Rise of the Underdogs: Jasper

The Veil-Walker's First Howl

I sat, waiting for him to realize where he was and who he was beneath the wolf. When he looked up, I saw it. The shock of knowing he was a Veil-Walker, just by his eyes, wasn’t nearly as bad as the shock of the symbol on his head.

There, right between his eyes, was a small, barely noticeable mark. Just a little darker than his shimmering, pale fur and dead-center to his forehead was a depiction of the Waxing and Waning Cresent moon. Each phase was touching at the center of the crescent – back-to-back – and completely equal in symmetry.

How did his eyes make him a Veil Walker? Well, he had what most would be considered night sky eyes. Midnight blue with white flecks literally reflected a stary night sky. From his head to his tail, his coat was fully symmetrical in colour with icy streaks running like lightening down his back.

One glance at the horizon told me that we were nearing early morning. I had to get him into the forest, show him to hunt, and let him find his howl.

‘Jasper?’ I heard, and my attention was snapped toward my younger brother. ‘I had another year… why now?’

That’s what the others didn’t realize. The secret I was holding onto until it was safe to state the truth. You see, through the stress of running from death and finding our way to civilization, he’d shifted a year earlier than he was meant to. No, Levi hadn’t noticed it. His mind wasn’t exactly on the arrow path. Hell, the slightest bit of wind had his attention removed from whatever task he was on at the time, so I wasn’t that surprised.

‘Stress. Fear. Pain. Relief. We’ve been through a lot in the last month and a bit, little brother,’ I answered. ‘Anything from the loss of our home to knowing we need to guard our sister could have forced your wolf to surface. It’s the right month, right week, but the wrong year, and that is no fault of yours, River.’

‘What now? Where do I go from here?’ He asked.

Thankfully, he was always the brother who’s thoughts and movements mirrored his namesake. When things got in the way, he created a round-a-bout. Like the way a river slices through a valley, he cut his way through life by shifting his path to avoid what he didn’t want to confront. Not that he couldn’t confront it. He absolutely could, but his patience would run out before the other person was able to deflect his temper.

‘Come,’ I said, my voice firm yet gentle. ‘We’ll go for a run to stretch Auraliq’s legs and let him feel nature in his fur.’

Snow crunched beneath our paws, each step a soft percussion against the frozen earth. It wasn’t just sound—it was memory. The land remembered us, and we remembered it. The cold didn’t bite; it welcomed. It wrapped around our limbs like ancestral breath, crisp and sharp, reminding us that we were alive. That we were here.

I paused. Not because I was tired, but because I needed to feel. The air was still, but not silent. It carried the hush of dawn, the whisper of trees, the distant pulse of something older than language. I tilted my head to the sky, letting the first rays of sunlight kiss my face. It was faint, but warm—like a promise. The scent of winter clung to everything: pine, frost, the faint musk of sleeping earth beneath the snow.

Levi joined us, his arrival as fluid as breath. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His presence was a ripple in the current, a shift in the rhythm. Together, we ran. Not for speed. Not for distance. But for remembrance.

The forest blurred around us, not because we moved too fast, but because we moved with purpose. Trees became streaks of shadow and light. Boulders loomed like ancient sentinels, their surfaces scarred with claw marks—some fresh, some faded, all sacred. We bounced off them like echoes, like we’d done this a thousand times before. Maybe we had. Maybe our wolves remembered what our minds had forgotten.

We leapt over half-buried logs, their bark softened by rot and time. We twisted through narrow gaps, dodged low-hanging branches, and skimmed the edges of stumps that had once been giants. Every movement was instinct brought back from our history. Every breath and huff was communion of human and nature reigniting.

Reaching a cliff overlooking the village, we stopped. Panting with exertion and effort, we were tired and feeling the exuberant release of physical and mental energy. For that brief hour, we were free from all restraints. Free from pain, loss, and duty just long enough to reconnect with our spiritual energy and balance.

Nudging River, I looked up at the still-visible moon coasting toward the western horizon. Understanding my intent, he sat down and started howling.

At first, it was a small, guttural noise that created a rumble on the air. Then, it turned to a softer, more melodic note that rose and fell with each tilt and movement of his head. The song of our people, sung by one adrift in the world, was a call to our ancestors to hold the line for us while we found our way.

Levi joined him, his own tenor matching each ebb and flow. His was deeper, older, stronger. It was like listening to a bear-song, but with softer edges. Not just because of how it sounded, but because of the meaning of his wolf’s name. Anuk, literally translated, meant bear – a force both protective and powerful.

Kavik stepped in then, adding our voice to the haunting cacophony. The cliff beneath us was bathed in the first light of dawn, the sky bleeding from indigo to rose, then to a pale gold that kissed the frost like a whispered vow. The sun didn’t just rise. It unfolded, breaking across the land as it cast long shadows behind us and illuminating the village below in molten amber.

Everything smelled like new beginnings. Like letting out a breath after holding it too long.

Our tone – mine and Kavik’s – was resonating and strong, like the protector we were. The guardian of the lost. Our voice didn’t rise above my brothers, but threaded through theirs to seamlessly blend with every note and intonation. The undertones of my howl held both survival and the fierce dedication of those born in the north—those shaped by silence, by ice, by endurance. It wasn’t just a sound.

It was a vow.

A memory.

It was a promise made in the quiet of a new dawn that we would rise again.

Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, next week, or even next year, but someday. Someday we would find footing with a pack that accepted us. One that acknowledged and celebrated differences as much as they valued the continuing sanctity of the pack as a whole.

When the last echoes of the wolf-song were carried off by the gentle breeze, Levi brushed his head against River’s. ‘My bad, little bro. I forgot you had another year to go. I was so caught up in the reality of our flight from home that it didn’t click with me at first. When I realize only one of us was celestially scheduled to shift, I knew I had to come with you both. I had to make up for it by being with you when you needed unity instead of fracture.’

River returned the gesture, his eyes clear and bright. ‘You’re here now, Brother. That’s what matters.’

‘Our other siblings?’ I asked him, turning to the now visible mountain path that led down to the village below. Slowly, we began picking our way through the underbrush and down the steep, snow-covered path

‘Resting under the watchful eye of the Bear shifter family,’ he answered. ‘If we hurry, we can make it back before breakfast.’

‘Geesh, Levi. Do you ever think with your head instead of your stomach?’ River huffed. That’s when his stomach decided to betray him and growl almost as loud as we could. ‘Um… on second thought, breakfast sounds amazing right now. Jas, you could have told me how much energy it takes to shift.’

I laughed, giving my wolfish head a shake. ‘River, it’s different for everyone. Back home, we were greeted with platters of meat for newly-turned Werewolf pups. Here, we have to make our own way.’

Making our way to the main road, we padded over the snow-packed trail. River let out a deep breath. ‘We don’t have that anymore.’

‘No, and that’s okay,’ I said softly. ‘Some things need to be let go of as we grow. Old traditions, while not always practised, should be protected in our hearts and memories. We have to participate in the local work if we want to last longer than one day with our hosts. Survival isn’t always outlasting. More often than not, it’s about playing the long game. Doing favours for food and shelter. Mother used to call it the Great Spirit’s law of equivalent exchange.’

As we reached the village, several of the humans who lived there were already out doing their daily grind. Several stopped to watch, their eyes tracking our wolves through the streets. No one moved until a child ran across our path, chasing after a Husky puppy. She stumbled and was about to fall face down on the path when River caught her by the back of the jumper she was wearing. Gasps and hushed prayers surrounded us.

Setting her back down on the snowy trail, he nudged her to see if she was alright. the child giggled when he licked her cheek. “Silly wolfie!”

Another person came forward, her father apparently. Kneeling slowly to his child’s level, he asked, “Are you hurt, Gia?”

“No, Papa. The wolfie caught me fore I falled down.” She leaned forward, her hands cupping River’s muzzle as she leaned in and rubbed his nose with her. “Good wolfie. Akulliq!”

It hit harder when he figured out the child just accepted him as a protector.