Clarity

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Victoria's POV

Warm, the silver knives in their sheath lay against my skin under Fin's bulky shirt. The smell of silver, icy and potent clings around me, warning everyone to stay away, almost like a snake with bright colors saying, I'm lethal and will hurt you. Making my way to the training area, the wind abuses my face. The weather turning dangerous, with ice entombing the trees in a thick layer of crust. They are all there practicing, it's time to put on a show for anyone thinking that maybe they might want to end a future that I intend to keep safe.

Deep inside I have this feeling that something just isn't right, a constant feeling of threatening violence. Low tone whispers follow me, peering eyes track me for something unseen, air hanging heavy with the taste of their contempt. Even the sanctuary of my own room is starting to feel unsafe anymore. I've resorted to sleeping with silver, uncomfortable but necessary if I'm to get any sleep.

A shiver creeps up my spine like a chill, looking around no one is there as I enter the door to the training facility.

"Victoria" Becca comes running up to me sweaty and covered in deep scratches, chest heaving up and down from her exertion. Hands on her thighs, taking in deep breaths. "You can't train, not in your condition."

"I'm not going to be training with the pack I thought I might train on my own, hope you don't mind," I say it innocently. Walking away from her, I take a position to have all eyes on me while I demonstrate that I might not have teeth or claw anymore but I have sharpened silver that can easily end any wolf stupid enough to get in my way.

I take off my shirt, leaving me with my knives holstered in leather specially made by Charlie. Once I took control of the pack, after my father's death, I would wear this around for a good year until I felt safe enough to hang it up in my closet. Each wooden knife handle is stain with the blood of wolves that defied me, that needed an education in the art of dominance.

So the dance begins with a pretend slash for the eye, twirling around a sharp jab to a heart, bending up, a cut to the inner thigh, cutting across a throat to spill a life on the floor. A practiced crouch, springing forward to tender spots of a wolf that can bring the most damage. I work myself up into a sweat, body protesting the use of extra calories on this show of war. Where it should be going is to the greedy female inside me demanding more of my strength.

Throwing at the targets are the next demonstration, throwing the knife as an extension of my hand. It hits true with a thud the silver easily piercing the wooden backboard of the targets. Knife after knife is thrown only to be retrieved by just shifted juveniles that sit and watch in learning.

Not able to take their longing looks anymore, I point to one and tell her to step forward, putting the knife in her hand, showing her how to balance it. The afternoon of me putting on a show is halted by the need to teach these young ones the art of knives. I try to be patient the way Fin would be, even putting a light touch on a shoulder, a soft look in the eyes of a defeated learner. I try to tell myself they're just learning, be patient this could be my daughter with big eyes regarding her teaching in awe.

I've gathered a group of just shifted females and males, also a small collection of young ones on the verge of shifting. This moment hits me as if cloudy cataracts are removed from my eyes, the clarity of the situations strikes me crystal clear. My Future female needs them in her corner. She will need the younger generation to accept her and it's going to start now. Clapping them on the shoulder, I start to commend them on how for their first time throwing silver, that they have good abilities.

Slowly but surely, I will foster a new mind set for these young ones to accept her, protect her. I have months to sway their impressionable minds my way. "Okay everyone I think that's it for today," I say to them as I start to put away the gleaming silver in their proper places.

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