WINTER DATE

October 7th, xxxx

THE WOLF LOOKS SICK, thinks Kamil as he squats, stroking her back while trying to corral her litter with the other hand. The Doc assured them that both mother and cubs are safe and healthy but it's been more than ten days since the birth and Dragontooth the Second has barely moved from the same spot.

And because of this, the wolves in the cage haven't been as active as they are, opting to surround their alpha during her time, supporting her and looking after her cubs when she's unable to.

Her mate, Wandering Rosewater rubs his snout in her throat, licking her, sniffing her, worried face drooping when she wanly returns the gesture, sad eyes struggling to open.

As Kamil heralds the five big wolves out their gigantic pen, he makes a mental note to drop by the clinic and have a long chat with the Doc and if possible, drag her butt to heal their Dragontooth the Second.

He hesitates, wishing to leave open the cage in case she has it in her to take a stroll but there is the danger of the cubs roaming around free and possibly hurting themselves. He wouldn't want to worry the new mother or make her distrust him.

Leaving her with one final body rub, he locks the pen and waits until all five wolves have finished saying their goodbyes as if asking for permission—no, understanding before running rampant, glad to be out of that stuffy pen smelling like their alpha's depression.

Keeping a keen eye on the wolves leaping ahead—not too far, they know not to stray—a smile fixes on his face coming across the childrendashing as they prepare for school, calling out his rank and waving at him.

Pausing the frenzy for a minute to snuggle, scratch and bury their noses in the furs of the wolves, the wolves in turn jumping about them, making satisfied noises, bathing them in saliva.

Kamil waits patiently, cool air on his face, bright eyes breathing in his surroundings; at the ground carpeted in falling yellow, brown and purple leaves, the sky overcast in the brightest shade of blue and white he'd ever seen.

Every morning is like this. He wakes up as early as possible for his early morning jog; just him and the dark blue sky and the stars and the moon, heart beating a thorough thump, bethump, thump in his chest to show him that he is alive appreciating the beauty, the simplicity of his life surrounded by a Pack that accepts him as he is.

He ends the jog by taking a relaxing float in the river east of them feeling the cold water on his skin, in his ear, tracing the deep bulging scar circling his waist.

He's usually out of bed a little over five but today for some reason he woke up earlier than that, a strange recollection nagging at him.

Instead of getting up, Kamil stayed there listening to the snores of his roommates bunking below him, next door, doors down.

His roommates used to complain about the absurdity of him sharing a room with them; as someone of higher rank, a single house can be provided for him at the drop of a hat but he feels grounded surrounded by noise, by life.

Kamil tried it before when the practice was foisted on him the week he became Major but he couldn't sleep.

He never thought a house could be so silent, so eerie. Just him and the sounds of his heartbeats. It had been so quiet he started allowing the dog to sleep indoors but that hadn't cured the dilemma.

And lack of sleep caused irritability—yeah, he started a few fights—and then everyone was on his ass on why he hadn't just refused, someone else would use the house, no skin off their backs.

Like they would've refused when the Alpha suggested it.

But that was eighteen months ago. His comrades jokes that they'll leave him first when they have their mates—Goddess willing—and it'd be just him and the dog but with how rambunctiously horny those idiots are, Kamil doubted there'll be mates in their future anytime soon.

But then again, Anduan is rambunctiously horny and even she manages to snag a mate. Speaking of the devil, he meets her halfway—him heading towards the southern canyons, her exiting—wearing military grade trousers, slippers and tank top carrying a bucket of stones?

"Do I even want to know what kind of kinky shit you and the woman do in that bedroom of yours?"

Anduan laughs but doesn't stop walking, auburn hair striking a semblance with the orange tinted sun circling the clouds like a coward. "The goats keep eating the barn," she says as explanation but he doesn't understand.

Shrugging, he continues on his way, the wolves farther ahead knowing the path by heart. The closer he nears the canyons, the keener his eyes roves his surrounding, catching the glints of traps and tripwires hidden in thrushes of bushes and groves and in stomach of trees.

Two days ago, they had what was —hopefully—the last of altercations between their and the Blue Sun Pack over at the Winter Forest but the location of the brawl nags at him.

Usually—No. Hundred percent of the time, whenever the Blue Pack suddenly gets the urge to be assholes, they pack themselves at the southern canyons, at the slice of border between their territories.

Yes, the canyon edges to the Winter Forest too but it envelopes them at all four sides—east, south, north and west.

After the Winter Forest is nothing but thicker, denser trees and after that is a travel road—thick forest, travel road and thick forest. The northern area has nothing to do with them.

Blue Sun Pack included. They are to the south of them, after the southern canyons, the waterfalls their front yard.

The only explanation is that the Blue Sun Pack ran the extra, extra mile to catch them off-guard but not only was that foolish but suicidal too.

Every wolf knows spending too long in the Winter Forest can literally kill them. The intensity of the cold, the heavy air that makes for difficult breathing and the wild wolves—thrice fatal. Even so, going through the Winter Forest to surprise them wouldn't have worked.

Running out of the forest will bring them smack into a force field designed specially by their shaman that'd not only alert the North Star soldiers but the force of the slam will knock them out.

If they weren't alreadywinded from running around and expending their energy in the Winter Forest.

An excited bark jolts him out of his mental geographical calculations to see Captain Camuel crouching on a hill, the dog barking up a storm at him and the approaching wolves ignorant to the scowl on the Cap's face.

The wolves abandons him to the waiting arms of the open land—rocks, hills, more hills and rivulets of water their playground—just as the dog stumbles into him, standing on all fours, panting for a rub.

Balancing on his toes, Kamil obliged her rubbing as gingerly as she likes chuckling to himself at how unashamed she looks rolling on the ground, feet up in the air squealing. Eyes closed in bliss.

To be a dog... A fun life, he's sure.

He glances up when the Cap nears, that round face of his etched in concentration, the broadness of his shoulder stretching the thin cotton shirt he wears, the trouser not doing so hot either.

Unlike Kamil sporting the lightest black blouse he likes—a favourite that rises up to his stomach creased from many years of use.

Silk too. It acts as a tank top when he's feeling cute. On most days however, he prefers being shirtless. Most of the Pack do really.

If not for modesty being a modern concept, the women will be as shirtless as they but the human government doesn't like that. Can barely wrap their heads around the fact that they aren't self-conscious when they shift.

Being naked in their human form after a shift is as normal as breathing, as running, as shifting. No one gives two fucks. A frown starts to form around his eyes at the mere thought of the human government.

Goddess, he hates them so much. Even more than the Blue Sun Pack because just no.

"Precious tells me they have watch tower number 4," Camuel starts, chewing the flesh off his bottom lips—a nasty habit he picks up when he's upset which for Cam is most days, it's a surprise the lips can even grow flesh what with him picking at it every time.

"They must be getting extra cash from the humans to be wasting on a watch tower," pointing into the distance, Cam picks out a hill that slopes into two, the top of it like an overgrown cactus mound.

"If you stand way over there and squint really slowly, you'll be able to make out a glint of it. But I'm sure they can see us very clearly they probably don't need a telescope."

Telescopic vision.

The dog, a.k.a Community Princess escapes his grasp to follow the wolves yapping and racing each other to the top of a hill, their tails billowing like the wind behind them—playfully biting each other, nuzzling each other but Kamil notice Wandering Rosewater lags behind.

"For fucks sake, it pisses me off!" Cam suddenly kicks a rock, kicking up dust in the process. "How can Precious be so... lacklustre about our enemy basically running in his arms."

Kamil stands, distracted by the slice of morning fog drifting over the hills reminding him of those late evening strolls he used to take with the Alpha when they were children before it naturally petered out.

Around these parts during Autumn fogs harshly in the evenings that on most days, it looks like steam from a boiling pot, its fragrance that of basil and ginger wafting in the air from the plants around them.

"Hey. Precious doesn't listen to me, maybe he'll listen if someone else tells him what a hardhead he's being."

"The Alpha can handle whatever omegas that bastard throws at him. It's fine."

"Yeah, yeah. It's people like you accepting whatever he says that he needs me to keep him cool."

Kamil stares at him, waiting for a haha, got you but when nothing comes, he twitches his lips in amusement.

"The Alpha keeps you cool, Cap. You just want to punch things—"

"Not things, Shifters. Most notably, that Blue piece of shit."

"Hey, from my point of view, the more you insinuate that mere omegas are a threat to the Alpha, the more he rejects your offer."

Deeply engraved is the scowl on his face that it becomes jarring to look at. Camuel is handsome. He's related to the Alpha after all but damn, are his scowls uncomfortable.

"That Alpha is always followed by his captain, she's like an appendage. I don't see anything bad in having the extra protection."

For all of Camuel's pugnacious streaks, he does worry about his brother. But the more he voices that the Alpha can't protect himself, the more he gives reason to the Elders misgivings about the Alpha's leadership.

"We should head back," he says as a reply, whistles when the Cap doesn't object.

The beasts rush down in bundles of energy, wagging their tail frothing at the mouth in unbridled joy. Except Wandering Rosewater. While the beasts scamper forward, he creeps behind like a disgruntled child forced to listen to their parents boring conversation.

Soon after Kamil settles the wolves back in their pen, he parts ways with the Cap, the dog sniffing the ground as they walk towards the clinic.

The clinic—shrine adjoined at its hip—is a little aways from the rest of the L-shaped houses built together like a circular hug; someone's back yard is another's front yard.

The school and other buildings like the gym, the arts/crafts room that doubles as a meditative centre when the children starts acting ferine is located to the east, the best serene area dotted with a garden of assorted flowers decorated around the feet of basil trees ripe in the spring.

He didn't need to climb the steps leading up to the clinic to read what's hung; learning in progress, the decision made for him. The dog on his heel, he beelines west to the commercial area—the busiest part of their little village.

Farming and animal rearing plays a huge role in their survival—economic included. House and buildings change to barns and paddocks where not far from the fenced field, he sights two shepherds calmly herding the goats, cows and alpacas to graze, the animals mixing nicely.

The strong smell of milk hits him hard when he passes by the barn that he scrunches his nose, stomach queasy at the onslaught. A flood of milk, he thinks to himself almost gagging at the thought.

Kamil would like to say the air in the west is freshest because of the unspoiled land, wild leaves and vegetables encouraged to populate instead of being perfectly groomed like the gardens in the east.

Except, the land smells foul because of the animals. If milk makes him queasy, the wildness of the animals makes him feel like shit—no pun intended.

It's like no matter how clean it is kept, the earth soaks up the free fertilizer spraying it out in the open like perfume especially when it rains or it gets so hot you feel like shearing your flesh.

However, once you move past the paddock and the barn, the farm comes into view and oh, you wouldn't want to leave. The musk of dirt, crops—the very essence of Mother Earth sinks in your mind and sends the warmest sensation.

If Kamil hadn't become a muscle, he'd have become a farmer. He understands perfectly why the farmers spend their time in the farm because it's their home, their sanctuary.

He doesn't see the farmers but he sees the beasts of burden Fran, Lyeo, Prune—everyone says, the Trio Burdens—scuffing their hooves in the ground, mumbling like half-asleep schoolchildren awaiting orders.

Usually, his tour ends here right at the gates of food storage—the imposing building breathing life into their perishables.

His legs moves further down that the farm becomes a distant, the paddock an ant. He blames the dog, energetic without slowing down.

The sensation hits him first. Then the stench. Fish. He likes fish. He loves fish. Premium quality meat, low-fat, taste great however cooked, minimal cooking stress, what's not to love about fish?

Goddess, do they smell. He glares at the butchering shop but closed door stares back, passive.

Enclosed under a greenhouse, this area has strict entry prohibition—permission only. Fine by him. He doesn't want to get closer either. Nothing to see but a greenhouse, water pipes slithering from the ground into large blue fish tanks.

It is all so boring to him. The dog, however, doesn't get the memo. Maybe it's because they don't venture here and the environment smells funny and exciting or that he'd stopped moving.

Whichever the case may be, Community Princess suddenly bundles towards the green house in heaps of excited barking.

Kamil takes off after her cursing under his breath but that damn dog is either ridiculously faster when happy or he is slow. By the time he enters the greenhouse, the dog is at the feet of—oh, shit—the Alpha who'd just risen from giving her a head rub.

When Kamil nears, he sees the cuteness in Nuka's eyes and doesn't know who's laying on thick the puppy dog eyes—the secretary or the dog wagging her tail.

The fish farmer on the other hand glares at him with so much condemnation he instantly becomes defensive.

"Major Sandcastle, you know pets are forbidden. You are forbidden."

He think he hears Veronica Strict say pests but he won't swear of it if put on the stand.

"I know. I know but she got away—" whistles at the dog but she doesn't obey instead nuzzles against the Alpha's leg like she's pissing on him.

Talk about disloyal.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes when it becomes evident Community Princess isn't leaving the leg. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

"Make sure it doesn't, Major," Veronica bristles and shrugs when he eyes her.

"We are about done here, right?" the Alpha whistles and Community Princess instantly perks up and loyally follows him out, conveniently ignoring Kamil.

Flicking off Veronica Strict who mockingly laughs at his retreating back, Kamil keeps a healthy distance between him and the Alpha as they make their way away from the fish farm, past the farm but stops outside the paddock when the shepherds hollers a good morning to the Alpha and Nuka.

Kamil finds it funny—endearing that he is i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶e̶d̶ not spotted but the moment the Alpha makes an appearance, everyone's ninth senses picks it up.

It must be an Alpha thing. Or maybe it's the yellow suit he's wearing today—suit period. Anyone can spot his common sartorial chicness miles away.

He chuckles at this. The Alpha glances his way and Kamil offers a smile. The Alpha doesn't return it because his eyes are closed and he hadn't glanced Kamil's way, he turned his head to the sky, hands pocketed. Nuka who'd been listing appointments stops.

"I'm listening. Continue."

Nuka does but his eyebrows does a funny dance, his mouth pouts when the Alpha's body relaxes, slightly leaning on his ankle.

Kamil shares a questioning glance with the secretary who's debating between shutting up and not at the risk of affecting the Alpha's rest? It must be, because Kamil senses his breathing slow evenly as if he's stealing a nap.

Nuka takes the plunge and shuts right up. But isn't convinced even when the Alpha says he's still listening.

"I'm not sleeping."

He sounds like he wants to. Nuka close the book shut to the Alpha opening his eyes and suggests they pick it up later. The Alpha on the other hand has another idea.

"Why don't you take the morning off? You know what?" he interrupts Nuka's unspoken protest. "Take the morning and afternoon off."

Kamil shrugs helplessly when a pensive Nuka silently asks for advice.

"It's fine. Nothing's wrong. Goddess knows when the Ambassador arrive tomorrow, you'll be asking for a month holiday."

"You mean it? You really mean it?" Nuka's face goes through the whole nine yards of lighting up—dim, low, bright, brighter—and he grabs the Alpha's hands, kisses it and effusively says his thanks.

The Alpha takes it in stride. Staring at the exuberance flurry of Nuka jogging/leaping to his few hours of rest, Kamil realizes the Alpha's talking to him.

"What was that?"

"I said he's adorable. Wonder why his effervescence hasn't rubbed on me."

"It's the whole suit gimmick, Alpha. You can't leap when you're constrained."

He feels proud when the Alpha laughs—a ten second laugh but it's a record for him. Making someone laugh in the morning.

"I can't wait for winter."

Kamil steps forward wanting to look at the Alpha's not his nape when he talks. He reaches the Alpha's eyesight but he knows it's the lie of the uneven ground—the Alpha is two inches taller.

"When it snows and the ground is blanketed knee-level, from the inside looking out, the dead trees, snowflakes and the chill looks like rebirth."

Kamil says nothing knowing it's one of those conversations where a response isn't needed. Shifters love winter. It's when their wolf can be as free as they want it to be for the whole winter. Ninety or so days of unbridled freedom.

"Hey, Kamil? Want to go swimming?"

"Right now?"

"Not now. In the winter."

This statement isn't insanity. The Winter Forest is winter all year round, everything frozen. But. During winter, the water becomes liquid—ice cold but liquid.

"Oh. Okay. It's a date."