I donât have a reason to go back anymore, anyway, not even for the sub-pack who never really belonged to me.
I need to push on and find somewhere to settle, accept it, man up, and stop crying like a stupid child, but nowhere ever feels right. Colton made his choice; I can feel it, and weâre done.
On day eight, I stumbled into an unknown dense dark forest at the base of a smaller mountain that was relatively secluded.
I finally found somewhere that seemed easy to defend, was pretty, and had a good cave for a possible long-term dwelling.
I was dense enough to feel safe and had a nearby water source. It was sheltered, and there was a good supply of wildlife for hunting.
There were no humans around for miles and no signs that any had been there in forever.
It didnât take long to be chased out by feral wolves who caught my scent in their territory, though. Natural wolves, not my kind, because my kind would probably have strung me up and gutted me for straying there.
Outside of Radstone, the packs still have deeply ingrained rivalry and feuds.
They chased me all the way to a cliff edge before I had to jump into the river below to escape unscathed.
I donât think I could have fought off more than a dozen rabid wolves on my own, and I donât have the energy to turn and heal myself right now. Iâm spent.
I guess Iâm not eating enough, not resting enough, and all I do is travel from dawn to dusk half-heartedly and flop down again.
Maybe itâs not energy but a lack of willpower when Iâm stuck in this mindset of hopelessness.
I had to find a quick place to build a fire, dry everything I owned that day, and throw away the leftover snacks I opened as they were soggy and inedible.
The money Meadow gave me had to be laid out in the sun, and her note was ruined entirely, which meant losing her number on the back because the ink bled out and disappeared.
Eating raw meat isnât sitting well with my human form either, which came as a shock, as I expected it to be a natural transition, but I donât feel great most of the time.
My wolf side isnât all that in touch with my body, and maybe it will take time to adjust, like building stamina and developing my gift.
Just more failure and I feel itâs all getting to meâthe dark, empty loneliness in my head, telling me Iâm not good enough and never will be.
I donât feel like being a wolf comes naturally, and somehow being in human form is easier, which is probably normal, considering we spend the first part of our life that way.
I thought it would be a fluid transition, with few bumps, like learning to float by jumping in the deep end.
Itâs sunny today, with no breeze, and the atmosphere has an almost serene calm to it. I sit staring at the little fire I pulled together in the basin of the clearing I found.
My ass rests on a fallen rotten tree, feet at either side of my rock, circling the mini campfire.
Somewhere caught in the unremarkable depths of another dense dark wood, in the middle of nowhere, is not as far from the mountain as I would like it to be.
Iâm far enough that fires no longer make me nervous, even when sitting in an open clearing like this, as I doubt anyone would see the smoke now.
I have no idea where I am anymore; I only know how to go back to where I came from.
Thatâs the thing about us⦠we can always find our way back to places weâve been or left, but without a map, I donât know how far I am from where I started or where I am if someone asks me.
It all started to look the same to me after only two days, and finding landmarks in almost identical forests is not that easy.
I have to keep climbing trees to check where the mountain is on the horizon, so I stay heading south of it.
Lord knows I would probably accidentally do a U-turn and head back if I didnât. I donât seem to have a sense of direction that Iâm sure most wolves should.
I just have this constant pull to go home, and Iâm not convinced itâs entirely because of homesickness.
Sierraâs dream keeps haunting me, even in daylight now, and, for some reason, it keeps replaying whenever I have to choose a direction, swaying in the canopy and gazing at the miles stretched out around me.
More than once, Iâve noticed that when I come to a crossroads in my path of choosing, she becomes prominent in my mind, and my gut tries to pull me east.
Not even back to her son, but off to the left, into the unknown. Iâm not sure if itâs related or why my mind keeps wandering that way.
Iâve wondered what would happen if I said screw it and just went that way more than once, but I know itâs probably nothing more than my being dumb and imagining it.
Iâm lost emotionally and physically, so itâs no wonder my mind is trying to give me some sort of guidance, or fake purpose, to get me out of this funk.
My plan was always south, my instincts keep on trying to sway me away from the south, and I shouldnât ignore my gut, but if my instincts are as faulty as the Fates, Iâm better off ignoring them completely.
Look how wrong they were about Colton. He did it⦠ignored them despite our bond. He marked a mate and forgot about me.
I guess it wasnât as hard as he thought it would be in the end. He just needed me to get out of his way.
South is where my mother said her family came from, not that I know much about them, as she never really spoke of her roots the way my father did.
My mother was not a Radstone wolf, nor a Whyte pack.
She came from somewhere else, shrouded in mystery, and always said meeting my father was fated and magical but never really told us the details or expanded on it.
As a small child, I was not overly invested in love stories, so I never pushed.
Father would shrug and tell us that their story was much like any other and brush it away, evasive, but then he wasnât the gushy romantic type.
I know she said she came from a place where the weather was warmer, the land flatter, and her pack never kept in touch or reached out in all the years we lived on the mountain skirt.
My grandparents were my fatherâs family, and my mother never brought hers up. We didnât talk about it.
My family was small because my father was an only child, born late in my grandparentsâ mating life, and older generations had passed away in my early life before I knew them.
Like vampires, wolves live longer than humans, but not for hundreds of years.
It never used to make me think or dwell, but now that I have red eyes and a strangely rare gift, I wonder what I knew about my mother.
Memories are mostly her in human form, and on the few occasions I glimpsed her as a wolf, I donât recall ever seeing her eyes.
There isnât much need for a pup to see their parents in wolf form when they live on a peaceful, settled farm, growing vegetables and raising cattle.
Turning used to be a personal thing when there was no need. Like recreational time for yourself, activity among the peaceful dwellers who didnât have to fight, defend, or lord over anyone.
The Whyte pack leader was equally stable and calm, and I never saw him turn at all when I knew him.
My father never mentioned it; no one did, so I doubt they were red. I mean, she was a snow-white wolf, which was mentioned enough over the years as though it was a bad thing.
I knew it meant she was different. Iâm sure her eyes would have been a talking point, too, if they had been like mine.
They said her fur was white because she lacked a pigment, like a flaw in her genetic makeup, and I wonder if itâs why my eyes are red⦠like a person with albinism.
Although my wolf is half gray, Iâm sure people with albinism have pink eyes, not blood-red.
Itâs all so confusing, and I wish Meadow had told me more about the legends or that the shaman had taken the time to talk to me.
It feels like they should have some relevance or that my gift should. Maybe all it means is what Juan said is true. Iâm a diluted, impure bloodline and ultimately flawed.
Itâs afternoon, the sunâs still high, but itâs doing very little to warm me through and lighten my dull mood, not that I care.
We have a gift in that weâre not affected by the cold the way humans are, and we donât need the same temperatures to survive.
We can feel it, we can enjoy being warm and cozy, but we can sleep in freezing surroundings and not get sick.
And if we do, we turn and, voila, healed. Iâm not worried about getting ill or injured out here as long as I can muster enough energy to turn for a few seconds, but my mental state worries me.
I keep thinking about Luna Sierra and her broken mind, and I would be lying if I didnât have a deep-rooted fear that I may not be strong enough to endure an oncoming war.
Itâs always there in the back of my mind. I can hide and avoid it as much as I want, but one day, Iâll find myself in the midst, and I wonât be able to escape it.
Thereâs a crack in the undergrowth behind me, and I spin around to focus my eyes on the dark, shadowy depths of the trees in the direction it came impulsively.
My breath pauses, my heart rate increases as my adrenaline instantly spikes, and I train everything on that one spot, poised like Iâm ready to bolt.
My butt hovers over the log I was previously perched on.
I catch sight of a small deer running through, parallel to me as it makes a skipping path to find its little herd and relax again, exhaling heavily with relief and sitting back down.
I donât think the jumpiness will ever subside, and I need to learn to calm down a little when itâs bright daylight.
The forest is never silent, and I need to get used to it. Itâs noisy as hell, and when darkness moves in, it turns spooky and thick with atmosphere and feels like a million eyes come alive.
Thereâs always some animal running around, some tree creaking, the babbling of water, or the rustling of the wind.
None of those is anything to worry about, but try telling my hyper-senses and scared stupid young girlâs mind. However, I should give myself a break and lighten up a little.
I mean, Iâve spent eighteen years being a shadow in a pack who maybe didnât want me, but they met my needs and kept me relatively safe. Well, minus that one night.
Now that Iâm on my own and responsible for my safety, itâs okay to be on edge. I guess itâs a good thing to be aware of.
I found a cave here for tonight that seems secure enough, with no rear entry, and even though I should still be walking, something in me said itâs time to stop for a while and just ponder stuff for a day or two.
Iâm shielded here, and thereâs a water source a few feet away in a little tumbling brook that heads out to a more significant river farther down the way.
I feel like I earned it, and after patrolling this area earlier, I donât think Iâm encroaching on any pack territories.
I choose a spot near my makeshift bedroom for the night and haul from my backpack some of the rabbit I caught during my last turn and didnât feel like eating.
I start a fire to make a proper meal because I need something warm and decent to give me a sense of comfort in that Iâm winning this and not just scraping by.