FOR MOST OF THE PACK, the death of their Alpha was a once-in-a-lifetime event.
The very oldest members had only been children when Allara’s grandfather had died. With one or two exceptions, such as myself, the pack’s structure was mostly made up of members from those original families.
By the time Allara had said her last goodbyes and his body had been taken away, we walked outside the Alpha’s house and were greeted with quite a spectacle.
Hundreds of candles lined the path leading up to the front door. What looked like the entire pack had assembled outside, huddled into small groups, holding vigil for their fallen leader. They were dressed in black and gray, and tears streaked some of the women’s cheeks.
They were waiting for some kind of direction. They wanted to hear what would happ
