Rogue Circus

    I sat on my favorite cliff on our territory that overlooked the valley below us. It was close to midnight the night before The Sorting, the night before I turned 18, the night before my first shift and I could not for the life of me get my wolf to relax. I could not quite put my finger on what it was that was making her pace, I swear she was going to wear a hole into my head and fall right out. I had always been average in school, since the war we no longer had regular schooling, just training. Survival, fighting, hierarchy things that good little pack members needed to know.         The night before this life altering day I was lost in thought, looking over the valley I could see two different pack territories, one human and one vampire. My pack is 1 of 10 remaining werewolf packs left in North America, country borders no longer mattered, we were divided by continents. One council per continent to regulate it all. I sat on my cliff creating stories for the packs I would admire from afar. I didn't know their names, that was not information a non ranking pack member needed, but I would dream of what would go on in their daily lives. Just aching to go explore and see what others had to offer. I kept these thoughts to myself, talking like this would lead to “punishment” and I REALLY wanted to know what my wolf looked like.     Feeling eyes on me like I so often did when I would sit here dreaming to myself, I pushed those thoughts from my mind fearing my on looker could hear my thoughts. I was always sure it was just my brother Marcel, since we didn't have our parents and I seemed to be one of the less remarkable of the wolves in our pack. He was very protective. I would question him and always denied it, but he was stubborn so I was sure it was him. I thought of instead The Sorting tomorrow, what job would be deemed worthy of tomorrow. Every member a job, every member a place.