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Chapter 3 The Storm

"Seasonal storms seed new beginnings and change is always brewing. Never let your mind grow stagnant or the floodwaters will wash you away." - Tuari, Haven youth instructor

Next

Sleep eludes you for hours as you lie in bed staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, unable to quash a cascade of images, questions, and doubts. What was it that the crazy old wolf had said to you? "There's only so much any one person can do to change the world. But if we work hard enough, dare to make the impossible choices, we can leave our mark."

The declaration clings to your conscious thoughts even as you drift off to sleep.

"We can leave our mark."

The Mark Has Been Made

You wake with a start, drenched in sweat despite the morning chill.

Your dreams were a chaotic jumble of frightening images; you remember looking up at a man in a surgical mask holding a scalpel as two orderlies strapped you down.

"This won't hurt a bit," the doctor said as he began cutting into your chest. You pulled free of the restraints and slashed your claws through the doctor's throat, bathing in a euphoric state of feral bliss as his blood rained down, staining your red fur with a speckling of dark crimson. Another human dead by your hand. It felt right. Just. You can still feel the phantom pain of the blade as the dream slowly fades. You groan. Another day. Another chance to change the world. And it's a weekend; no lessons and no work. You have the whole day to yourself.

You open the drawer next to your bed. The syringe you took from the humans' medical center is still there where you left it, tempting you with promises of increased vigor and strength. Now that you have a moment to yourself to think, you consider whether or not to inject its contents.

A sudden wave of anger overtakes you as you stare at the syringe. The humans are experimenting on werewolves, cutting you open and injecting enhancements into your bloodstreams. What right do they have to play god with your pack?

A sudden overwhelming compulsion comes over you, and you rush to the bathroom, smashing the syringe into the sink. The glass breaks open, sending shards everywhere as the strange liquid drips down the drain where it belongs. Feeling somewhat sheepish in the aftermath of your hasty decision, you sweep up the glass, disposing of it carefully.

A sharp knock comes from your door. Mourning the passing of your all-too-brief period of peace and quiet, you quickly throw on some clothes and open the door. Dena stands there, panting and out of breath.

"I'm sorry, Decaarr, I didn't know where else to go. My dad was yelling this morning—he woke me up when it was still dark out. One of the adults didn't come back from the humans' warehouse last night. I think it was one of his friends. He kept talking about 'making them pay.' I waited until he calmed down before I came out of my room. He tried to pretend like nothing had happened. He wouldn't even tell me the truth." Tears well up in her eyes. "How can we keep living like this? What if my family disappears next?"