Chapter 3. Survival
1381 Words
*****
It’s been days I’ve been running.
The wind has torn at my skin; the rain soaked through every thread of warmth I had left.
My soles are raw, cracked, caked with blood. My shift falters now, flesh and fur slipping out of sync, as if even my wolf is too tired to carry me forward.
I don’t know how far I’ve come. Only that I didn’t stop.
Not when the rejection shattered the bond I thought would save me.
Not when the rogues caught my scent.
Not even when I collapsed by a stream and woke to find my wound festering with dirt and rot.
Pain has become a rhythm.
Hunger, a dull ache behind my ribs.
But something else moves beneath it now.
Something older than my suffering.
Something that hums with every step I take north.
The forests have changed.
The trees here are taller. Thicker. Their roots twist like veins of something ancient and listening.
Fog clings to the earth in coils. The air smells of magic, and warning.
Duskwrath Territory.
Every step closer makes my skin prickle.
Not just from fear.
From knowing.
They say the Duskwrath Pack doesn’t suffer outsiders.
That they’re ruled by a cold, ruthless Alpha whose bloodline is older than the Moon’s first howl.
That their warriors don’t ask questions before they tear you apart.
But I didn’t come for mercy.
I came because I had nowhere else to go.
I stumble against a tree, dragging in a shaky breath. My arms are scraped raw, a deep claw mark slices across my ribs, barely scabbed over.
Flies buzz around my shoulder where a bite festers. Still, I keep moving. One foot. Then the next.
My wolf whines inside me.
Not out of fear.
Not out of pain.
Out of purpose.
I clutch my side and look up. Between the trees, the sky splits just enough to show the moon, half-full and watching. My breath catches.
Because despite everything, despite the blood and the dirt and the way my body screams for rest, I feel it.
A hum under my skin.
A pull in my bones.
A knowing that I’m walking into something that has been waiting for me.
The pain of the rejection is still there, yes.
But beneath it, something else pulses.
And I know, in that moment, I haven’t lost everything.
I don’t know when the trees became so still.
The wind, once biting and wild, now curls low to the earth, silent and watching.
The border isn’t marked on any map. But I feel it.
Like crossing into another heartbeat. One not my own.
The air is colder here, sharp, as if it's tasting me.
I crouch low, pressing a trembling hand to the moss-laced ground.
Every part of me screams for rest, but rest is death out here.
Not in Duskwrath lands.
Not where even the trees have teeth.
They say their scouts don’t wear armor.
They don’t need to.
They smell your fear, your lies, the wounds beneath your skin.
I stay low, slipping between shadow and root, teeth clenched against the scream in my ribs.
Blood drips slow now. Too slow. My body’s going cold, but I can’t stop.
Not here. Not yet.
I hear movement.
The low snap of a branch not far to my left.
Too quiet to be a deer.
Too steady to be a rogue.
Wolves. Patrolling.
I press myself flat to the ground, hidden in the curve of a tree's roots. My heart thunders against the dirt. I don’t breathe.
Voices.
Not loud enough to catch words, but enough to know they’re speaking. Two. Maybe three. Moving toward me. Close.
I close my eyes.
Please. Just pass.
They do.
Their steps fade, padded and soft. A silence settles again, but it’s heavier now. As if the very forest is testing me. Watching if I’ll run… or crawl.
I move.
Slow. Steady. Dragging one foot behind the other.
I’m leaving a trail, I know I am. Blood and broken leaves. But I don’t have time to cover it. I just need to get in.
Past the tree line. Past their scent wards. Past whatever monsters they keep on the inside.
A root catches my ankle.
I go down hard. A cry tears from my throat before I can stop it, sharp and raw and alive.
No!
Too loud.
I scramble forward, nails clawing into the dirt, every limb shaking.
Another sound.
Closer this time. Running.
They're coming back.
I push harder, forcing myself to shift, bones snapping as my wolf, weak, sick, trembling.takes over.
The world shifts into blurred color and scent. My paw lands wrong, I stumble but I don’t stop.
I break past a ridge of stone where the trees thin for just a heartbeat.
And then...
A howl.
Cutting. Commanding. Not rogue.
Duskwrath.
I’ve been seen
The howl split the night like a blade.
I tried to run faster, tried to shift fully but my wolf faltered beneath me, paws dragging in the dirt. My vision blurred, the world tilting sideways. My legs buckled once, then again, until the last ounce of strength left me.
I collapsed.
The earth rushed up to meet me, rough and cold. My body hit the ground with a thud. My breath wheezed out one last, broken sound. Blood dripped from my jaw, from my side, from everywhere. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift back.
Couldn’t even speak.
But I heard them.
Boots pounding. Voices sharp and quick.
A snarl. A growl. A command barked in a voice I didn’t recognize.
“She crossed the western ridge, bring the others.”
Then, softer, closer, “She’s still breathing.”
Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision, but I fought it, just for a moment. Long enough to catch the scent of pine and smoke. Long enough to feel the weight of footsteps stop beside me.
“Alert the Beta.”
That voice was firm. Low. Carried the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
“Zerg needs to see this for himself.”
Zerg.
Even half-conscious, the name sliced through the fog like lightning. I didn’t know him. But the way they said it made something in me listen. Made the last fraying piece of instinct whisper: You made it. Barely. But you made it.
The cold began to slip away.
I let the dark take me then.
Not out of fear.
But because, for the first time in days, I wasn't running anymore.
The wind shifted. Faint, but wrong.
I turned before the scout finished his sentence, already moving toward the ridge.
“She crossed alone,” he panted behind me. “Collapsed near the shadowline. Her scent-”
“I know.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t slow.
I could smell it now.
Blood. Burnt silver. And something else.
Something old.
The Duskwrath borders were lined with the stench of rogues, strays, and lost things.
But this scent… it crawled under my skin.
Faint, feminine, laced with agony and wildness. Like moon fire trapped in ash.
I found her near the edge of a boulder hollow, half-wolf, half-girl, nothing but bruises and blood and bones.
Torn clothes. A festering wound. Her skin mottled with dirt and fever. One eye barely open, flickering with stubborn light even as her body gave in.
And gods, the way she reeked of pain.
But she was alive.
Barely.
I knelt beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. Her lip was split. Her pulse thready. She looked like she’d fought half the damn forest and lost.
“Who the hell are you?” I muttered, more to myself than her.
Her hand twitched at the sound of my voice, as if some part of her recognized it.
I stiffened.
Not many things unsettled me. I’ve faced traitors, stalked monsters through snow and shadow, watched wolves I trusted turn feral.
But this girl, this broken creature on the edge of our land made something ancient in me go still.
She shouldn't have survived.
And yet, here she was. At our doorstep. Bleeding. Breathing. Still burning.
I rose and snapped my fingers at the nearest guard. “Get Veyra. Quietly. No alarms. And don’t tell the Alpha.”
Not yet.
- Writer
