to sleep. I shiver from the hurt of losing my quilt, and so soon after escaping the fire with it. I want to climb the trees, to stay safe up there, but I don't have a way of securing myself, and I'm so weak right now.

I look back at the river. Maybe... maybe the rocky shoreline is my salvation. I limp back to the water, to the scent of the river that hides my own. All along the banks are boulders that form small caves and little hideaways.

A howl splits the air. Every hair on my body rises, goosebumps skating over my arms and legs. My stomach cramps, the wolf inside of me crouching low, ears twitching, wary and alert in an instant as other howls echo the first.

Shift. The urge is overwhelming, and I don't fight it. In fur, I'm warmer, my vision sharper, my hearing increased. I can smell the scents of the other wolves, taste them on my tongue that lolls from my mouth. Four different wolves. One female, three male.

The second howl makes whimpers explode from my mouth. The power behind it ripples over my body, sinking through fur and flesh as if the wolf song has teeth. I've never been so aware, so alert, soafraid. Claws dig into the earth. My teeth snap at nothing in the air. Instinct says to fight or flee,fight or flee,but there's nothing in front of me to fight.

I scurry into a hidey-hole in the rocks and huddle into myself, my eyes fixed on the world outside my safe little den.

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Inuit

A fight is coming. I can smell it in the air. My wolf bares teeth coated in the blood of the elk we just took down. We wish it were the blood of our enemies. RustClaw is being threatened. Incursions into our territory and the no-man's land in the north have steadily increased.

When I drag in the breath of air, I take in scents of at least four wolves whodo not belong.

A growl works its way up from my gut to my throat. I let it simmer for a moment on my tongue, then tip my head back and let free the sound in a howl of warning. It's echoed back to me, five voices lingering in the air, my patrols letting the trespassers know that RustClaw is on their trail.

As GriMaw pushes these bands of criminal packs south and the mountains force them east, they stumble onto RustClaw land, thinking we are the weakest link in the chain.

I plan on showing these wolves that they are wrong tonight.

Another howl rips free, a lower, more dangerous note. This wolf song is greeted by silence. Fog rolls over the foothills. Dawn is still hours away. The signal from their Alphason makes every RustClaw patrolling tonight fall quiet. We will disappear in our territory; become ghosts as we stalk the intruders.

A quarter-mile to the west, a high yipping alert comes only a minute later.

I run, pushing my body faster and faster. My wolf thrums with anticipation, the thrill of the hunt. The small brown wolf doesn't stand a chance. He falls to my wolf in seconds. Canines dig into flesh, seeking submission from this smaller male. Is he a foe or a friend? Passing through or spying?

Is he an old enemy or a new one?

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