*Evar's POV*
The day was winding down, but for me, it was just shifting into a different gear. Inspired by the lighter mood of the camp and the change in my own appearance, I decided to try something entirely out of my comfort zone—cooking.
"This bad idea" Ragnar was playing prophet of course.
"Shush you big baby" I smiled.
I made my way to the bustling camp kitchen, a tent filled with the delicious aromas of dinner preparations and the chaotic symphony of pots and pans. The head cook, a burly man named Thorne, eyed me with a mix of surprise and amusement as I approached.
"Here to add kitchen warrior to your list of titles, Evar?" Thorne joked, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Something like that. Thought I might learn a thing or two about cooking. Might help me impress... well, just thought it might come in handy," I said, feeling a slight heat rise to my cheeks, not from the fire but the thought of making something special, perhaps for Nemesia.
"You sure we cook for Nemesia! I hunt good and you cook! We feed Nemesia. She happy and give kis..." Ragnar didn't finish as I pushed him to the back of my mind embarrassed.
Thorne chuckled, clapping me on the back with a force that nearly sent me stumbling.
"Well, grab an apron. Let's start with something simple. Ever skinned a potato?"
"Can't say that I have, but I'm a quick learner," I replied, taking the offered apron and tying it around my waist. Thorne handed me a knife and a hefty bag of potatoes.
How difficult could it be? I didn't normally eat potatoes but when I did I didn't play around skinning them of course.
"Good, because we've got plenty for you to practice on," he said, gesturing to a large wooden crate filled to the brim.
As I settled into the rhythm of peeling potatoes, the initial awkwardness gave way to meditative tranquillity. The repetitive motion, the focus on something as mundane as a potato, allowed my mind to wander yet stay anchored in the moment. Around me, the kitchen staff moved efficiently, and I found myself admiring their skill and coordination, a different kind of teamwork from what I was used to seeing here lately and which was still so alien to me - someone who used to be solo all the time.
After what felt like my hundredth potato, Thorne came over to check on my progress.
"Not bad for a first-timer. You might make a decent sous chef yet," he teased, inspecting the neatly piled skins.
"Give me a few days, and I'll be taking over your kitchen," I joked back, grateful for the light-hearted banter.
As the dinner hour approached, I washed up and thanked Thorne for the lesson, feeling a sense of accomplishment in the simple act of preparing food. It was a small task, but it felt grounding, connecting me to the everyday lives of the rebels in a way that patrols and strategy meetings never could.
"So this is how it feels to be a part of... well... a pack... Right, Ragnar?" I hummed checking out on my wolf who was wagging his tail. I felt bad for this big baby, he really missed being part of something bigger. He wasn't made for solitude.
With my spirits lifted and a newfound respect for the culinary arts, I left the kitchen to join the rest of the camp at the communal fire, ready to dive into the evening's lighter activities.
*Random Rebel's POV*
In the clearing near the edge of the camp, under the silver light of the moon, a small group of rebels gathered, their faces alight with excitement. It was time for the nightly run—an event much anticipated by the more feral-hearted among us. As a seasoned member of the rebel ranks, I had been tasked with leading tonight's run, a duty that I approached with a mixture of enthusiasm and trepidation.
"All right, everyone, shift into your forms and remember, stay within the boundaries I've marked on the map, nor running next to the borders... And leave your clothes in designated spots, no throwing it around, females go left, males go right," I instructed, showing of a crudely drawn map to the eager wolves.
With a series of swift movements and low growls, the area was soon filled with a mix of large and small wolves, each more energetic than the last. Their tails wagged vigorously, and playful nips were exchanged as they prepared to release their pent-up energy.
"Let's keep it orderly! Follow me, and no chasing the forest critters!" I called out, shifting into my own wolf form—a large, grey wolf with streaks of black across my back.
The run started well, with the pack following closely behind me as we darted through the trees, leaping over logs and splashing through small streams. The forest around us was alive with the sounds of night creatures, but above it, all was the thudding of paws against the soft earth and the occasional joyful yip from one of the younger wolves.
However, as is often the case with young wolves, discipline was soon forgotten. A squirrel darted across our path, and despite my previous instructions, it proved too tempting for some of the younger members of our group. With a collective burst of speed, half the pack veered off, yipping excitedly as they gave chase.
"Hey! Get back here!" I barked my voice stern in the bound of our pack. But it was too late; the thrill of the chase had taken over, and my calls went unheeded.
"Troubles Jax?" Seems Murphey felt my annoyance by the pack link and called out to me, we were still close enough for him to be able to connect. Good to know. This way of communication was great, good that we were all invited into one pack when we were enrolled, this way, we were able to stay in touch. Something that was problematic with Evar and Nemesia, as they didn't formally join yet.
"Just annoying pups. Dealing with it," I sent my thoughts to Murphey.
Sighing, I quickened my pace, trying to round up the wayward members of our little excursion. It took a good half-hour of darting through bushes and coaxing reluctant wolves out of their hiding spots to get everyone back on track. Sometimes had to gab them by the fur on their back. Having Alpha bloodline was useful, as it made my wolf a big one, on pair with normal lycans.
By the time we returned to the marked boundary, the group was panting and noticeably less rowdy. Some of the younger wolves hung their heads, knowing they had stirred chaos, while others still seemed pleased with their little adventure.
As we shifted back into our human forms and began to put on our clothes, I couldn't help but chuckle at their dishevelled appearances—leaves stuck in hair, and uneaven steps.
"Alright, let's hope we got all that energy out, huh?" I said, trying to maintain a stern face but the corners of my mouth betrayed me, curving up into a smile.
"Sorry, we just got carried away," one of the younger rebels, a spirited girl with freckles across her nose, apologized, her eyes still sparkling with the remnants of her wild run.
"It's alright, Kara. Just try to stick to the plan next time, okay? We're a team," I reminded them, leading the way back to camp.
"Got into trouble coz of my wolf again," she mumbled under her breath making everyone laugh.
As we walked back, their laughter and light-hearted teasing filled the air, reminding me why these runs were so important—not just for the physical release but for the bond they reinforced among us. Despite the mishaps, it was these moments of unity and shared freedom that strengthened our resolve and our connection, not just as rebels, but as a pack—a family united under the moonlit sky. I was sometimes worried what would happen with this pack were we to win the cause, the fight. Would we stay? Became official pack in the kingdom? Or disband? Saying goodbye to those troublemakers would hurt a lot.