The Luna's Revenge

Ayla's POV The needle slipped through the torn fabric like it had done a thousand times before. My fingers moved on their own, stitching up old Mara's hunting cloak while she sat across from me, complaining about the weather. I nodded at the right moments, made the appropriate sounds, but my mind was elsewhere. It was always elsewhere these days. "You listening, girl?" Mara's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. "Yes, ma'am. The winter will be harsh this year." She grunted, satisfied, and went back to her rambling. I kept my eyes down, my hands steady. That was the trick to surviving in Thornridge: stay quiet, stay useful, stay invisible. The moment you drew attention to yourself was the moment trouble found you. Through the small window of Mara's cabin, I could see other wolves from our settlement going about their evening routines. Children played in the dirt roads, their laughter echoing off the worn wooden houses. Mothers called them in for dinner. Fathers returned from hunts, their catches meager but enough to get by. None of them had wolves that refused to wake up. I tied off the last stitch and handed the cloak back to Mara. She inspected my work with critical eyes, searching for any flaw. She would not find one. I had learned early that perfect work meant fewer beatings, fewer cruel words whispered behind my back. "Fine enough," she said, which was the closest thing to praise I would get. She tossed two copper coins on the table. "Now get out. I have real wolves coming for dinner." The dismissal stung less than it used to. I pocketed the coins and left without another word. Outside, the settlement was bathed in the orange glow of sunset. Thornridge sat on the edge of the Silver Moon territory, where the good hunting grounds ended and the rocky wasteland began. Our houses were small and poorly made, patched together with whatever materials we could scavenge. The wealthier packs in the heart of the territory would not even let their dogs live in places like these. I walked the familiar path to the healer's cottage where I had been staying since my father died six years ago. Elder Rosewood had taken me in out of obligation, not kindness. I earned my keep by helping with her healing work, grinding herbs and changing bandages while she handled the actual treatment. "Ayla!" A young voice called out. I turned to see Tommy, a ten-year-old boy from three houses down, running toward me. His arm was wrapped in a dirty cloth, blood seeping through. "What happened?" I knelt beside him, gently unwrapping the makeshift bandage. "Fell from a tree. Mama says I am too clumsy, but I almost caught a bird!" Despite everything, I smiled. Tommy was one of the few people in Thornridge who talked to me like I was normal. Children had not learned cruelty yet. They still saw people, not status. The cut was not deep, but it needed cleaning. I pulled a small vial from my pocket, something I always carried and dabbed the antiseptic on his wound. He hissed but did not pull away. "You are braver than most grown wolves I know," I told him while wrapping his arm with clean cloth from my other pocket. "Will I get a scar?" "Maybe a small one." His eyes lit up. "Good. Scars are cool." I ruffled his hair and sent him home before his mother started worrying. As I watched him run off, something tight settled in my chest. Tommy would have his first shift soon. His wolf would wake up, and he would join the others in hunts and runs through the forest. He would grow strong and find his place in the pack. I would still be here, wolfless and alone. The healer's cottage was dark when I arrived. Elder Rosewood had left a note saying she went to help with a difficult birth in the next settlement over. I was grateful for the solitude. The walls of the small room I called mine felt safer than the outside world. I lit a candle and sat on my thin mattress, pulling out the copper coins Mara had given me. Two coins for three hours of work. It was insulting, but it was all I would get. People paid less for services from someone like me. Why waste good money on a half-wolf? That was what they called me. Half-wolf. Not good enough to be fully human, not strong enough to be a real wolf. Stuck somewhere in between, belonging nowhere. My father used to tell me stories before he died. Stories about fated mates, about how the Moon Goddess paired souls together, two halves of one whole. He said everyone had someone out there waiting for them, someone who would see them for who they truly were. I stopped believing in those stories a long time ago. The Moon Goddess did not waste fated mates on girls like me. She saved those blessings for wolves who deserved them, who could shift and hunt and fight. Not for the broken girl who could barely afford to eat. I blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the settlement outside my window. Somewhere in the distance, wolves howled, calling to the moon. The sound was beautiful and lonely, a song I would never be able to sing. Tomorrow was the Harvest Moon Gathering. All the packs in the territory would come together to celebrate and renew alliances. I was required to attend as part of the service staff, carrying supplies and staying out of sight. Just another night of being invisible. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, unaware that tomorrow would change everything.