It was enough.
Most of the time.
There were days when I needed the quiet. To be away from everyone else.
Days when I’d shift and run through the wildlife refuge, feeling the wet earth beneath my paws and the leaves slapping against my face. I’d keep going until I could go no farther, my lungs burning in my chest, tongue lolling from my mouth.
I’d be deep in the refuge, away from the sights and sounds of the compound. From the other wolves. From the witches. Even Ezra. He understood.
I’d collapse under an ancient tree, lying on my side, chest heaving. It was instinct that led me here, and I’d roll in the grass, turning over on my back and letting the sun warm my belly. Birds sang. Squirrels ran, and though I could chase them and eat them, I usually let them be.
I had a strange relationship with trees.
My mother placed me in one moments before my father murdered her.
I was six years old.
Memories are funny things.
If asked what I was doing exactly one year before on any given day, chances are I wouldn’t remember unless someone reminded me.
But I remember being six with a startling clarity.
Some of those days, at least.
They were bright flashes, moments that prickled against my skin.
I remember a pack. There were six of us. One was an Alpha, strong and kind. She pressed her nose against my hair and breathed me in.
One was her mate, an older woman who, when she laughed, would tilt her head back and grab her sides.
One was a woman named Denise. She was quiet and beautiful. When she moved, it was like she barely touched the ground. I asked her once if she was an angel. She picked me up and tickled my sides.
Her mate was a black woman with bright white teeth and a wicked smile. She had a garden. She gave me tomatoes and we ate them like they were apples, juice and seeds dripping on our chins.
The other was my mother. Her name was Beatrice. And she was the most wonderful person in my entire world. We slept in the same room. She would whisper to me at night and tell me that we were safe here, that we didn’t need to run anymore. That we could have a home. That she would never let anything happen to me. I believed her. She was my mother.
I didn’t understand why we were running or for how long we’d done so. There were nights when we’d slept in an old car that she prayed over before she tried to start, saying, “Come on, please, god, just give me this.” She’d turn the key and the engine would sputter and sputter, and then it would catch, and she’d crow, slapping her hands against the steering wheel, grinning brightly at me as she said, “See? We’re okay. We’re okay!”
Denise found us sleeping in the car off a dirt road, hidden behind a copse of trees.
My mother woke me up, clutching me against her chest. I looked outside the windshield to see a strange woman sitting on the ground in front of the car.
She waved at us.
“Wolf,” my mother whispered.
The car wouldn’t start.
It didn’t even click.
The strange woman cocked her head at us. She spoke in a quiet voice, but my ears were sharp, and I could hear her. She said, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
We’d found ourselves in another wolf’s territory.
She took us to the Alpha at an old cabin that had two chimneys.
My mother held me close.
The Alpha’s eyes flared red.
My mother trembled.
I said, “Do you have any food? We’re hungry.”
The Alpha smiled. “Yes. I believe we do. Do you like meatloaf?”
I didn’t know what meatloaf was. I told her as much.
The smile faded. “Why don’t we see if you like it? If you don’t, we can make something else.”
I loved meatloaf very much. I didn’t think I’d ever eaten anything so good before. I ate until my belly ached.
The Alpha was pleased.
We stayed.
The first night, my mother curled around me. She kissed the top of my head and whispered, “What do you think, cub?”
I yawned. I was tired, and sleeping in a bed for the first time in a long time felt good.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think so too.”
Days passed. Weeks.
The Alpha said, “His father?”
I was drawing at the kitchen table. They had given me all the crayons I could ever want. There were markers too, but they were mostly dry because their caps were missing.
“Hunter,” my mother whispered in a choked voice. “I thought he was… I thought that he was my—”
I looked up to see she was crying. I could taste it at the back of my tongue. There was a sour scent in the air, like something had spoiled.
I didn’t recognize it then for what it was.
Later, I would know.
It was shame.
Before I could go to her, the Alpha rose and wrapped her arms around my mother. She held on tightly and told her that she understood.
The sour smell faded after a little while.
We had months. Months where we were stationary and it seemed like we had found a place to belong. We were like a tree, and our roots were growing into the dirt, getting stronger as the days went by. Our bed began to smell like us. It was nice.
It didn’t last.
Everything burned.
I woke to the smell, and it wasn’t like shame.
It was fire.
Wolves were howling.
My mother lifted me from the bed.
Her eyes were wide and panicked.
There was a loud crash from somewhere in the cabin, and I heard the shouts of men. It was the first time I’d heard a male voice in a long while, because the Alpha didn’t allow men in her pack. She said she had no use for them and winked at me, telling me that I was going to be the exception. It made me the happiest I’d been in a long time, because I’d be a good man. The best there ever was. My mother told me as much.
We went out the window. It was dark when she dropped me to the ground. One of my bare feet landed on a rock, and it cut me.
I cried even as it slowly began to heal.
My mother covered my mouth with her hand as she lifted me up.
She ran. No one could run as fast as my mother. I’d always believed that.
But on this night, she couldn’t run fast enough.
The tree she took me to was old. Ancient. Denise had told me that it was special, that it was the queen of the forest and protected all that it towered over.
In the spring, foxes came and had their kits in the hollow at its base. It was empty when my mother shoved me inside it. There were dead leaves and grass inside, and it was soft.
My mother crouched low, her black hair hanging around her face. She had soot on her face, her hands. She wore glasses even though she didn’t need them. She said they made her feel better about herself. Smarter, somehow. She thought it was silly, but I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
She said, “Stay here. Whatever you do, whatever you hear, you don’t leave until I come back for you. Even if you hear someone calling your name, you don’t move. It’s a game, little wolf. You’re hiding, and you can’t let anyone find you.”
I nodded because I’d played this game before. “Quiet as a mouse.”
“Yes. Quiet as a mouse. Here, hold these for me.” She took the glasses off her face and set them on my own. They were too big and sagged onto my nose. She reached out and touched my cheek. “I love you. Forever.”