Wren
My wolf and I needed to have a conversation, because my wolf was not behaving like my wolf.
I should explain what she used to be. Every wolf reflects her wolf somehow, that's the old wisdom, and mine had always been the proof of it. Small for her kind. Soft gray, quiet-footed, apologetic. In pack gatherings she kept to the edges of the bond-space the way I kept to the edges of rooms. When other wolves pushed, she yielded. When Kellan's wolf ignored her for two years, which I understand now and cannot think about for very long, she made herself smaller so the ignoring would hurt less. My whole life, she had spoken to me in nudges and feelings, never words, a shy warm presence at the bottom of my heart like a banked coal.
The banked coal was gone. Something else was living down there
