Rebel
By the second week of camp my body had stopped filing complaints and moved on to a kind of sullen cooperation. Lily’s muscles were learning. The wolf gave her healing a little less grudgingly each morning. I could hold a stance now that would have folded me flat on day one, and I’d started to catch the pleasure of a body remembering how to be strong.
I was working a footwork drill along the edge of the grounds when I noticed the knot of young wolves by the water barrels had gone quiet in the wrong way.
Not resting-quiet. Huddled-quiet. Heads close, voices dropped. I drifted nearer under the pretense of refilling my flask.
“—the Ashford pack. Two of them. Both under six.”
“Last Thursday. Right out of the preschool play yard, my cousin said. Broad daylight.”
“That’s not possible.
