It's for the Moon Godnes to know

Angels POV One of the first thing I remember was lying scared and hungry in my bed in the freezing dark. The shed, which was our home, was a leaky wooden box. My bed an old cargo box with some straw and a few worn blankets. A little light came into the room from the fireplace in the middle of the shed, it crept in under the door, but it was no consolation, for with the light came the shadows. The shadows of my parents moving around in the great room. The shadows, however, told nothing of what they were doing, but so did the sounds and voices. I could hear my father's deep sloppy voice hurling the worst insults at my mother, I could hear her voice cracking over in tears as she begged him to stop. I could hear the sound of him hitting her, her falling to the ground and moaning. Sometimes it stopped when he had beaten my mother to the ground, other times the nightmare continued. Often he left when he finished beating her and scolding her, other times he went in and threw himself on the bed, where he quickly fell asleep. Common for every time, was that when I was sure the coast was clear, I crawled out of my box and sneaked in to my mother. I mostly found her on the floor, edging up on a wall. I took a clean cloth, wet it in the bucket of water by the fireplace, and sat down on her lap. Then I washed her bruised face, removed the blood and kissed her nose. She hugged me and hummed a quiet lullaby while I secured myself against her chest and felt her heartbeat as well as the vibrations in her body from the melody she was humming. This felling always made me fell safe, well not totaly, the thout of my father returning was always there, but safe enough to sleep. When I was six years old, was the first time I got out of bed, when my father came home drunk. I stood by my door, a littel ajar and looked out into the room. I saw my mother get up from her chair by the fireplace and greet him, she took his winter hat and his heavy coat. She had barely put it away before he grabbed her by her long golden hair and pulled her in to him, giving her a demanding kiss on the mouth. My mother did not resist, but I could see that she was not happy. My dad discovered it too, he released her and pushed her a little out from his body. "Why do you always have to look like you think I'm unworthy of you?" I could see that he was holding her tight so she could not pull away, but she did not make an attempt at that either. She raised her head, though without looking him in the eye. "I do not mean you are unworthy of me! I am just uncomfortable being so close to you when you have been drinking so much!" My father laughed hard and scornfully, pushed my mother away, hard. "And how much have I been drinking then?" My mother took a deep breath but did not manage to answer him. "I have you know little mate! Too little! I'm not drunk enough!" My mother snorted angrily. "Oh so you are of a different opinion?" My father circled around her. "I can then tell you that if I had enough to drink, I would not have cared about your miserable behavior!" But mother lowered her head, stood with her hands folded in front of her and remained silent. "Do not you yourself think you are a little too high and mighty? You judge me for drinking, reject my approaches? Is that a way for a marked mate to behave?" My mother was still silent. My father was behind her when he grabbed her hair again and pulled hard on her so she fell backwards. I have no idea what was going on with me, but before he could let his blow hit her face, I threw myself between them and tried to shield my mother. His blow hit me on my upperback and I remember the air being pushed out of my lungs so fast that I did not even manage to scream at the pain. My father stopped, I looked up at him and I could see the shock on his face, he had turned completely pale and his eyes were almost like those of a dead deer, completely expressionless but still completely wide open! He recovered quickly and soon his face turned completely red with anger. With the hand he had just struck me with, he grabbed one of my arms and pulled me violently away from my mother. He threw me off and I fell into the chair and almost landed in the fireplace. But he did not see it, he pulled my mother all the way up to him by the hair. "Now look what you made me do b***h!" He swung his hand and let blow after blow rain down over her face and body. "You made me beat your pup, you Filthy b***h! It's all your fault you know! Next time you might be able to get down on all fours and do your duty!" He threw her over next to me, she also hit the chair on the way down. Immediately I threw myself at her neck and she hugged me tenderly and firmly, I sobbed against her neck while my father cursed, took his outerwear and stormed out the door without closing it behind him. When my crying had subsided, I got up and went to close the door, then as always, went for a clean cloth to wash the blood of my mother. She hummed and braided my hair. That night we slept together in my box, it was far from big enough, but we found space. And I almost felt safe! Not everything in my childhood was spanking or taking care of my battered mother. From the time I was a very small pup, I played with the other pupps in the settlement, it was not even big enough to be called a village. Our pack rarely counted more than fifty wolves. Most lived in sheds like ours, some more privileged lived in small cabins and the ranked lived in the pack house. This was actually a real house, of large beautiful wooden logs and clear windows. It had three floors and more rooms than I could count! It must be said that I did not go to school as a pup, none of us did, we learned what we had to learn from our parents, we had to follow in their footsteps after all. Us pup’s rarely came in the large wooden house as we called it. Only once a year when we celebrated the first full moon after the winter solstice. This day it was celebrated that we were now heading towards brighter times and many male wolves took their mate this day and marked them. Well, when I was not playing, I helped my mother with the housework. We had a small vegetable garden that I had the task of crawling around in and removing weeds. I did not like the task and I cared even less about the vegetables. But my mother just said they were good to save through the winter and kept me healthy. Shortly after my tenth birthday, my father forced me to go hunting whit him.