Running Wolf
855 Words
Some time ago;
Eira:
“Run, Eira, run.”
My bare feet strike the earth as I run, fast and unrestrained, my brother’s voice echoing in my ears.
“If you want to be a warrior, yous need to be faster than this,” he says, laughing.
I wake with a sudden jolt. Seeing these memories in my dream is no coincidence.
Today is the day.
The trial I have been preparing for all these years…
…
As the Silver Moon rises, the arena is full.
The stone steps are cold, but the gazes of the wolves seated upon them are colder.
The banners of the Silver pack ripple in the wind, moonlight shattering across armor and blades. Tonight, warriors are chosen. Men. Those who carry pure silver blood.
I stand on the lowest step of the crowd.
I wear no armor. Only dark leather, boots reaching my knees, and a sword bound across my back. I am forbidden to touch that sword.
Because I am a woman. Because I am gray.
“The Valenor princess cannot enter the arena.”
The voice is loud and clear. One of the Silver Guards stands before me, his spear crossed. This is not a defense—it is a barrier.
I lift my head.
“The warrior trials are open to everyone,” I said.
“Not everyone,” he replies.
“Only those who can fight.”
I do not smile. If I did, I would bare my teeth.
“I can fight.”
His gaze flicks to the sword on my back.
“Women are raised for wisdom,” he says.
“That is what the Silver Moon desires.”
“And gray wolves…”
“For nothing.”
The words pierce me, but I do not let them reach my face.
The crowd begins to whisper.
“Gray…”
“Unlucky…”
“The stain of Valenor…”
I take a step forward.
The spear drops in front of me.
“One more step,” the guard says,
“and this will be considered rebellion.”
The Moon now stands directly overhead.
Something shifts inside me—the wild instinct I have suppressed for so long, the one I feel when I run at night.
“Then,” I say calmly,
“I will not fight.”
He blinks, startled.
“What?”
I turn my head and look at the bronze plaque hanging at the edge of the arena. The rules of the trial are carved into it—rules everyone knows, but no one wants to remember.
One clause stands out.
“The warrior trials,” I say loudly,
“consist of three stages.”
The crowd falls silent.
“Running.”
“Endurance.”
“Combat.”
I look back at the guard.
“You do not have to be male to run.”
“Or silver.”
A moment of hesitation.
Then an aged voice rises.
“She speaks the truth.”
One of the Silver Council stands, his face hard in the moonlight.
“She may enter the running trial,” he says.
“But if she loses…”
“Her name will never be spoken again.”
I lower my head.
“Understood.”
The arena gates open.
The running course stretches into the Northern Forest. Rocks, frozen ground, jagged roots… This trial does not demand strength, but endurance.
The male wolves tense, their muscles gleaming under the moonlight.
I bend my knees slightly and steady my breathing.
Running is what I do.
When I flee into the night…
When I am cast aside…
When I take refuge in the forest so I will not cry…
I always run.
“Ready…”
Moonlight strikes my back.
“Begin!”
The moment I take my first step, I begin to change.
My bones stretch. My muscles grow light. My eyes sharpen, cutting through the dark. It is not a full transformation—only the subtle state gray wolves can achieve, balanced between human and wolf.
The wind lashes my face.
The men are fast.
But they are heavy.
I am light.
I spring across rocks, slip between roots. It feels as though my feet are not touching the earth, but the Moon itself.
My breathing does not quicken.
I pass one.
Then another.
Growls rise behind me.
We reach the final stretch.
Someone slams into my shoulder. I do not fall. I am used to falling. Falling is not a luxury I am allowed.
With the final step, I leap—
And I touch the boundary stone first.
Silence.
Then… a roar.
When I return to the arena, everyone is standing.
The Silver Council is silent.
The guard looks at me. His spear is lowered now.
My chest rises and falls, but my eyes are calm.
“The first stage,” I say,
“is complete.”
For a brief moment, moonlight flares against my back.
Something happens then—something no one notices.
Beneath my skin, between my shoulder blades, an ancient mark trembles.
The Gray Sigil of the Moon…
is awakening for the first time.
- Writer
