My Alpha Lycan

Rayna’s POV: It wasn't my intention to go hunting for a deer, but I wasn't going to let the opportunity slip when it presented itself so beautifully to me. I treaded through the bushes, careful not to make a sound, and crouched down slowly. Though I could hear my heartbeat loudly in that silence, I lowered my breathing and concentrated on the picture before me. I had truly stumbled upon a jackpot. A doe and its fawn were drinking water from a stream, surrounded by blue azaleas and red ressers. The sunlight just pierced through the canopy above the duo, making the water sparkle. After an overwhelming moment of drinking in the beautiful scenery before me, I reached inside my pocket for a parchment and a charcoal pencil, and quickly sketched the picture. Just after I completed the rough sketch and was contemplating whether I had captured all the main details, the doe and the fawn suddenly took off, and shortly after, a futile arrow followed them. I heard a loud swear, which brought relief to my heart and comfort that the two were safe. I let out a deep breath and shifted my position to a more comfortable one. There was no need for me to look for the shooter since he came out in the open immediately after. His attention turned towards me right after my movement caused the leaves in front of me to shake. He raised his armed bow right towards me. "Stop, it's me," I cried. He lowered his bow at once, and I got up. "Rayna. What are you doing here?" It was Marc, a boy from the village. "I was sketching the doe you were just about to shoot," I replied. "Well, lucky I missed it then," he said, good-humorously. "But why so deep in the forest?" "I couldn't find one near the village," I said. "You know it's not safe here, Rayna," he said. "Come, I'll take you back." "Marc, it's okay," I said. I understood what he meant. The dark woods weren't very far from where we were, the part of the forest where sunlight couldn't penetrate through even during the brightest of the summer days. It was known to be haunted by many creatures, the most dangerous of which were Wolves. Marc's concern was only too understandable. "No, I'm not going to shoot any game today anyway. Come on," he said, and walked off before I could reply. So, I caught up with him. We walked back in silence, with his occasional warning of a stray root that I could trip over or a bush of thorns. When we reached the village, he offered to take me home, but I refused. I'd become friends with Marc a year ago, in the forest, where I had stumbled upon him while playing in the stream. He'd been catching fish with a self-made arrow. Looking at him, with his trousers rolled up, and his forehead smeared with sweat, I'd assumed he was from one of the poorer side of the village, so I'd warmed up to him at once. But while returning, when I saw him head towards the other side, the side where the richer people lived, I'd felt something akin to betrayal. Marc liked to hunt, and it became his hobby. It was helpful for me too, since I wouldn't have to spend loads on buying meat on days when Marc offered some for free. He'd said enjoying the game was enough for him, he'd be happy to give the meat to someone else. I couldn't relate with the lavishness of it, but I wouldn't refuse what he so graciously gave. It wasn't right to say that we were poor when there were so many more even worse off than we were. At least, we had three meals a day. Even if they weren't the most filling. There were many in our neighborhood who didn't even have that. It was mainly because my mother was a healer that we could fill our stomachs at least, and her work was rewarded. It was especially well-rewarded when her patients were from the richer parts of the village. Sometimes, I would sell my paintings there when I accompanied her, so we would make a little more. It was enough for a humble lifestyle, to lead life without hunger. The extra money also helped my mother treat the poorer people by receiving minimal fees or giving free-of-charge treatment. I already had in mind whom I'd sell my next painting to, the one whose sketch I'd made. There was a lady in the richer part of the village, who was fond of animals. Her sister was pregnant, so my mother would make a visit to check on her next week. I would sell the painting to her then. I arrived on my street. Our house stood out because of the lush strawberry bushes that my mother and I had planted last year. They were in full bloom and the berries would replace the flowers in a few weeks. Our house consisted of five rooms in total. There was the main living room with a dusty couch pushed to one side and bookshelves on another wall, a bedroom that my mother and I shared which only had our double bed and a wardrobe for clothes. There was a study room that we had split into two - one side for her potions, bandages, and other healer things, and the other with my canvases, paints, and other painting apparel. There was also a small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. For two people, it was more than comfortable enough. I shed my shoes outside and went in. I couldn't find my mother in the kitchen, which was unusual, so I checked the bedroom and the drawing room, only to find her in the latter. She was seated by a desk, holding a foreign parchment in her hands. "What's that, mum?" I asked and, upon my words, she jumped and hastily shoved away the parchment in a draw. "Nothing," she said immediately. I didn't dwell on that for long because there was a queer expression on her face. My mother, who was always so calm and composed even during the most trying healer operations, seemed to be unnerved and in anxiety right now. "Are you all right?" I asked, to which she merely shook her head and offered a watery smile. "Is it time for lunch already? I haven't prepared anything yet," she said suddenly and hurried off to the kitchen. For a split moment, I considered opening the draw and reading the letter (which I guessed the parchment was), but that would be a blatant intrusion of privacy. If there was something that my mother wanted to share with me, she would. After lunch, Devon Ramley, a middle-aged man, came to our house. He said his daughter was sick, and he requested my mother to accompany him to his house. I watched her closely as she packed her necessary materials in her healer's bag, all the while with an air of distraction around her. I was worried; I had never seen her like this. I accompanied her to Devon's house. It was a few streets, in the poorer regions. There were little boys playing on the street, chasing each other. They were dressed in rags, but their faces were lit up with smiles and infectious laughter. The man's house was the last on the street, and the door was opened. Mum went in first, after Devon himself, and I followed behind. There was a warmth in the small house that suggested many people living under the same roof. A thick aroma of some kind of meat soup hung in the air. Devon directed us to a tiny room that had a bed on which his little daughter lay wrapped in blankets. Marilla Ramley, his wife, who was beside her, rose when she saw us approach. "How old is she?" asked my mother as she checked upon the little girl. She touched the girl's forehead with the back of her hand and nodded knowingly. "She turns four next spring," said Marilla. "She came down with a fever two days ago. I tried giving her the usual opaloc syrup but she's not gotten any better. I'm worried that it's something else." "What's your name, dear?" asked Mother. "Carly," she replied in a weak voice. "Carly, how do you feel?" "I feel hot, but it's cold," she replied. "And I get dizzy when I get up." "What have you eaten in the last few days?" "I had soup before you came." "I mean before that. Do you remember what you had two days ago?" asked Mother. Carly thought for a few moments before she replied, "Mummy made mushroom stew. I remember eating the biggest piece." "Anything else?" "I don't remember." My mother turned to me and I nodded, setting her kit on the bed. Her descriptions were enough to narrow down her ailment. It was probably an allergy. Mushrooms picked in the forest were usually tested by the pickers to check whether they were poisonous or not, but they couldn't determine if anyone specific could be allergic to them. It was mostly for general safety. Carly could've easily been allergic to them. That would explain why the other members of her family weren't sick. While my mother was asking Carly's parents about the type of mushroom, I was concocting the base potion. The kit already had pastes of talva roots, resser leaves, and other ingredients for the potion. Just when I finished concocting it, my mother took over. She knew the exact recipe for each type of potion, something I had never bothered learning. In case she was occupied, and I had to take over her job somewhere else, I would simply carry her handbook with me. She used to use it to study and record findings, but she didn't need it anymore, so I took it. When she had finished concocting the potion, she poured it into a thick vial and placed two drops into Carly's mouth. She wrinkled her nose in disgust but otherwise drank it up uncomplainingly. My mother corked the vial and offered it to her parents. "Give her a dose of two drops after every meal till the symptoms vanish. That should do it. If she continues remaining sick, please come and call me again," she said, getting up. I quickly packed her kit while she was receiving payment for the treatment. Just as I was about to join her, I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned to face Carly. "It tastes awful," she said, grimacing. "I didn't tell your mummy because she would feel bad." I smiled at her precocious maturity and crouched down to her level. "I'll tell you what, have a spoon of honey after you have the medicine," I said, tucking back a lump of hair behind her ear. She nodded solemnly. I got up, and saying goodbye, I left after my mother. We didn't talk all the way back. The matter of the letter kept broaching my mind, but I pushed it away. My mother shared everything with me, there was no reason why she wouldn't share this too. But I couldn't forget her anxiety from earlier. In fact, she still seemed perturbed. She even flinched when I locked my arms with hers as we walked down the street, a familiar comforting act which wasn't unusual. But the way she behaved was, and after pondering the subject over and over, I decided to ask her after dinner. Winter was coming soon, the result of which was why we couldn't spend time outside after dark without wearing at least a layer of fur over our regular clothing. So, we were seated by the fire in the living room, with her knitting (she was terrible at it and though I often teased her about it, she said the outcome didn't matter so long as her hands were kept busy by doing something), and me seated by her feet, watching the embers glow and the fire splutter and cackle. "Mum, what's wrong?" I asked after a while, gently breaking the comfortable silence that had spun between us. "Why do you ask?" she said. Her voice was strained, I noticed immediately. "It's just that… you seemed upset when I came home before lunch," I said, wondering how to tread the subject without intruding on her privacy. "It's nothing, dear. Nothing for you to worry about," she said. Her hands had stopped knitting, and she was fumbling with the threads. "Mum," I said, turning to look her in the eye. "You can tell me. Maybe I can help." She sighed and looked at me. "Rayna, it's nothing. I'll tell you when I sort it all over. I don't want you to worry," she said, giving me a small smile. I nodded. I wasn't going to get much out of her. I wanted so badly, oh so badly, to read through the parchment, but I wouldn't. So I nodded and smiled back, and we relapsed into the silence again. I didn't want her to go through whatever she was going through alone, but there was nothing I could do about it. Perhaps the parchment was a letter from her old acquaintances when she was in her birth village. Perhaps someone she'd known had passed away. Or there was some sort of problem for which they were asking her for help. Anyway, she told me that she would tell me, so that was that. I didn't dwell on it longer and fell asleep with my head on her lap, watching the fires cackle and burn, not knowing how my life would change in a few days.