You wake with a start, the crisp salty air of your waterfront apartment working its way into your nostrils, clearing them. You recline in a full-bodied stretch. Slowly getting to your feet, you cross the room to glance at yourself in the mirror. A human face stares back at you, the full-length crack in the mirror splitting you in two as always. Your hair is greasy and unkempt, but its color shows through in a natural black.
You run your hands through your hair, trying to put its disheveled black mess in order as best you can.
The werewolf forms of many in your pack mimic the physical attributes of their human forms. Of course there is an exception to every rule. You can almost picture your wolf in the other side of the split mirror, its thick coat of fur a striking gray.
After the lucidity of the dream, you almost expected to wake shifted into your lupine form, half the sheets and pillows unconsciously devoured to fuel the ravenous hunger of the change. You tilt your neck to the side, feeling the muscles snap and pop. Your whole body is sore; you haven't had this bad a sleep in months.
The sharp clatter of ceramics being laid out in your kitchen fills your head with a fog of confusion. Did I bring someone home last night? You can't remember.
The adults frown on that sort of thing, but you're in that nebulous middle ground between youth and adulthood, and you've been living on your own for a few years now. The elders couldn't take care of an orphaned pup forever after all, and you haven't minded your newfound privacy all that much.
You shake your head to clear the cobwebs. It must have been a crazy night if I don't even remember what happened. Maybe Lapu brought me some of that moonshine he brewed up last week? Did he manage to convince me to drink it? That would explain the headache. Hangover from hell.
"You're finally awake! I thought you'd never get up after I dragged you back here last night. It took over eight hours for your body to fully heal."
Dena? What is he doing here?
Dena's slight form emerges from the kitchen, holding out a plate of ham and eggs. His long brown hair is unkempt, hanging from his head in matted strands. "I hope you don't mind that I dug into your kitchen. I was starving." He pauses to gulp down a large piece of ham. "The blast nearly severed your leg, and the impact of the water didn't help much either."
Blast? Impact? Oh no no no…
"So it really happened? All of it? The warehouse?" you gasp.
"We don't need to talk about that now. Your food's getting cold," Dena says, his face scrunched up in memory of the previous night's excursion before turning back to the kitchen. "You have a lovely home! Most of the waterfront houses are a wreck, but you've fixed it up beautifully! I'll admit though—I'd hoped that my first time visiting would be under more…pleasant circumstances."
Your breath catches in your throat. Of all the times for him to come out with it… You suppose you can't blame him though. A brush with death is a very forceful reminder that time is fleeting. You clear your throat to speak. "Dena I care for you, too, but this just isn't the time to have that discussion."
Dena closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in and steadying himself. "Of course, of course. It was selfish of me to even think about something like that now of all times. I'm sorry, Jen, I hope you can forgive me. I know the timing could have been better, but after seeing what we saw last night…I just didn't want to wait any longer to ask. Knowing that something like that is waiting for us out there…I want to make everything I can of each day. What was it that Elder Ahote says…'Carpe Diem'?"
He pauses. "I'll admit, I think I'm just saying anything to keep from thinking about it…. I want so badly for it to be a bad dream." He slumps down into a kitchen chair, dropping his half-eaten breakfast onto the table with a clatter.
"Why would they do it, Jen? Why would our mothers and fathers, our elders and packmates let the humans do that to them? I don't…I don't understand."
You try to comfort him, but there's little you can say. You feel lost in a way that you haven't felt since your mother passed away all those years ago, as though your innocence has been torn away for a second time, leaving only burning raw flesh for grim reality to scour.
If this is what it means to become an adult, you want nothing of it. But there's no turning back time, is there? you think. We can only make the best of the time that we have.
Dena breathes deep, composing himself into a mask of serenity, a crack in the facade here and there. Slightly reddened eyes, an uncertain twitch at the edge of his smile. But it should suffice to fool the adults.
"We should get going," he says. "We'll be expected at our lessons soon and we don't want to give Instructor Lonan any reason to think we've been up to anything unusual."
Dena stops for a moment to consider something. "Though we might have just enough time to take a detour and check on that 'observation station' you found out about in the library at Dever Hall. While you slept, I went over the paper you took, and it looks like the site isn't too far from your apartment, just to the west along the coast. If we don't go now, we might not have a chance for a while, but it could make us late for lessons."
Even if it takes longer than you expect, it wouldn't be your first time arriving late for a lesson. It shouldn't spark any undue concern.
"I could use a good distraction right about now, to be honest," you say as you go about making yourself presentable. "Maybe if I drown myself in my lessons, all of these thoughts will go away."
"I don't know if we should forget what we saw, Jen. We shouldn't live in fear of it, but we can't just let it go either. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to let that happen to me…." He shivers.
The walk to your lessons is a mostly silent one. The sky is clouded over and threatening to rain, mirroring your own dreary haze of confusion. You wonder if Lapu and Tiva will show up as well, both acting as though nothing is wrong. Now that you think about it, you actually have no idea if they made it home safely. You ask Dena, and he nods absently.
"Lapu jumped for Tiva right after I went for you. The two of you weren't in any shape to walk home, so we made a litter out of some old sacks and pieces of rebar. It wasn't easy, but we managed. I'd imagine Tiva's healed enough to come in—you actually caught the brunt of the blast."
The idea for daily lessons were a topic of contention when you were younger, with many of the adults believing that their pups should be trained in more practical hands-on disciplines rather than theory such as mathematics, science, and law.
Eventually a compromise was agreed upon: the pups' days would begin with book learning and theory and end with training in more practical disciplines such as manufacturing, mechanics, construction, and engineering. As most of the pups began this practice late compared to their human counterparts, it was decided that these lessons would continue until the age of twenty-one, when the young adults would officially be classified as fully mature by the human military.
You walk into the hall, dismayed to find that the lesson has already begun. Thirteen of your classmates are already seated and scribbling notes on large pieces of scrap paper.
Tiva looks up at you, a frown on her face as Instructor Lonan stops midsentence and makes a show of his disappointed sigh. "Late to class, Jen? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had something better to do with your time."
You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off.
"Honestly, I don't want to hear any excuses. Please just sit down and take notes. We're reviewing our algebra, focusing on the quadratic equation."
It could at least have been something interesting, you think to yourself, wishing desperately for distraction. You often find the topics of discussion interesting, but like most adolescents on the cusp of adulthood, you have frequently chafed at being bound to a desk for several hours a day, looking out the window and daydreaming about what it would be like to roam free through the refuge like you imagine the adults must be doing.
But after the previous day's events you're surprised to find yourself glad for the comfort of the classroom, the familiarity of the lessons, tests, and busywork.
As comforting as the routine is, you soon find yourself drifting, mind preoccupied. A startling jolt rocks you from your miasma of worry and doubt, and your eyes blink back into focus, traveling from the ruler slapped onto your desk, slowly up the arm attached to it, and into the eyes of Instructor Lonan.
"So, what's on your mind, Jen, that requires such depth of thought, such focused introspection that you can sit here for over thirty minutes without taking down a single note?"
Thirty minutes? I feel like I just got here!
Lonan looks down his nose at you, awaiting a response.
You concoct a believable lie. "I had a bad night's sleep, and I'm having trouble focusing."
You keep the story simple, wiping a hand over your bleary eyes and blinking a few more times for added effect. Lonan takes a moment and finally nods, accepting your explanation.
"Honesty is appreciated, but maybe you should try heading to bed at a more decent hour," he says as he walks back to his desk. "I know you and your friends like to push the limits of your curfew, and we don't want to come down too hard on you. You're almost an adult after all."
You can't help but shiver at that seemingly innocuous pronouncement.
Instructor Lonan wipes an old eraser over the blackboard, smearing the dusty chalk of his equations from existence. You idly wonder just how many mysteries and truths have been scraped away from the dull green board as minute particles of dust. Years ago, the lesson room had used dry-erase boards. Now a week didn't go by that one instructor or another didn't opine about the good old days before the markers dried up and they had to resort to a chalkboard pulled from the depths of the library's basement.
"Well, perhaps I should put an end to the mathematics discussions for today and get into a topic that's more near and dear to our hearts. I've spoken with Elder Ahote and gotten his permission to have an in-depth discussion about our pack's history."
A muted murmuring springs up from around the room as many of you express your surprise. Certain parts of the pack's history have been left purposefully vague to those under the age of adulthood. You've heard the basics of course, although it's impossible to know how much truth has been lost amid the whispered retellings between youths. The Purge, the creation of the refuge, your people's origins in a land of yellow stones…
No one has spoken up after several seconds, and Lonan finally takes the initiative, passing out pamphlets to each student titled From Yellowstone to Haven: A Primer.
"These booklets contain several answers regarding our history and that of the Purge. Why don't you open them up and have a read? We'll have a question-and-answer period at the end of class. Pay particular attention to the bits about the Jackson Slaughter. If it hadn't been for those two packs going feral and killing innocent civilians, the Purge might never have happened, and we would still be free."
Lonan sits down at his desk and starts grading a stack of papers as you thumb through your booklet.
Several wolves in the class have questions, which the instructor answers to the best of his ability. You sit back, soaking up what information you can, your more burning questions answered satisfactorily for now.
"Okay," Lonan says, clapping his hands together to wake up some of the bored wolves in the back. "Lessons are done for the day!"
Your classmates slowly filter out of the room, and as you move to join them Lonan calls for you. "Jen, could you come here for a moment?"
You approach the instructor's desk warily, hoping that he's not going to ask you anything about where you were the night before.
"Elder Ahote wants to see you in his office after class. Try to be there by four o'clock, would you?"
Not sure whether to be relieved or concerned, you nod and leave the classroom, just wishing everything could somehow return to normal.
The hall is clear when you leave the lecture room. Most of the youths and young adults are long gone, off to spend the few afternoon hours they have to themselves on something more entertaining before being called home by their parents or, if they're over thirteen, to their evening jobs.
Suddenly an arm shoots out of one of the classroom doors and pulls you into the dim light of an old chemistry lab, another hand clasped over your mouth to stifle your yip of surprise. You struggle, and the grasping hands relent, freeing you as someone closes the door and flips on the light switch.
A tall young woman stands between you and the door. Her short-cropped, jet-black hair is shaved along the sides, leaving the long ridge of a brushed back mohawk. Her face is fixed in a frown as she looks you over, and you get the distinct impression of being sized up, your worth weighed.
Once the shock of the unexpected assault wears off, you bolt for the door. "Let me out, Bly," you growl, your voice tinged with anger at being treated this way by a known delinquent.
Bly presses a well-muscled arm against the door, raising an eyebrow as you try in vain to push her aside. "You're not going anywhere until you hear what I have to say, Jen. I know where you were yesterday evening."
You put a good fear of retribution into her. 'She may have me now, but I have the whole pack on my side. She'd better leave me alone or else!' you think to yourself.
Bly's face cracks a smile as you bluster on about how retribution will strike her down the moment you get out of this room. "You need to work on your technique if you ever hope to threaten someone successfully, Jen. Don't worry though. We just needed to get you alone where we wouldn't be noticed. As soon as you left the building, we might have been seen approaching you. Once we've said our piece, you're free to go if you want to."
"We?" you say, looking around the room.
"You can come out now," Bly calls, seemingly to no one in particular.
A shadow extends from the far wall, manifesting itself into the form that can only be Huntmaster Jolon. You've heard stories of the youth's uncanny ability to blend in with his environment, but being fooled by it yourself for the first time is nothing short of stunning.
Jolon seems genuinely pleased at your shock, his curly brown hair bobbing as he pulls himself into a mock bow. His clothing is dark—simple and formfitting—and he carries himself with a deadly grace, his lithe body held in a state of perpetual readiness. "I think you'd better listen to Bly, Jen. We know that you've found out the truth."
"How do you even know what I saw or where I was last night?" you ask, still trying to remain evasive just in case they're bluffing in order to get you to confess.
Jolon looks at Bly, and she shrugs. "I suppose there's no reason to hide it," she says. "Tiva told us everything. That you infiltrated the humans' stronghold and saw what happens to the adults when they go there."
You stare in slack-jawed shock at the news of Tiva's betrayal.
"Don't worry!" Bly says, holding up a hand to keep you from springing up and out of the room. "We won't tell anyone what you did. In fact, we're here to help you through it."
You're not quite sure how to respond. Most of your friends treat Bly as an outcast, and there have been strange rumors surrounding her ever since she quit her lessons and refused to attend her evening job. She sits right on the very cusp of adulthood, and yet few in the pack expect her to fulfill her role in the pack's affairs. "Why should I trust you?" you ask, genuinely curious.
"I don't expect you to," Bly says. "I imagine trust is in short supply where you're at right now, and I can't blame you if you're wary of what anyone tells you."
Jolon walks over to the door and puts his ear up against it, making sure no one is listening in. He nods to Bly, and she continues.
"Let me ask you a question. Didn't you ever wonder why I abandoned all the duties our system expected of me? Why I don't just blindly go along with what the adults tell me to do?"
You have to admit, you haven't thought about it. Like most of your friends, you always just assumed Bly was crazy.
"I saw what you saw three years ago. Unlike you, I had no one to share the burden with. No one to talk to. I kept it inside until I felt like I was going to burst. The way everything around me just continued going on as if nothing had changed—it was crazy! Everything had changed to me! I stopped going to classes. I stopped going to work. I used my time to train my body and my mind, to work out my anger on practice dummies and anyone stupid enough to get in my way."
"How does it help to just drop out of the pack like that? We need to organize to fight this!" you said.
"That's right, we can't deal with it on our own," Bly agrees. "That's why I eventually took Jolon out to see what I saw. I opened his eyes."
Jolon nods solemnly.
"And from then on I had someone to talk to," she went on. "I leveled out and felt sane again for the first time because I knew that what I'd seen wasn't just some horrible fever dream. It was real. And unlike nightmares, foes in the real world can be fought. Even killed."
Bly drums her fingers in a steady beat over the top of the chemistry table. "The elders considered banishing me to the Snarl, but Ahote stepped in and recommended I be used to train the adults since I'd physically surpassed most of them in the Way of the Claw. I even have a small dojo to the north. The old fools actually gave me the means to recruit and train my own soldiers to fight back against the humans! We have a few regulars for training already, mostly adults, but we're looking to expand. When they officially recognized Jolon as the pack's huntmaster, I asked him to join me."
"It's a ceremonial title these days," Jolon says, looking almost self-conscious. "There's not much game to stalk in Haven. But the elders think highly of my skills."
"But why did Tiva come to you with this?" you ask. "How did she know you were safe?"
"Tiva and I used to be friends, but she thought I'd lost it when I started ranting to her about needing to fight back against the humans. I…" Bly pauses. "I didn't have all that much tact in the days after my discovery. I suppose when she found out the truth, I was the first person that came to mind for her to talk to. She came to my place in the middle of the night, said she couldn't sleep. Scared me half to death creeping around in the shadows like she was. That girl should know better than to sneak up on me like that."
Jolon clears his throat, and Bly curses.
"Shit. We should get going." She gives you a pointed look. "We'd like you to join us, Jen. We could use a good mind like yours to balance us out. Hell, we might even be able to make a warrior out of you yet!"
Jolon gives a stiff nod. "It's up to you. Come with us before the night's work begins. We'll take the back exit so nobody sees us heading to the dojo. I don't want to give away our plans to the elders just yet."
You check the clock on the classroom wall and groan. 3:45 p.m. You have just enough time to get to Elder Ahote's office without being late.
"What's the matter?" Bly asks.
"Instructor Lonan told me that Ahote wants to see me in his office at four."
CHAPTER 2 — CONTINUATION
"Ignore the old wolf. You have better things to do with your time."
You turn away from the clock and raise an eyebrow coyly. "I guess in all the excitement after discussing the Purge in class, I simply forgot about visiting Ahote's office. An honest mistake."
"Certainly quite plausible," Jolon says, the ghost of a grin on his face. "Half of the Way of the Shadow is convincing people to see what they want to see. Instead of seeing a delinquent skipping a meeting, Ahote may see an intellectual caught up in processing new information. That is, if you're convincing enough in your delivery of the lie."
"Wait," Bly interjects. "Did you say they had an open discussion about the Purge? In class?"
You nod, and she blinks in disbelief.
"Maybe there's hope to get the elders on our side yet. A few years ago, they were only interested in sheltering us."
Bly's dojo proves to be considerably farther away from the main living area than you expected. By the time you arrive, you're already out of breath. You pant heavily as you open the door leading into what looks like an old school that remains largely in good repair.
Bly waves you into a huge rectangular gym, a wry grin on her face as you stare about, astonished at what she's done with the place. Far from the dingy dungeon you expected the elders to have granted an outcast like Bly, the gymnasium is brightly lit, its walls covered with new foam padding in a startling bright blue while the hardwood floor shines with polish.
"Not quite what you expected, eh?" Bly asks with a wink. "We found the padding boards down in the cellar, and Jolon's got his students keeping the place clean and polished. Says it keeps them focused and on task. I say he's just looking to get someone else to clean the floors, but what do I know? I'm not a 'Master of Shadows.'" She says this with an over-the-top flair, telling you all you need to know about how she truly regards the art of stealth.
"So," she says, hands on her hips. "You've had plenty of time to think on the way over here. Any preference for your training?"
"Why limit myself? Divide my time between both instructors. I may never achieve full mastery without commitment, but I'll certainly be more versatile." you said.
The next hour and a half are a whirlwind of sparring, instruction, and pain. Bly seems to have a knack for teasing out your every weakness, showcasing them repeatedly and painfully before correcting you and beginning the lesson again. She's never smug about it, always serious and in control. When she's sparring, she's almost like a different person: cool and calm, a true master of the art of combat.
Once you stop actively thinking about where your next blow will land, everything seems to fall into place. Jab, counter, dodge, feint, haymaker. Minutes stretch like hours as the two of you perform a deadly dance across the mats of the dojo.
Impressed with your skill, Bly takes on a look of concentration, and she pushes you back, forcing you onto the defensive, breaking up the fluidity of your combat with counter after counter. You move to throw a heavy punch, and suddenly Bly has disappeared, and you're falling, legs swept out from under you by a perfectly timed sweep kick.
Finally, when you can't imagine you can take any more, Bly lets her guard drop and motions for you to sit beside her. "I must admit," she says, winded, "I wasn't expecting you to pick up the art quite so quickly! I think I'll be able to work with you just fine from here on out."
You'd never admit it to her, but today's training has left you more sore and drained than you've ever felt in your life. But Bly's praise makes you feel good about yourself, and for the first time today you manage to banish the images of last night's discovery and the unfortunate battles that accompanied it.
"I won't ask you to commit just yet," Bly says, eyeing you as you wheeze for breath, "but we like our students to have a determined path in mind while they train here. I think I might just be able to take you all the way—you may even surpass me with enough hard work and training."
She stands up and offers you a hand. "Let's make a habit of this. Come back on a regular basis, and I might even be able to teach you a special technique. Your enemies will never see it coming."
Jolon guides you in the arts of stealth and quick reflexes with the steady hand of a master, moving with exaggerated slowness so you can copy his moves exactly. Most of the training takes place between the interconnected walls of an obstacle course he had his students erect in the far corner of the dojo.
Halfway through the lesson, he hands you a small wooden knife. "You can use this for now in lieu of your claws. Hide inside the obstacle course, and I'll take a stroll through it as your mark. Stalk and assassinate me, bringing the knife to a vital area before I can react." He points to his throat and heart. "Get moving—you'll only have a minute to prepare before I come in behind you."
When Jolon enters the maze, you're ready for him. You've steadied your breathing and heartbeat through a focused calm, the makeshift training corridors ripe with opportunity for attack. Jolon passes directly by your hiding spot, and you uncoil silently from the shallow alcove and stalk the huntmaster, always keeping to the shadows. You almost launch an attack as Jolon sneezes, holding yourself back at the last minute, which turns out to be fortuitous.
Jolon whirls in place, scanning the halls behind him for signs of an amateur falling for his ruse. When he turns back and takes a step forward, you strike, sweeping the wooden knife up, tracing along Jolon's vitals as he spins and knocks you to the ground.
Jolon grunts and steps back, obviously impressed as he takes the weapon from you and leads you back out of the maze. "You got me good! That's the first time a recruit has gotten the drop on me like that. I was sure the sneeze would draw you out. Good work, Jen."
Your training continues for another half hour, this time focusing on dexterity and balancing tests designed to help you creep and crawl where no one would normally think to look for a werewolf.
Eventually Jolon throws you a towel, and you wipe down your sweat-streaked face as the huntmaster tends to some of his other students. You recognize many of them as workers from the forge, their well-muscled bodies the perfect clay for Jolon and Bly to mould.
When he returns, Jolon looks at you with a sense of admiration. "You did much better than I expected for a wolf's first day of training. I hope you feel that you've found your calling and I'll see you back here to build up your skills. Bly would ask you for commitment, but I'm just happy to be able to impart some of my knowledge. We all have to do our part for the pack."
The idea of attending your monotonous evening job at the laundry after the extraordinary events of the past twenty-four hours seems almost laughably absurd, but at this point you'd still rather not draw too much attention.
Gotta keep up the charade that everything's normal, you think to yourself. At least there's some entertainment tonight to keep my mind off of things.
You almost forgot about tonight's play, an event that you've been excited about for weeks!
Your evening shift at the laundry is only three hours long, but it seems to stretch out for an eternity. The predictable nature of the work leaves your mind free to wander, and you flash back to the scene at the warehouse.
Your supervisor, Tuari, was one of the wolves strapped to a gurney nearest the window. You watched while the humans drained the blood from his veins as he lay there, helpless to defend himself but apparently there of his own free will nonetheless. You're not sure if you'll ever understand it.
You're startled from your reverie by a deep male voice, and you quickly start folding shirts again, unsure how long you've been out of it.
Tuari himself rounds the corner of your workstation, and you give an involuntary wince as you picture his blunt-nosed face nearly comatose and drooling. "Look," he says, folding his arms. "I can tell that you're beat. What's wrong, not sleeping well?"
"Something like that," you mumble, wishing that he'd just go away and stop looking at you with such concern in his eyes.
"Well, if you're that tired, I suppose I might be able to let you take off. We're nearly finished here anyway, and the play will be starting not long after we close. I'm sure you won't want to miss it!"
Suddenly wary, you shake your head, increasing the speed of your work. "Thank you, Tuari, but I don't need special treatment. I want to do my part like always. Sorry for daydreaming. It happens to us all sometimes, right?"
Tuari nods and seems to relax. "That it does, Jen, that it does. It's normal to wish for something better and dreaming's never hurt anybody. But be careful that you remember the differences between dreams and reality. You don't want to set yourself up for disappointment."
The final hour of your work night drags on, and by the time you're packing away the last of the sheets and shirts, you're wishing you had taken Tuari up on his offer. Well, at least it's over now, you think to yourself.
Emotionally and physically exhausted, a part of you wants to simply slink back home and pass out on your bed. But you've never missed a play before and even now you simply can't shake the temptation to engage in genuine entertainment.
Throughout your life you've seen the broken, scattered remains of human technology: televisions, video games, and computers. But precious little was left in working order after the Purge, and while some of the remaining devices continue to function, the human government has long since cut off all television and internet signals to the refuge.
Absent the entertainment that humans take for granted, the Haven pack continues a tradition of performing arts at Haven's single remaining theater near the docks of Long Wharf. Tonight's show has been teased with the tantalizing title The Sheep Eaters, and you've been looking forward to it for weeks.
By the time you arrive, the auditorium is already crowded with elders, adults, and pups alike, all clustered and vying for good seats close to the action.
Dena is seated in the back row, smiling as he watches normally good-tempered adults compete to sit in the front. You're surprised to see Bly here as well, sitting on the edge of her seat, neck craned forward as she watches the chaos, and there's Jolon, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and half-hidden in shadow.
The house lights go dim, and the pack's clamor quiets to a dull roar. There's still plenty of places to sit, provided you weren't hoping for a front-row view.
'Jolon's practiced indifference to the play doesn't fool me, and I'm curious what he'll think of the performance.' you pick a seat near where he's standing along the wall.
Jolon gives you a curious glance before his eyes flick back to the stage, darting back and forth, alertness belying his relaxed appearance. "Did you know," he says, never taking his eyes off the front of the theater, "that there are at least two human government soldiers in this building right now?"
You flinch reflexively, shifting about, trying to locate the intruders.
Jolon's gaze flickers back to you, almost overly calm, somehow making it clear he needs you to relax and act normal. "You won't see them unless they want to be seen. To their credit, they're actually very good. For humans, of course." He's quiet for a moment as the play begins. "I don't think we need to worry," he whispers to you over the actors' performance. "They're here to observe something, not shut us down."
You're unsure how to respond at first, but eventually you get your wits about you and reply. "I'm genuinely impressed." you compliment Jolon's abilities.
"Thanks," Jolon responds, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I always love having my skills appreciated. I'll say this though—you shouldn't rely too heavily on the word and abilities of others moving forward. Never take anything for granted and trust your own eyes. These humans can be trickier than they look."
He pauses, eyes darting to and fro. "You should enjoy the play. Keep your eyes open though. Something strange is going on tonight, and I haven't figured out what it is yet."
As you settle in to watch the performance, you're soon riveted by the way in which the Sheep Eaters' story mirrors your pack's history and your people as a whole.
The native humans were a subset of the Shoshone tribe, named for their practice of migrating along with their primary food source, the bighorn sheep. The Sheep Eaters had been mocked by the men who displaced them from their home, and fantastical tales were spun about them, even by Yellowstone's own rangers. They'd been called pygmies and renegades, and when that wasn't enough to dehumanize them, they'd been labeled feeble-minded as well.
It's no secret that this is what many of the humans think of werewolves, at least in a post-Purge world. The few pieces of media allowed into Haven through the military censors have portrayed werewolves as mindless savages, best locked away or disposed of. The elders assure you that not all humans think this way about your people, but it's a hard thing to let go of sometimes.
When the curtain closes and an intermission is announced, most of the wolves get up from their chairs and wander outside to stretch their legs. You stand up from your chair, massaging a kink in your back, waiting for the show to resume.
Within a few minutes the doors reopen, and new seats are chosen and slightly rearranged.
'Bly hasn't attended a pack function for months. Curious to know why she's chosen to come,' you sit next to her.
Bly gives you an almost too-casual glance as you settle in next to her. "Go ahead and ask," she says.
"Ask? Ask what?"
"Ask me why I'm here. You won't be the first one to do it. I mean, I realize that I'm a pariah, but I'm not banished or anything. You'd think I was one of those lone wolves out in the Snarl the way some of the pack looks at me. I just wanted to come here and let myself relax, maybe get into the story, but now all I can think about is how much some of them dislike me. Maybe one day they'll change their tune. When we free them from the yoke of those humans they're all so keen to submit to."
You think for a moment before responding. The curtain is about to go up.
"I think you're right. One day they'll see you for who you are—loyal and true to werewolf-kind."
Bly sits for a while, saying nothing. "I wish it weren't so hard to tell if you meant that sincerely, but thank you. For all the whining the elders do about missing their ancestral homes, they do precious little work to regain them. You'd almost think they enjoy sitting here, wallowing in their own misery. I won't let them drag us down with them. Not while I have a breath left in my body. For now though, I just want to forget, even if it's just for an hour. Let's watch the play."
The play tries to end on a hopeful note, stressing the tribe's uniqueness and the importance of preserving culture, but the reality of the Sheep Eaters' eventual displacement is hard to ignore. You're certain that the author of the piece intended it as an allegory of your own pack's journey, and that the message of hope that closed the production was meant to lift spirits and elevate the audience.
Strangely, despite everything, you do feel a little better. Most of the others depart while you sit thinking about the play, leaving only a handful of stragglers and you sitting by yourself.
You're about to get up and exit the theater when an older wolf you don't recognize sits down near you, eyes on the empty stage. He's wearing a thick scarf around his neck and several layers of ratty coats thick with grime. A ball cap several sizes too big for him swings around on his head when he moves. Two of the older adults to your left stare at the newcomer without recognition before shaking their heads and walking away, muttering something about how he must be a "stray."
"Do you ever get the feeling that your life is out of control? That no matter what you do, there are some things you just can't change? It's true of course. There's only so much any one person can do to change the world." He turns to look at you with fierce green eyes. "But if we work hard enough, dare to make the impossible choices, we can leave our mark."
You think you recognize him now. Elan, one of the lone wolves who lives out in the Snarl. You can count the number of times you've seen him in the pack's territory on one hand. What is he doing here, and why is he talking in riddles to you?
"Your studies, they go well?"
You nod, incredulous at such an odd question.
"And your health? The elders are treating you fairly?"
Again you nod.
"Good, good," the odd wolf mutters to himself. He stands up, pulling his scarf back up over his mouth. "Change is coming," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric. "You'd best be prepared."
You sit in stunned silence as Elan leaves the theater. What does he mean by "change is coming"? And why tell you of all people?
Too tired to make much more than a cursory effort to puzzle out the hidden meanings of a madman, you trudge back to your home and collapse from exhaustion. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.