Into the Wilderness
900 Words
The forest stretched endlessly, its shadows swallowing Anya whole. Each step she took away from the Silverfang Pack felt like ripping another piece of herself out, but she didn’t stop. Her breath misted in the night air, and her wolf stirred restlessly within her.
“Are we really leaving them?” her wolf whispered in her mind.
Anya clenched her fists. We have no choice.
Behind her, the faint howls of her former pack echoed, not of longing, but routine—patrols, orders, loyalty to Kane. None of them had come for her. Not even him.
She stopped at a riverbank, the moonlight glinting off its rippling surface. Dropping to her knees, she cupped the icy water and splashed her face. Her reflection stared back at her—eyes swollen from tears, lips trembling with exhaustion. But beneath the brokenness, a flicker of steel burned.
“Anya!”
Her heart lurched. She turned sharply, spotting Mira standing at the treeline, her chest heaving as though she’d run the whole way.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Anya whispered, her voice hoarse.
Mira rushed forward, grabbing her hands. “Then neither should you. You can’t just walk into the rogue lands. They’ll tear you apart!”
Anya pulled free, shaking her head. “What choice do I have, Mira? Stay there, let them look at me with pity? Watch Lyra sit beside him while I—” Her voice cracked. “I can’t.”
Mira’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You don’t have to prove anything to them. To him. Please… come back with me. We’ll figure something out together.”
Anya’s chest tightened. The bond with Mira was the only thing keeping her tethered to her past. But she also knew Kane’s words would haunt her forever if she stayed.
“You saw it too,” Anya said quietly. “The way he looked at me. Like I was nothing. I’d rather face death out here than live like a ghost in my own home.”
Mira’s tears spilled. “Then promise me you’ll survive. Don’t let this place break you.”
Anya pulled her into a fierce hug, memorizing the warmth, the scent of her dearest friend. “I promise,” she whispered. “But you must promise me something too.”
“What?” Mira’s voice trembled.
“Watch him. Watch Lyra. Something isn’t right about her.”
Mira nodded, though her shoulders shook. “I’ll try. Just… come back to me someday.”
Anya stepped back, forcing herself to turn toward the wilderness. The moment she walked away, Mira’s sob echoed through the trees, a sound that nearly shattered Anya’s resolve.
She walked for hours. Branches clawed at her arms, the ground uneven beneath her boots. Wolves roamed out here—loners, rogues, the desperate and the dangerous. Her wolf warned her constantly, ears pricked to every snap of a twig.
When night deepened, Anya found a small hollow beneath an ancient oak. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and sat against the trunk. The silence was heavy, pressing on her chest.
“Do you think Kane even cares?” she asked aloud, bitter laughter slipping from her lips.
Her wolf growled softly. If he cared, he would have fought for us.
Anya tilted her head back, staring at the sliver of moonlight cutting through the branches. Tears welled again, but this time, they didn’t fall. She wiped them away angrily. “No more tears. Not for him.”
A rustle came from the bushes. She stiffened, rising to her feet. Her nails sharpened as her wolf pressed forward.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
Two glowing eyes appeared in the dark. Then another pair. And another. Wolves. Rogues. Their growls rumbled low as they circled her clearing.
Anya’s pulse thundered. She backed up against the oak, scanning their movements. There were three of them—gaunt, scarred, desperate.
“Well, well,” one sneered, stepping into the light in human form. His ragged hair hung over hollow eyes. “Fresh meat wandering so far from her pack?”
Anya’s wolf snarled inside her, demanding to fight.
She raised her chin, masking her fear. “Stay back. I’m no one’s prey.”
The rogue laughed, flashing yellowed teeth. “You smell like a Luna, but you stand alone. That makes you easy.”
They lunged.
Anya’s instincts exploded. She shifted in a blur, fur ripping through skin, claws gleaming under the moon. Her wolf leapt forward, catching the first attacker by the throat, throwing him into the dirt. The others slashed at her, claws cutting across her flank. Pain flared, but she refused to yield.
She fought with desperation, not skill. But desperation gave her teeth. With a furious snarl, she sank her fangs into one rogue’s shoulder, blood spraying across the clearing.
The others hesitated. For the first time, fear flickered in their eyes.
The leader snarled, dragging his wounded companion up. “This one’s got fire. We’ll be back.”
They vanished into the forest, leaving the clearing silent again.
Panting, Anya shifted back, collapsing against the oak. Blood seeped from her wounds, but her eyes burned with a new fire.
She whispered into the night, voice raw but steady: “I will survive.”
And in the distance, unseen by her, another pair of eyes watched—older, sharper, filled with ancient power.
- Writer
