My Wolves Can't Help Me Now

chapter Eight

Sang's Perspective.

When I had woken up that morning sprawled along the kitchen floor with rice mixed into my hair I knew it was time to leave. I should have taken Malcolm up on his offer to stay with his pack long ago, but fear held me in place. Not anymore. I was getting sick of the feeling of fear anyways. Putting my arms under me I lifted myself up and on to my feet so I could make my way upstairs to start packing. Looking into my room now it becomes apparent that packing will not take too long. Grabbing my school bag I stuff all the clothes that I own inside. Two pairs of jeans, five shirts, three skirts, and a bright pink jacket I have had since primary school. Then, I reach for my book of fairytales and hug it to my chest before setting it carefully inside. Zipping up and slinging the bag across my shoulder I set out down stairs and out the door before the neighborhood starts to wake. With no clue where to go I decided to see if Malcolm will still have me.

When I entered his den the pup who I had deemed Storm comes rushing to greet me. Storm is Malcolm's youngest pup and quite possibly the cutest with his grey furred coat and honey colored eyes. With a quick pet on the head Storm leads me to his father and alpha. Malcolm rests by the furthest end of the den with his back against the wall and Melody by his side. As I approach Melody catches Storm by the scruff of his neck and starts to clean him, ignoring her son's complaints to be set free. Malcolm lifts his head up to look me in the eyes. He, the wolves, and I have always had an odd way of communication, but it always worked without fail. With only the turn of the tail I knew Malcolm accepted my plea, but it comes as a surprise when he motions to the other pack members getting prepared for travel. Malcolm is relocating his pack when generations before had stayed content to these woods. I shot a questioning look to Malcolm with only the shake of the head as a reply. I know not to question the alpha any farther. A sigh leaves my lips as I sit down and lean against Melody's soft coat as dreams start to play behind my eyes.

Waking up is a slow process starting with cold toes and fur pressed to my face making it difficult to breathe. I curl up to save any remaining warmth while the lasting effects of sleep fade away. Now wide awake I scan my surroundings like Malcolm taught me in my younger years. Trees everywhere, the whole pack is trotting along with Malcolm in the back keeping an eye out for any possible threat. I look at the wooden wagon that carries me and the pups of the pack. I had helped the pack make the wagon years ago when I had become interested in building. I had gone to the library often as it was the only place Step Mother would let me go, and read all I could about simple wagon designs used in the late 1800s to the early 1900s. Malcolm's pack had gathered the supplies while I had set to work. The finished result being put to use brings a sense of pride to my being. Four of the wolves pull the wagon as designed with the leather straps when a particularly large stick causes one of the wheels to creak. A pup whimpers among the lot around me. While I may be 16 in human years Malcolm and the pack still treat me like a pup. It can get annoying every once in a while, but I know it is because they care. I lay back down content with my safety before cuddling up with Storm and drifting off, dreaming of shoes running around the ceiling of an odd building I have yet to discover and even odder yet a bear wearing a leather jacket chases after them. Maybe I should be concerned about how weird my dreams are getting, I thought to myself as sleep tugged me under.