8

Falling, falling…

Is this truly how things happened, or is your mind playing tricks on you, trying to make sense of its peril and projecting soft outlines of better times as you descend through the air in a helpless free fall? A recollection of a face looks at you through the blackness, concerned eyes blinking before vanishing on a gust of ethereal wind.

You remember your mother in the vague sense that all children orphaned at a young age do. The touch of a loving hand. A few notes from a song hummed to lull you to sleep. That indefinable sense of belonging that only a parent can offer their child. It was important to her that you grew up with a strong sense of self—you read as much in the letters she left you after her passing.

Your head is swimming. You've got to wake up, latch onto your core being, and climb it upward through the darkness.

You think you hear your mother calling to you. The Haven wolves use only first names, as the pack is considered to be one family despite differences of background. What name do you hear echoing through the void?