I took the small room under the eaves. The bed was narrow. The blanket was thin. A metal chair sat by a short dresser. One square window let in a stripe of light. The floor creaked when I moved. It was not much, but it was mine. The door latched. After the camp, that was enough.
I sat on the bed and set my bag down. The broken bracelet chain lay inside. It had small blue and purple stones. It had belonged to my mother. I closed the bag. I would deal with it later.
The house made soft sounds. Pans touched. Water ran in a pipe. A clock ticked. I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I remembered sleeping on wet ground. This room felt like a gift compared to that.
In my head, my wolf moved. She disliked this house and its polite lies. She told me to break necks. Not yet, I said. We wou
