Home -- Wolv book 3

Epilogue

A/N: This is written in reference to the epilogue of "Ice"

It was quiet.

Not that that was all that surprising--not anymore. Since the burning, the entire community had been remarkably withdrawn. After all, who wouldn't want to curl up and hide after what had happened? Plenty of people had died in the fire. It was only a natural response to isolate oneself after such a devastating event.

Bloodvein had never really been a lively town to begin with; being a reserve largely cut off from the rest of the world, it had never been big enough to produce the hustle and bustle of even the smallest of cities. But now?

Now the silence was eerie.

A lone figure walked down a gravel road, trudging silently along beneath the glow of the twilight sky. House after house passed by, until the figure--a woman, wearing a sweater with the hood pulled tightly over her scalp--turned down one last street, quietly padding up to a very shabby, mismatched looking house.

Anyone from outside of Bloodvein would have stopped and gaped at the two-storey structure; they would scratch their heads and wonder just what had happened. They'd look at the charring that painted most of the exterior black; then, they would look up and frown at the bare plywood roof, and their frown would only deepen as they realized that the house had been very hastily repaired.

If they had mentally written the house off by then, they would turn back down the street and see that many of the houses in Bloodvein were in a similar state of disrepair.

The hooded woman didn't turn away. Rather, she marched boldly to the front door and pushed it open, stepping inside the charred building. To her, this was home. More precisely, what was left of it.

She flicked on a light and pulled back her hoodie, letting her long, silvery-grey hair spill out and down her shoulders.

In one smooth motion, she pulled her hair off, too. Setting the wig on the kitchen counter, she let out a miserable sigh, running a hand over the burned, scarred skin covering her scalp.

When the planes had flown overhead and burned the town, buildings weren't the only thing that had been damaged. She'd  been damaged.  Supposedly, she had a good chance of regrowing her hair eventually--or so the doctors had said.

Then again, the doctors had been sent to Bloodvein by the government, and when had the government ever really done right when it came to reserves?

Nobody in Bloodvein had wanted government help, but after nearly half of the community had been burned to the ground, the reserve hadn't really had a choice. After staying out of the spotlight for so long, Bloodvein First Nation had become a very public place in the media's eyes. Nobody outside of the reserve really knew what had started the fire, and nobody from the reserve would ever tell.

If anyone were to reveal that Scott Abrams had been responsible, hundreds upon hundreds of questions would undoubtedly be raised. And the last thing that the community wanted was for some overly nosy investigator to poke around until they uncovered the wolves.

Whether or not anybody from the outside knew the truth really wouldn't make a difference in the end. Like the quack doctors, the help the reserve had received from the government had been shoddy at best, if the repairs done to much of the town were any indication. The feds could say that they'd done something, and eventually the town had fallen out of sight and out of mind, just like it had always been.