Seven years later,

East pack, somewhere in the no man’s land.

I was eating my last bread on the top part of a thick tree when I caught a glimpse of the unfamiliar fur prints moving carefully across the large swath of no man’s land. They didn’t have any wolf scent just like in the stories of our elders. Images of when I first saw the painted wolves flashed back to my mind, dreaming of their voyage in a huge ship. I slowly awoke when I realized all was just a memory.

Painted wolves only wander inland to trade, hence, making their existence almost a smudge on the history books. But from what I have heard, the rest of their lives were spent in the vast ocean. They are the rarest yet strongest type of wolves. No one can simply become a painted wolf, only to be born within their pack is the way to be part of their tribe. It was a pleasure to see them walk past me two years ago.

In the cramped confines of the old rabbit burrow, I uncurled and stretched my limbs. The rabbits on this side of the mountains were much larger than normal and almost the same size as me. As I made my way to the surface, my belly fur was almost touching the tunnel’s dirt ground. I stopped moving around the burrow, my nose is a foot distance from the exit and inhaled slowly to carefully check the scents in the air. Hmmm, nothing smells dubious outside yet. After a minute of listening and smelling the outside of this burrow, I cautiously poked my head out of the burrow and scanned the surroundings. Safe. It is safe… for now. A paw stepped out of the burrow, followed by the other until I am completely out of it. My silver-like fur turned into smoke-like grey because of the dirt and dust clustered all over it. I shook my fur vigorously to get some of the dirt off.

I made another careful check-up of the surroundings and when I felt nothing but the leaves rustling, I stretched my limbs once more. Then I licked my paws to clean the back of my ears, a quick bath will suffice.

I looked around again, my view was limited to the underside of the shrubs and bushes. This part of the forest had huge sprawling bramble bushes, which matched my size because I could easily get underneath them, whereas anything larger than me would get a face full of sharp thorns for their efforts to fit in the bushes. Although I could fit in these bushes perfectly, I still need to be careful not to raise my head too high because I'd gotten wounds and scars on my ears sometimes from the thorns.

A cream color off to my side drew my attention. I trotted over to examine the small mushroom. I know this type of mushroom and this is edible for sure. It must have sprouted overnight because it wasn't here last night. I lightly waggled my tail in anticipation; where one appeared, more would follow, and this would mean plenty of mushrooms to sell. I pushed it over with my paw and broke the stem before gently picking it up in my jaws. People wouldn't pay as much for them if I bruised them.

I quickly carried it to the edge of the bramble bush and set it down on the ground. I looked up to listen for any sounds and carefully scented the air once more. I only heard and smelled the usual morning birdsong and scents of plants and small animals. At this point, I was pretty good at detecting the presence of something.

I carefully emerged from the bramble bush and took a look around before shifting to my human form. I was standing there in my tattered dirty white breeches with pouches and weapons hanging around my black belt. My upper body was covered in many light-colored shirts and a black cloth hanging loosely around my neck. I take that I may look a little bit like an assassin. My backpack appeared along with me when I shifted.

As I relaxed, I took a deep breath of the cool morning air. Because my wolf shape was so small, I felt more at ease in my human form. The majority of wolves were large enough to almost stare a human in the face. I, on the other hand, couldn't even raise my head high enough to touch someone's knees. They call us runts, wolves whose wolf form size is small, and the lowest ranks are always given to us in a pack.

Some enormous cats I have seen leveled my height and sometimes towered over me. Many wild creatures in the forest and mountains might consider turning me into a meal. Bears, coyotes, and even a large eagle posed a potentially lethal threat if I were in wolf form, they got bigger limbs and larger leaps. Cougars were my personal nightmare as though facing Satan himself. If they are extremely famished, it would make no difference whether I was in my human or wolf form, they can still relentlessly chase me and eat me raw.

One cougar almost caught me when I was younger. He was truly eyeing me and persistently chasing my weak, younger self. My parents, fortunately, were nearby during that incident and quickly attacked it, ripping the cougar’s head and breaking all its bones.

I'm not sure what my parents were thinking when their daughter first started shifting to her wolf form. I'd been told I was a late shifter because I hadn't shifted until I was nearly six months old, whereas most infants do shift at three months old. I was too young to remember anything actually. My parents adored me despite my diminutive stature and weak body before.

I caught a glimpse of a butterfly as it flitted by me. I wished I could let down my guard to shift into my wolf form and chase the butterfly around without regard for the world, like an innocent child playing with her surroundings. As if her surroundings don’t have those merciless animals roaming around. But that yearning would have gone unnoticed and obliterated. It was simply too risky for me to stop fearing the things that could instantly kill me.

I walked over to a nearby lean-to and took out a small basket to carry the mushrooms inside it. I noticed a few more mushrooms from here. Lovely, I am quite lucky today. I began picking mushrooms, occasionally shifting for a few moments to retrieve and dig several mushrooms from beneath the bramble bushes. As I picked the mushrooms, I recalled memories from when I was still part of my original pack. My childhood had appeared to be mostly normal, and the pack had accepted me even if they preferred to keep my presence hidden from visitors, that is to avoid making the

pack look weaker compared to other packs because they have a useless runt like me. Other packs assumed that the presence of a runt meant that feral wolves and enemy packs would target them first, resulting in an unwanted battle. But because the Alpha would not tolerate bullying, I had never been picked on too severely. Overall, life was somehow kind to me when I was younger.

Then that same pack was slaughtered. I was twelve years old at the time, and my mother had told me to run to my hiding place until she arrived. And so, the chase began. Our house was on the outskirts of town, a long way from any of the safe rooms. My parents had taken advantage of my diminutive stature and taught me to seek refuge in rabbit burrows if trouble arose. I remembered running to the burrow my mother had directed me to hide, just like how I had done it a dozen times before. My parents had always returned and searched for me in these burrows when it was safe, whether it was a drill or an actual attack.

However, they never returned at that time. Hunger eventually forced me out of the rabbit burrow the next day. I returned to the town, but it was deserted. Despite the fact that I hadn't seen any bodies, the smell of blood had been overpowering.

Six strangers walked through town two days later. They were looking for survivors when they picked up on my scent. When they found me, they told me that the feral werewolves had killed everyone in town. The six people who found me were rogues. They were kind enough to take me in and care for me for a while. I still felt a tinge of sadness for my deceased parents and friends. I had become a rogue as well. That simply meant I wasn't a member of a pack. True, some rogues were bloodthirsty killers or lawless troublemakers who caused havoc, but the vast majority were not. Some had been expelled from packs for offenses such as theft or disobedience. Some people simply couldn't stand the power that Alphas possessed. Others could be a little anti-social and found it difficult to live with a pack, which usually had three hundred to five hundred members.

I'd even met one rogue who'd been exiled because he'd dated a lady who later discovered she was the Alpha's mate. He had no desire to date someone who had found their mate, but Alphas can be extremely jealous and paranoid. I was a rogue because most packs didn't want a runt in their midst. They usually accepted a runt if he or she was born into the pack, but most refused to accept a runt into their pack. My heart was heavy as I considered how many times I had been turned down. I simply did not fit in anywhere. Packs didn't want a runt, and life as a rogue was difficult for a runt.

Rogues moved and lived in vast swaths of no man's land between various packs, rarely remaining in one place for long. The majority of rogues traveled in groups of two to ten people.

Life as a rogue wasn't easy, and as a runt, it was even more difficult without the protection of a large and powerful wolf form. Most rogue groups didn't mind my presence, but they also wouldn't wait for me. If I tried to keep up, I was quickly left behind. It was excruciating.

Most wolves could easily take a deer or a rabbit, but I had to rely on snares and archery. Rogues spent the winters as wolves, relying on their thick winter coats for

warmth and protection from the elements. My fur, like that of most runts, had never developed thickness. I only wore my soft undercoat and several clothes, which did thicken up a little and warmed me during the winter season. It was comfortable as long as there was no strong wind and I didn't get wet.

A morning of picking up whatever edible and valuable I could find didn’t exhaust me and my basket was already full of mushrooms. I headed east, keeping an eye out for more mushrooms to pick up throughout my journey. Rogues and packs occasionally traded along pack borders to keep the territory safe but, because I was a runt, this pack allowed me to cross their border if only I am heading to their market and left as soon as possible. Runts were rarely thought to be dangerous. It worked out in my favor in some ways. In other, unfavorable ways, runts were regarded as a burden and annoyance, which caused me nothing but trouble and discrimination.

I walked slowly through the market. When I had to enter a pack's territory, my heart always pounds and my nerves are tensed. If someone decided to attack me as a rogue, I had no protection from the guards or fighters. The members of the pack mostly ignored me, as if I were a clump of dirt rolling past them. I'd been living near the pack's border for a few years, so I wasn't exactly a novelty. The Alpha of this pack allowed me to come to the market whenever I wanted in exchange for the promise that I would not cause any trouble and would alert them, by howling, if I saw anything dangerous approaching their borders.

I took a step toward an elderly lady behind a food stall. When she saw me, she looked up and welcomed me with a smile. "Ah, Etheral. Nice to see you this lovely morning. I hope the western border is quiet? No rogues or feral wolves?" she asked.

"Good morning. It is good to see you looking so well. Things have been pretty quiet in the forest borders, although I have seen a black bear on and off throughout the week, they were harmless," I said softly to the kind, elderly lady. Speaking in a low voice made me appear somewhat meek, but it seemed to deter most wolves from trying to pick a fight with me. As much as possible, I try not to irritate the wolves in this pack, guards would surely defend their pack more than a runt – even if I am the victim in the story.

“I will let the others know about the bear, that is to keep an eye on the young ones if ever that bear returns and cause a problem.” I hummed and nodded in my response. Then she asked, “What do you have in store for me today? Will the usual trade work?" she inquired as I lifted the cloth of the basket and moved it closer to her so she could inspect the mushrooms. She nodded, which means all the mushrooms are fine, and she turned around to bag several loaves of bread for me. This lady had always traded fairly with me and didn’t use my ‘runt’ feature to manipulate me.

The bread was dense and grainy, the kind that filled you up quickly and kept you full for a long time. She didn't ask if the mushrooms were edible, as they rarely did that at this point.

Well, when I first started trading, they inspected everything, but after a year of trading plants I brought that turns out to be edible, they stopped their never-ending inspection. At the age of twenty-two, I had spent nearly half of my life as a rogue and had been taught by a number of rogues I had met along the way about the plants in the forest. Almost every edible plant in the forest was already familiar to me and the

poisonous ones were always avoided.

We spoke for a few moments before someone else approached her stall, and I take it as a sign that it was time to leave. I said my goodbyes and turned to return to no man's land. I kept an eye on the wolves watching me as I walked slowly through the crowded market. To avoid drawing attention to myself, I walked slowly and simply ignore… all of them.

As I was nearing the gates, I saw two people kissing on a bench. I wasn't surprised to learn that they were mates because I was certain of it even before that girl turned eighteen last week. They just had that passion in their stares and had gravitated towards each other even before they were old enough for their mate bond to form.

I looked around but didn't see the Beta or Alpha. The two men were probably out meeting other Alphas and working trades while dealing with the never-ending world of politics. I could see their mates helping out at the market. The Alpha and Beta were usually concerned with policy and relationships with other packs, whereas their mates, the Luna and Beta female, were usually concerned with smaller details and events within the pack.

I watched as a large man crossed my path without looking at me. He was one of the pack's enforcers, and he was most likely on his way over to break up a growing argument at one of the shops. If the Alpha and Beta were not in the immediate vicinity, they relied on enforcers to keep the peace within their territory.

Enforcers helped to keep the peace by enforcing the law. They are skilled fighters who could usually match the speed and strength of an Alpha if a fight erupted in the pack. At any given time, a pack usually had one or two enforcers, and they almost never went outside the pack's borders. They, like Alphas and Betas, were born with enforcer abilities. A wolf simply could not choose to become an enforcer, even if a wolf trains for years.

The enforcer glanced at me and nodded then continued on his way, clearly on some sort of task. I guess it’s a tough role to become an enforcer in a pack where hardheaded pack members reside. I could even hear the wolves fighting from afar but I wouldn’t dare to look back and stay here anymore to gossip.

Then I saw an Omega walking towards a shop. Another rank, the lowest rank, can be given to a wolf in a pack. Packs rarely abused Omegas anymore because it threw the pack off balance. Omegas may be the pack's lowest-ranking member, but their presence allowed the other members to unwind. With so many higher-ranking and powerful pack members constantly around, people could become uneasy and get intimidated. But if an Omega is present, the hierarchy of power is stabilized.

Omega abilities are precious. They could sense another person’s emotion, especially when the Alpha is irritated, and they could disappear in seconds to avoid the Alpha’s rage. Omegas had a sixth sense for trouble too. If an Omega appeared nervous and moved quickly, it meant that something is wrong. But if an Omega appeared to be relaxed, it meant that everything was fine.

Surprisingly, the Alpha and Beta traits were typically heritable, whereas Omega and runt genes were only inherited by their children about half of the time. The other half of the time, they appeared randomly in normal families. Just like in my family. None of my ancestors and parents had runt genes. So, there has never been a runt wolf in the family. I had just appeared out of nowhere.

"There she is again, that runt."

"I'm not sure why she's allowed in here without a guard, given that she's a rogue."

"So? Ha! She is a runt. She might chew on your slippers, but she is incapable of doing any other damage." One of them snickered.

I pretended not to hear them and ignored their insults. I refused to take the bait. Anything I say will enrage them and draw their attention. I couldn't figure out why they were always trying to rile me up. My wolf form was nearly useless in a fight as a runt, and my human form was weaker than the average. But being a rogue for nearly a decade, I'd learned a lot of tricks over the years for beating or evading an opponent from a distance. I could watch them for hours if they went out to no man's land and they wouldn't even notice I was there.

But in this case, I am in the market on their pack territory and everything is at my disadvantage. I would rather back up and let them say whatever they dislike about me.

"It's not like she'll ever find a mate, so I'm not sure why she keeps coming here to trade; too bad she doesn't bother another pack."

"Perhaps she's looking to see if someone who has lost a mate will take her in." "Like that's ever going to happen..."

“Yeah, a lone wolf without a family is already destined to die forever alone. You know, I think she’s the reason why her whole pack died.”

“How horrifying. She shouldn’t stay near our borders. What a dumb decision to let an unmated runt and deadly rogue walk free in our territory.”

I clenched my teeth silently as my rage flared under the surface. I was aware of the old adage that runts rarely get mates. Look at the enforcers. They, too, rarely found their mates, but no one ever judged them for it. It was heartbreaking to see couples happily in love, knowing that you would most likely never have that opportunity. Furthermore, those who have lost a mate are rarely able to move on and never considered marrying another who has also lost a mate. The mate bond was a strong force that defied natural emotions.

I was fine with the fact that I can never find my mate. But they didn't have to hammer it to my face that my pack was slaughtered just because I am a runt. I didn’t kill them. Those damned feral wolves ambushed my original pack and killed them.

I took a deep breath and all I could detect were the usual smells of the market

and the nearby forest. There was no trace of an unusually enticing scent. I remembered my mother said that a strong odor was usually the first indication that one's mate was nearby but there wasn’t.

I was finally out of their earshot and at the forest's edge. I sped up to a jog and almost teared up when the memories of my original pack reeled back to my mind. It would be half an hour before I could re-enter no man's land. At this point, all I wanted was to enjoy the noise of the forest and away from the people who enjoyed seeing another person in pain.

I checked my bag and I had caught two rabbits, mutton for today’s meal, and was thankful for it because I hadn't seen any rabbits on the way back in no man’s land. I headed south to a small and well-hidden smokehouse I had built to smoke the meats I caught. If I ate in one form – human form or wolf form – then I am full in my other form as well. Because my wolf shape was so small, I usually ate in my wolf because I’d get full quickly and it allowed me to stretch my food supply much further, saving the extra meat for the next days.

Eating raw meat is not a problem in my wolf form but I prefer it cooked and clean at least. As I wait for the food to cook, I sharpened the tip of my arrows and took big feathers out of my bag. Bow and arrow, are quite good with this weapon actually than melee combat. As I said, I wasn’t built to be strong and big compared to other normal wolves, I had to use different tactics and weapons to survive in no man’s land.

I looked at my reflection in a pot of water, and my blue-colored eyes returned my gaze. My brown shoulder-length hair was braided and kept on the right side of my shoulder. Then I stood up – I wasn't the tallest person in my human form, standing just over five feet tall, but I had seen shorter people. My slender frame was designed for speed rather than strength but I do wish I was born normal. I could’ve helped my parents on that day the feral wolves attacked my original pack.

I crouched and scanned the surroundings, feeling uneasy for some sudden reason. I quickly climbed to the tree I'd been leaning against and peered down through the branches. My instincts were sharp, and I didn't want to question nor doubt them, even if I didn't know what triggered them. It had kept me out of trouble on numerous occasions in the past.

Then I heard a faint noise below and I turned my gaze in that direction. I squinted through the dense foliage and there I saw eight wolves stalking silently through the forest. No, there were twelve of them. Several people had been lingering further back. I didn't recognize their fur patterns, and the way they moved made my skin crawl and chills slide down my nape to my spine.

I came to a halt when I noticed their red eyes. Wild, merciless wolves… these are feral wolves. Bloodthirsty creatures who killed animals, including other wolves, even when they are not hungry. They were the closest a wolf could get to insanity. They couldn’t even shift. Although some of their human craftiness and reasoning ability remained in their permanent wolf form, their human mind was nowhere to be found. One can never reason with a feral wolf once your head is close to its mouth. Certain feral wolves appeared to be driven to kill anything, anyone they saw, almost as if they were rabid, crazy, and heartless.

I didn’t move an inch and remained silent until they were completely out of my sight. I began moving through the forest quietly, using large branches high above the ground. I met a rogue when I was twelve, his name was Raphal, and he showed me how to travel through these branches years ago. Raphal referred to it as the forest highway.

Werewolves rarely traveled through the trees because their huge wolf form was better suited to run along the ground, not to mention the fact that they would have to be in human shape to travel from branch to branch.

I used the forest highway a lot because my wolf form was small and very few people looked up into the trees. Another advantage of traveling through the trees was that scents high up in the forest were nearly impossible to track from the ground – that is if anyone on the ground picked up the scent at all.

It was unlikely that the feral wolves would smell me. I had a habit of rubbing a mixture of local plants on my clothing and skin to mask my own wolf scent. The majority of rogues did it out of habit. We smelled like the forest, that’s how we survive and avoid one-to-group fights with feral wolves and other wild animals.

I shifted into my wolf form while carefully perching on a thick branch when I was quite a distance from where I had been. I threw up my head and howled an alarm into the almost evening sky. The pack sentries would hear it and be on high alert in case any trouble arose. The feral wolves may be planning on ambushing the east pack.

I quickly shifted back and used the forest highway to put some distance between myself and the location where I had howled. Those feral wolves obviously heard the howl and might try to track down the wolf that had alerted the east pack of their presence.

If ever my location is discovered, I was relieved that they couldn't transform into humans and climb into the trees to chase me. But it would be even better if they never found me at all. I really didn't want to be followed and chased by tenacious and aggressive wolves on the ground below. All of my rogue life, the chase could always mean my death and last breath. I moved through the tree branches quickly and quietly. The only animals who noticed my presence were the birds and squirrels.

As I sat high in a spruce tree, I kept an eye on the ground. I must have been lucky because I had not seen or smelled the feral wolves throughout the afternoon and evening. I hadn't heard anything from the border, either, so the feral wolves might have abandoned their ambush when their cover was blown by my howl. I stayed close to the smoker while it smoked the rabbit meat. The smoke was carefully funneled up a long piece of pipe into the tree canopy until the scent became faint and scattered.

I have been nervous and on the edge since the feral wolves appeared. Tonight, I didn't want to be on or under the ground. Feral wolves were persistent enough to break up bramble branches until they were close enough to dig up any burrow I used to hide. It may have taken them the majority of the day to completely get me out of a deep burrow, but logic didn't really apply to them so they wouldn’t mind spending a lot of energy on digging until I am caught and dead. They will and forever chase me even if I stop running.

My small wolf form did have another advantage. I was small enough to change

forms without falling out of a tree. It was a skill that no normal-sized wolf could accomplish. Because the sun was setting and I didn't want to be out after dark tonight, I took the forest highway to go over to the tree with a deep, hollow hole.

Years ago, when I first came to this place, I built a small structure – a hiding place – in a nearby tree. It appeared to be an old hawk nest, but it had a deep hole and was hollow. The inside was a little larger than the rabbit den, so it was the right size for my wolf form. I also made a nest on the highest part of a tree in case this type of trouble arose.

I settled on top of the bulk tree with a tree hollow. I carefully shifted into my human form and arranged the nest to my liking. I sat in the middle of it, getting cozy and my head resting atop my front paw while watching the sunset. As I yawned, I heard a movement in the forest below. I looked down and saw a small group of wolves slowly making their way towards the east pack border. It was those feral wolves once more. I had already warned the pack, so I stayed put. Once the feral wolves walk past, I decided that I should just sleep inside the tree hollow rather than in this nest.

***

I awoke hours later to howls in the distance. My ears perked up and my wolf body sneaked into the deepest part of the tree hollow. The feral wolves appeared to have launched their attack. Unfortunately for the feral wolves, I recognized the howls of dozens of other fighters winning the battle as well as the howl of the defeated cries from the feral wolves and their failed ambush.

Feral wolves preferred to hunt at night, and the pack had clearly been expecting them. As I drifted off back to sleep, I wondered if they had captured all of the feral wolves or if some had escaped. I do hope they had captured all of them for my night may become more and more petrifying like sleeping in the devil’s den.