Setting. When we were younger we were taught that it was the second most important thing, behind the characters, in a story. When we were taught to tell stories, they used to tell us that the first thing to even mention is a setting.
Why is it that a setting is so much more than a pile of words and pictures?
When I stepped off the bus, my feet in my boots met with the black pavement that looked good as new, and my body saw it before my eyes or my brain did. My body couldn't process the feeling of excitement as quickly as it rolled through my back, gripping my lungs and shoved out through my tail bone uncomfortably. I instantly felt the urge to shift into my four legged body instead, because then I could burn off this energy and be one with the green expanse of lawn that I've looked at for hours and hours of my upbringing. I can recall a mosaic of emotions I've felt while staring at this one lawn alone, each paired with a sea of events I've experienced while living on this land.
If it were possible to bottle up my life before becoming a soldier, to open it would be to see this space again.
Even more stark the difference, is seeing it again from seemingly a different set of eyes.
I'm not the girl who used to gaze across this field into the rolling hills or tree line of reaching heights and wonder when things will clear up, go right, turn around. Yes, this field in front of me reminds me of a mosaic of emotions, but the most recently added and raw of them being hurt.
I look out on this field now, and I see, no, feel what it was like to feel sorry for myself again.
'This has to stop,' said the voice of my conscience. She's like an older, wiser, and colder version of me.
Perhaps I could continue to feel sorry for myself later, but right now I needed to switch gears.
A place which was once my home now only serves to remind me why I left it.
With my throat slightly constricted, I followed Amanda along the street leading to the grand white pack house, and allowed a clearing breathe to leave my body, taking the remnants of the past toxins that used to live in there out with it. I thought I'd cleared them out, but just being here simply dusted them off.
"So..." my shoulder was shoved off to the side so much that my body almost toppled over.
"Hey!" I called back at Henry who had just made his way to my side, "I'm walking heyre!" I used my best Joey Tribiani voice and shot my elbow into his bicep after regaining my balance.
He grabbed his arm where I'd hit him but we both just smiled at each other. I shook my head. "Thank you." I whispered.
He already knew what I was referring to. "Hey," he said again, this time in a kind manner and accompanied by placing his arm around my shoulders, stabilizing me as we walked rather than derailing me, "Do you think the pack has planned anything special for us? A homecoming parade? A warrior's feast perhaps?"
I leaned into his shoulder and chuckled at his silly aspirations, "Oh yeah, I bet they'll even crown a king of the feast, and it's whoever proves to be the best warrior." I look up at him with a big smile.
Henry was my rock. It was like he always knew how to get me out of a funk. Even more importantly though, he always knew when I was in one at all. Sometimes he even saw them coming.
Just the simple contact of his arm around my shoulder made the enlarging image of the pack house, my childhood home, less terrible.
Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking; why the hell would I let some silly rejection ruin everything about where I grew up? What about all of the good memories? And why can't I just pull it together while my unit is needed? That's all thats required right?
Well, just look at you, you hit the bull's eye.
My unit would help to defeat whatever threat to security there was, I would make it through this all without coming into contact with Brighton a single time, and I would be on my merry, self improving and reliant way. Maybe I'll get to try out my world renowned strategist's mind on an actually real scenario. Oh, how I'd kill to get a foot in that door, a real door.
I raised my chin at the thought. Did you hear that Danny? This place isn't a bleak wasteland after all.
I couldn't help the pep that entered my step then. I even wrapped an arm around Henry's waist and pretended to skip like one of the Von Trapps.
Our giggles carried us to the door step of the large mansion, and all the way inside until we quieted down in front of our Lieutenant.
She stared over our heads until a pin could be heard hitting the floor. "I trust I don't need to state all of the ways you lot are expected to carry yourselves while Alpha Richmond hosts us. You are not wolves vacationing at home, you are soldiers called to protect civilians. You are to act as such with no exceptions. Remember that we are here for business. Do I make myself clear?" Her voice was stern but clear as a whistle.
"Yes, sir", sounded from all 15 of our voices. We were the unit selected by Alpha Richmond for this task.
Oh, you maybe wondering why our female lieutenant was declared a 'sir'. You know, I don't quite know why. I can only reasonably assume that "Yes, ma'am", wasn't to her liking? You bet your butt I wasn't going to raise my hand and ask Lieutenant Shelley Turner why on earth her authoritative persona underwent a gender change. When I first arrived at Blackwood camp, I didn't know a thing about authority or ranks, but one thing was certain then, and will always be; that authority here, especially our Lieutenant's was not to be questioned.
Come to think of it, I think if I were ever to be promoted, I'd like to be called a sir too. I think I could roll with it.
Lieutenant Turner took one last sweep with her eyes over our heads before she let a satisfied look take over. "Very good," A small smile began to creep up onto her face, just enough that I could tell something good was coming. "Now, freshen up and meet in the backyard. The pack wants to welcome you home."
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Under The Cover of Darkness
वेरवुल्फ़Daniella Armin didn't become a warrior because she was a fierce wolf. No, she didn't go to training camp because she wasn't afraid to fight for what she believed in. Daniella Armin was neither fierce nor fearless. She became a warrior because she...
