Author's Note- Hi my name is Carl, I am the author of this story. I will be updating as often as I can :)
Carakii P.O.V.
Being an omega is a hard enough task, I was the scapegoat to many
an angry packmate. But being the only pack healer made things much
worse. Not only was I required to put up with these jerks, but I had to heal
them. Can you imagine how hard it was to heal someone who just recently beat the life out of you? It is very hard. But at least I was safe from the rogues.
The recent rogue attack left me very busy tending to the wounded. Of
course the instant they got better they would harass me again, but I guess
this is the price I must pay for my safety. Unlike most werewolves, my wolf is very small and quite scrawny. They had those huge bulking wolves and I had a wolf that was so small that I couldn’t take on even the weakest of prey, and werewolves despise weakness. They assigned me to omega, but having been the son of the last healer, I was the only wolf capable of healing.
They needed me. And they hated it. They would push me down as
I walked home from school, laughing as I attempted to not to cry.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just left. But I knew what wouldhappen, the rogues would slaughter me, as they had slaughtered my brother and more recently, my father. So I put up with these idiots
everyday, wishing I was not born so pathetic.
I was so deep in thought that I failed to notice that I had accidently stabbed a wolf with a needle.
“ HEY WATCH IT!!!!” screamed the wolf I was currently stitching up.
He threw me on the ground, knocking over the table of medical supplies that I had so carefully arranged. I guess I deserved it, I had gotten distracted again. The werewolf proceeded to kick me in the side before stomping off.
“Stupid runt,” he exclaimed before slamming the door to my house.
I sat there on the ground for the longest time, tears streaming down my face. Why can’t I be good enough for them? I try so hard and fail every time. There is no hope for me.
The door to the house slams open. Three wolves rush into the room carrying an extremely injured wolf. The injured wolf had gashes across his chest and was bleeding profoundly. I recognised him as Jarred, one of the pack sentries.
“ Don’t just stand there you stupid runt, do something”, snarled one of the wolves.
“Put him on the table” I said.
As the they put Jarred on the table, I noticed the true extent of his wounds. These gashes are unnatural. The werewolf’s natural healing abilities should have already healed such a wound, especially since he was a beta. But the wounds only seemed to be getting worse.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“None of your business runt.” exclaimed the largest of the three wolves.
“ I can’t heal him unless you tell me!!” I said through gritted teeth.
The werewolf sighs, “ Fine, he was attacked by a rogue beta”
A rogue beta? I had heard of such rogues, but never did I think they would ever attack our pack. I didn't think that we were that important.
I rushed to the cabinet, stumbling slightly before reaching it. I searched until I found what I was looking for, a small bottle labeled “ Concentrated Dandelion Extract”. I pour the entire bottle onto Jarred’s wounds and explain to the dumbfounded wolves that it is to purify the wounds. I knew that the claws of a rogue beta are purposely coated in a wolfsbane extract. Such an extract was extremely difficult to make, making me wonder why the rogues would waste such a rare poison against our pack. We aren’t even part of the top 50 packs in the states.
I proceed to clean the wounds, receiving a couple of quiet snarls from Jarred. I bandage the wounds and turn to the three werewolves.
“ He should be better in a couple of days, until then he needs his rest.”
“Thanks Carakii”, exclaims the smallest of the three as they carry Jarred out the door.
This was the first time in months that any of my packmates had called me by my name. Mostly they just call me “Runt” or “Wimp”. Something must have happened to cause any of my packmates to be so nice to me.
A howl echoes through the village. A pack meeting. Although I am not supposed to attend, I am quite stealthy so I can sneak a glimpse or two.
I morph into my wolf, a rather small and scrawny red wolf with spiraling swirls across my coat. I was told as a child that the swirls meant I was a magic born, but I displayed no such abilities. I snuck through the brush surrounding the pack house, being careful to stay out of sight. Peeking through the brush, I saw the pack surrounding the house
The alpha stands on the balcony of the pack house, his greying hair flowing in the wind. To his sides stand his two head betas and his daughter Angeline.
The alpha speaks in his highly dominant alpha voice, my omega genes causing me to bow my head in submission.
“As you all must know by now, the recent rogue attacks have caused many of our finest warriors to be injured.” The pack stirs as if they are expecting the worst. “ Due to these attacks I have decided to enact a few extra precautions. Until further notice, no omega or pup is to leave the shelter of their homes between the hours of five in the evening to eight in the morning.”
Already the alpha was limiting the omegas. I know that we are weak and all, but that doesn’t mean we are useless.
The alpha went on discussing things like patrols and injured wolves and other things I don’t care to much about. I decided to travel home. As I walked home I was stopped by one of the patrols.
“ You there, stop. The alpha wishes to speak to you”
The alpha? What would he want anything to do with a runt like me?
I follow the patrolman to the pack house. I felt the prying eyes of my packmates as I walked by. Some were even staring. Something was definitely wrong
YOU ARE READING
The Whispering Willows
WerewolfCarakii has always been weaker than the other wolves of the pack. After his Father died, he was demoted to Omega. The only thing he seems good at is healing, which can't protect him from the abuse of his packmates. Davris is the alpha of the Whisper...
