Pack of One

Wind stroked the fur that encased my body, the scent of it exhilarating and beautiful. It was one of the few things that ever gave me pleasure anymore, that salty, briny, life-and-death scent of the water. I knew that it spilled out from the waves and the ocean depths, filled with the liquid that was so important to live, yet doused with dead things and rotting algae that swirled in the current along with the still-breathing things. I inhaled again, my eyes closed, my nose able to map the area without the help of my sight. I pictured the crash of the tides with a sniff as the wind playfully tangled in my whiskers. My paws, sore from running, were cooled and soothed by the wet sand’s embrace. The ocean was everything. As children, Sky and I would come to this place, White Winterfold, for short vacations to get away from the strict schooling regimes at home. But we would never visit this place together again. The wind whipped suddenly from the east, slightly cooler than the breezes off of the sand, bringing a whole new array of ocean smells from a new direction. In order to keep myself occupied, I picked out each of the scents one by one, building a picture of the area surrounding White Winterfold. Ahh, there, the sweet golden scent of fried foods wafted from the dock where a small fast food place had set up a food truck. Human people hovered around it like a pack at hunt, their bodies tinged with sweat that smelled much like the ocean itself. To the south, a small forest of trees, thick the sticky-sweet smells of evergreens and syrupy trees. And from the west came a small swirl of lavender, tinged in the edges with amber and coconut, with no underlying scent of a human or wolf. It was Aunt Zora, no doubt, coming to call me back inside. I whimpered deep in my throat, the sound tossed aside quickly by the wind. I opened my gilded eyes to the sunset just as it touched the horizon, spilling brilliant lights and sparks in a line across the world. It was all in grays and blues, a kind of monochrome that only my wolf’s eyes knew. Who needed color? The power of scent more than made up for the absence. I glanced over at my aunt. She stood with her arms crossed over herself, the wind strong enough to toss around the heavy, beaded braids that hung from her skull. Her skin was the color of fresh brewed coffee before one added any cream or sugar, her eyes the too-bright color of a husky dog. She wrapped her bangled arms around herself in an attempt to keep the cool breeze from stealing the last of the day’s warmth from her body, but it did little to stop the wind. Nothing stopped the wind. Bells and beads twinkled and twittered from every inch of her, hanging from her braids, her earlobes, neck, around her wrists, ankles, and waist, the sound excited to a clamor in the evening breeze. I huffed at her through my wolf’s nose. “It’s close to supper time,” Aunt Zora said, her eyes narrowing. “Why aren’t you in the kitchens?” I huffed again through my snout. I didn’t want to be in the kitchens. The heat, the oppression, the hard work that hurt my hands. “Don’t talk back to me, young woman. We’re lucky to be alive, much less having a home. You should be more thankful to the Pack Leader for his leniency.” I didn’t say anything; I didn’t have to. Aunt Zora knew my thoughts on the Pack Leader, and she knew that my breast would be filling with the heat of anger. I got up on all fours and transformed in one swift, clean motion, my whole body unfolding like a flower blooming. The scents I had enjoyed just seconds before faded away to almost nothing as my beautiful snout shifted back into a human nose. My eyes sharpened, the color returning instantaneously as my wolf eyes shifted back to a girl’s. Now I was naked, cold, and human. I hated being human shaped. “Now, into the kitchens with you,” Aunt Zora said, firmly but affectionately handing me a sundress to slip on. At least she was somewhat kind to me. Not a single other soul dared to be. Sighing deeply, I walked back to the kitchen, keeping my thoughts to myself. They boiled like a hot kettle in the back of my mind, but outwardly, I gave away nothing. Aunt Zora nodded, her face grave. “Don’t give Marcus any excuses to hit you again; he is already in a foul mood this evening.” Of course he was; Marcus, the second in command of his father’s pack, was always in a bad mood. And that bad mood was so easy to take out on those that labored in the bottom rungs of the pack’s hierarchy. That was me. I was the lowest in the pack.