Werewolves can be brought about one of two ways- through having parents that are werewolves, or at least one parent who carries the ability to shift, or by being bitten. Generally, werewolves are not aggressive towards humans and do not bite very many of them, preferring to keep their world untainted by human influence. That doesn't mean it never happens, however.

Werewolves gain the ability to shift sometime from the ages of eleven to sixteen, during puberty. Their first shift can be triggered by the light of the full moon or strong emotions. Werewolves can control their shifts, but this is an ability that takes time to master. Younger werewolves mostly shift due to strong emotions. Wolves can still be triggered into a shift when they are older, however, they tend to have more control of their shifts.

Besides this, there aren't many physical differences between humans and werewolves in their human shift. While werewolves tend to be stronger than humans and maintain a heightened sense of smell, taste, and hearing, they are generally the same. The only other difference is in their body temperature- werewolves tend to have a higher body temperature than humans do. They also heal slightly quicker.

Like wolves, they are only somewhat bigger than normal wolves, though their sizes do vary. They are about the size of the extinct species from which they hail, dire wolves.

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Emotions and Colors:
While in changeform, werewolves' experiences are... simpler. It's not that they are any less smart, they simply have less access to most human emotions. Due to this, they feel a limited amount of emotions- and, in their minds, they feel these emotions as colors- like a sort of synesthesia.

They can also feel other wolves' emotions (in their pack) using this color system. Werewolves have a small amount of communicative ability within their pack- they can silently commune with one another or tap into the entirety of the packs' emotions. Likewise, they can hide their emotions from their pack with some practice.

There are several different colors, with different emotions they represent. Here is a small list:

Red- Red mainly represents anger. Depending on the intensity of the color, you can tell just how angry a werewolf is. The darker and cooler the color, the angrier the wolf. Red can also represent homeland- a werewolf idea that can't quite be translated into conventional English. It is a lighter color of red, and the best I could come up with is probably, 'safety, warmth, and protection.' The metaphorical 'hearth,' in a way.

Orange- Orange represents pride, playfulness, and amusement. The redder the orange, the more representative of pride it is. Playfulness and amusement are lighter, with more yellow in them.

Yellow- Yellow represents happiness, friendliness, shock, and sickness. Brighter shades of yellow denote happiness and friendliness, while paler yellow represents shock. Sickness is represented by a more jaundiced color of yellow. Sickness also smells of rot to the wolves.

Green- Green represents quite a few things. Lighter green represents newness. Dark green represents curiosity and interest. Faded dark green represents envy.

Blue- Blue represents sadness and grief. The lighter the blue, the more faded, the sadder the wolf. It can also represent loneliness.

Purple- Purple can represent both bad and good things. Paler, lavender purple symbolized anxiety. Regular purple means fear. Richer, royal purple represents love- or, at least, the wolf equivalent of love. Deep purple represents hurt.

In human shift, werewolves tend to feel these colors in a much more complicated way. They will mix with each other, making way for new emotions. That's why, for many, staying as a wolf when hurting or grieving, so they do not feel so overwhelmed with human emotions.

Playlist:

- ❆ - "Running with the Wolves" by Aurora (Wolfwalkers edition) - ❆ -
- ☾ - "I Run To You" by MISSIO - ☽ -

ii

Elliott Acula

Appearance:

Personality:

History:

The heavy snow crunched thickly underfoot as Tundra’s paws sunk softly into the spring-damp snow. A white snow hare hung limply from his jaws, still warm in his mouth. It would be one of his last catches in the snow territory. There would be only one more sun cycle before Alpha would call the Pack together to make the journey back to the tree territory.

Tundra had made this journey many times before and would make it many times again. Even in his simpler mind, he could remember the trip with ease. It was another journey for which the wolves were so fond of- from snow to trees, Tundra to Taiga.

Tundra’s ears perked as he neared the territory’s border. He hadn’t meant to go out so far, but it was okay, because he had found prey, and that meant Pack would be fed for their journey. Vera especially- the female wolf was still not the most familiar with the snow and tree territories, and she smelled of pups. It was too early, much too early for them to be ready yet, but Tundra felt… yellow. Happy, at the thought of them.

As he crossed into territory bounds, he caught a familiar scent, and all of the yellow was replaced with blue, blue, blue. That scent- he knew, he knew, he knew, he remembered that scent. It was… pine needles and cinnamon and tree smoke, and it was home, and safety, and help, and-and-and-

Adalia.

Tundra whined softly and paused, turning his nose up to sniff at the scent again. Even with the rabbit there, its own scent thick and cloying, he could smell it, clear as day, but old. He tried to place the time- stale, stale, stale, but preserved, maybe a moon old? He ached to turn and pursue the scent. Follow, follow, follow-

But then a loud howl cut through the icy landscape, cutting over banks of snow and ice, and echoing over the empty vastness of the snow territory. Tundra turned his ears towards it, letting it buoy him up. Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, needs me, I must go, I must run-

And so, even with his mouth full of rabbit, Tundra tipped up his silver head and howled- a low, muffled sound that said, I am here, I am wolf, I am coming, Alpha, Alpha, Alpha. And though the message was one of reunion, it sounded blue, so blue that it was sure to make any wolf who was listening whine with worry.

He left the scent behind, hare swinging in his mouth as he loped over the snow hills, heavy paws propelling him forward through the icy white landscape around him.

If he were in human shift, he might have felt regret. But he was a wolf, and the Alpha was calling, so he had to go instead, leaving the familiar scent behind.

❆ Word Count: 501 ❆

Things had gotten very confusing, very quickly for Elliott. She had been out with her family on one of the rare occasions that they all went hunting together. It was the season for bear, but they were only after birds. Wild turkey, quail, pheasants, and the like.

Despite their desired prey, birds were not what they happened upon today. Elliott thought it was a wolf, but the creature was so large. It was certainly bigger than any wolf she had ever seen, not that she went out of her way to run into wolves. It shouldn't have been a problem, a lone wolf wasn't likely to be keen on attacking three people.

Everything should have been fine, the group was armed. They weren't carrying anything high caliber but a few shots should be enough to scare the wolf away at the very least. But everything wasn't okay, and the beast wasn't deterred by the sound of gunshot nor did it stop when eventually the group took aim for its body.

Elliott wasn't even sure any of their shots had hit the wolf, for the only blood she saw was coming from her loved ones and herself. Everything happened so fast, she really only remembers lying there as the wolf clawed her open, and it was hard to forget lying there unmoving, even after it left. She was sure she would bleed out and die, just like her parents beside her who hadn't moved in a long time.

It didn't hurt after a while. It could have been the cold, or the shock. It was unclear to Elliott how much time had passed, but the sky had gotten dark so it must have been a few hours. Or maybe it was just her vision darkening. Surely she wouldn't have lasted until dark, what with all the blood she should have been losing.

It felt like it had been a long time since she had last blinked, eyes trained on the darkening sky. There were a few stars, but she couldn't see the moon yet. But it seemed as she scanned the sky, suddenly it was there, and it was also a lot darker. That didn't make sense, had she blacked out?

As she gazed at the full moon, Elliott began to feel feverish. That made sense, hypothermia should have set in long ago. But it wasn't just the heat that plagued her, soon a strong wave of nausea followed. The nausea was strong enough to make her turn her head in case she vomited, although she wasn't sure the wolf had left her with any stomach.

The sudden fever and nausea was joined by a strong ache in her joints. It must've been infection setting in, but it seemed a bit fast for that. Or maybe it wasn't, time was a little fuzzy for Elliott right now.

Everything was a little fuzzy, enough that she wasn't sure if the cracking sound coming from her was real. But that plus the aching in her joints made her feel awfully uncomfortable, enough so that she rolled over, somehow able to support herself on her hands and knees. She thought for sure her insides should have been spilling out of what should have been a hole in her abdomen, but they weren't.

From here on out, things got really confusing. She didn't walk on two legs anymore, but instead stumbled around on four. It was probably something to give a bit of thought to, how she got another pair of legs, but right now thinking is even harder than before. Her thoughts seemed a lot simpler than before too, but it was hard to think about that. It was hard to think about anything.

To anyone looking on, the black wolf stumbling around in the dark would probably remind them a lot more of a baby deer getting used to its legs than anything close to an apex predator. Quite honestly, in the state she was, Elliott was probably just about as dangerous as a newborn fawn, too.

She wasn't sure when she started running instead of stumbling around, barely used to the extra set of legs and no arms, but it felt good. Elliott had played soccer in school, but she never loved sports or anything. But right now, she loves to run. Maybe more than she had ever loved anything. She wasn't sure where she was or where she was running to, but the sun was shining and she was running.

☾ Word Count: 774 ☾

i. homeland
Tundra Wilde |❆| 19 |❆| April 26 |❆| 3:45 PM

All wolves had a scent, as unique to them as snowflakes were from each other. Tundra had grown up surrounded by these scents, and had grown to learn each individual scent and who it belonged to.

His childhood was punctuated by the scent of black-eyed Susans, as well as warm milk, a scent that each mother wolf carried, only discernible by her pups. The scent of black tea and seaside cliffs had persisted through his childhood, the smell of Taiga. His father (alpha alpha alpha) smelled of fresh mountain air, burdock root, and bitter creosote sprigs.

As he had grown older, he had learned the other scents of his pack- his other aunt, Vivian, smelling of dried driftwood and coffee grounds, as well as that same bitter creosote as her brother.

Theodore, a wolf far his elder, always smelled like damp canvas and myrrh. He had learned to drop his tail and crouch a bit lower to the ground when that scent crossed his path, used to harsh reprimands and icy remarks. The only one he had ever feared more was Theodore’s daughter, Lyra, whose cruelty was not only restrained to passive-aggressive comments and cool insults. She knew that he was intimidated by her, and flaunted her power easily. She smelled of agrimony and poppies, a cloying, sweet mixture that had a sleepy quality about it. It was sickly sweet and clung to his nostrils until she passed. He didn’t like it very much at all.

His favorite scent, though, had always been his aunt, Adalia’s. Out of all of the wolves in his pack, she had always smelled the most like their homeland. He remembered the cool, Alaskan summers that they had spent together, patrolling their forest territory, searching for prey. Adalia had been the one to teach him how to hunt on his own, so he didn’t always have to be with the pack to bring down prey. They weren’t always able to spend time together- for a long time, Adalia had been his fathers’ second, working to keep the pack organized and healthy. When she finally retired, she had not stopped with Tundra’s training, taking him farther and farther away from pack territory and pushing him to his limits. This is who you need to become, she would tell him. For the good of the pack, for the good of our family. You must become strong.

It had reminded him of how his father would sometimes take Taiga out on their private outings as if to impart some deep and arcane wisdom on him. It made Tundra feel wanted. It made him feel special.

When Tundra thought about those times, he had always felt yellow and orange, carried on a breeze of cinnamon and pine. Now when he thought of them, he only felt blue, blue, blue.

--

They had left for the territory of trees later in the season than they usually did. Alpha did not try to give a reason why, but Tundra knew. He could see it in the way that his fathers’ limp was worsening, how his eyes were gaining a milky screen. His coat was more unkempt than he had ever let it get before and he slept a lot more, alone in his den. When he moved, his steps were careful and deliberate, too slow to run with his pack like he used to.

Tundra whined when he thought about it. He had always known that his father would get old, that he would not always be Alpha. Still, though, something about seeing it first-hand scared him.

His father had been much older than his mother when they had mated. Tundra had heard the stories of how she had always been his second choice- he had pursued another, Adalia, for much longer. But Adalia had been angry at him and hurt by some great secret in history that seemed to have been forgotten, and she had wanted nothing to do with him. So he had eventually settled with her sister.

Adalia had never liked to talk about her past much. When Tundra tried to ask, she always seemed so blue, and there was deep, deep, red there, too, pain, and hurt, and anger. Tundra hated it when she was blue, so he tried to avoid the topic, despite how much it intrigued him. There were things about his packs’ history that he thought he might never know, things that maybe he didn’t want to. Those memories would die with his father, and Adalia, and everyone else who had been around at the time of the previous Alpha. Tundra knew that.

Still, making the journey from the snow territory to the tree territory was so different this year than it had been the prior fall. His father was so much slower now, even in the expanse of a half-year, and so they traveled slower. Maybe he might have been able to overlook that, the slow march of time, if Adalia had been there with him to trot alongside him, nipping at his haunches to send them into a playful chase that might end with the two of them sprawling messily in the snow.

But that was another difference, too. The scent of their homeland did not follow him as he went, and Adalia did not press her wet nose against his in greeting when they woke in the morning. No, Adalia was not there at all.

Tundra was not sure when she had gone. Time was difficult when he was in wolfshift. One moment, she had been there, licking Vera’s face as she lay in a makeshift den, her back right foot newly amputated, the next, she was gone without a trace, vanishing into the wilderness like a stone tossed into the sea.

Tundra had howled for her long after most of the pack had accepted she was gone and was not coming back. Vera had pressed her muzzle into his scruff and rumbled in her shared grief, Vivian had accompanied him on his many unauthorized patrols to seek out his old mentor, often going far past their territory to help his search, howling along with him.

She had never come back, in the end, and as the daylight cycled over and over again, all reminders of her had slipped away, like a seal into the icy waters of the ocean.

Now, they had gone; left her behind. If he were human, Tundra was sure he would feel so much more than now. But it wasn’t time yet to shift, so he could only feel blue and red and blue.

--

It was later in the day, but still early enough for sun, when Tundra caught his first glimpse of truly familiar terrain. With a single, pleased yip, he bolted forwards, scattering snow behind him as he came upon the landmark.
It was a large, flat rock made of dark stone. On its side, etched into the stone with patience and time, the word, “Homeland.”

Tundra leaped up onto the rock, falling over to roll excitedly, pushing snow away from the surface (as was tradition.) Taiga was quick to join him, his steps much more dignified as he pulled himself up onto the rock. Foolish, he thought at his younger brother with a small hrmph. Tundra whined a little, and slithered off of the rock, letting his tail fall somewhat between his legs. He remembered the days when both he and Taiga would leap excitedly onto the rock, nosing away at the snow and nipping at each others’ pelts as the other members of the packs neared, watching with amusement. It had been a long time since Taiga had shown such warmth towards him. Tundra wondered when that had happened.

The scent of agrimony and drowsy wild poppies caught in his nostrils, and Tundra was quick to slink away. Even if Taiga tolerated his presence, Lyra never had. She leaped onto the rock, a movement of quick grace and silence. She held herself with elegance, even as brushed away some snow and bared her teeth at him. Tundra did not bother to growl back, he simply turned away. All excitement of almost reaching home had been drained out of him by the cold reception to his antics.

Kobe, Lyra’s brother and only friendly wolf out of the family, padded around the side to press a reassuring nose to Tundra’s shoulder. Do not feel blue, second heir, he thought, a private moment for only them to feel. You do not need to be fearful. You are more, you are great, you are pack. He felt sunny orange at that moment, and Tundra leaned into him for a moment longer, accepting his support.

Kobe smelled of sumac, wet slate, and, faintly, of wild pepper. His was a comforting scent, and Tundra licked at his muzzle to show appreciation. Kobe sneezed and turned away, muzzle pressed into an amused, wolfy grin. Tundra wagged his tail and followed him back into the main group of wolves, ignoring Theodores’ soft growl, and Lyra’s disapproving smile. They came to stand next to Vera and Evan, who offered him a short sniff and playful yip in turn.

Vera smelled of orchids and sagewood and meadowsweet, but ever since the accident, she had smelled of rusted metal, too. It edged her scent, even after she had plunged herself into the icy waters of the tundra ice floes in despair. She was still blue, but these days, she felt like hints of green, too.

Evan was greener, too, but colder towards Tundra. Ever since the accident, so much had changed. Before, they had been tentative friends, spending time hunting together as Tundra took it upon himself to teach Evan the ways of the new landscape he found himself living in. Evan was the newest addition to the pack, brought in after his pack was decimated by hunters back in North America. He didn’t smell anything like Tundra was used to- instead, he smelled of rhubarb and fresh strawberries and fertile soil.

Now, though, he turned away from Tundra, a flash of red in an ocean of blue. Tundra bit back a whine, and instead leaned forward to graze his nose against Vera’s muzzle in silent greeting. She sighed into his embrace, before pulling back. Travelling had been hard for her, right after the accident, but she was getting better at traversing the ground with one less paw. He wondered how it would be when she finally shifted back. Maybe more blue.

Tundra glanced back up at the rock. He couldn’t help the tremor of anticipation that shot through him at the sight before him. His father- alpha alpha alpha- had leaped up onto the rock, making a small show of pushing Taiga and Lyra off of the rock. He growled playful at them, a low buzz in his chest. Tundra couldn’t think of a time that his father had acted in such a manner to him. The thought made him blue, though, so he tried to ignore it.

Lyra grumbled playfully back, wagging her tail a few times, and his father seemed to pause, thinking. Some of the other wolves seemed to stop and wait as if caught up in their own trepidation. Tundra paused, confused. He leaned into the pack, trying to connect them, to understand what was going on. Everything, all around him, was a pale yellow and deep orange, but inside of it, he could also catch glimpses of deep, deep red, and even a flash of purple.

Tundra still didn’t understand. He whined softly, but Kobe turned his head to the side and pressed his face into his scruff, a silent sense of calm, calm, wait, brother, watch.

So Tundra did, not quite sure what he was waiting for.

His father rumbled and leaned down to press his nose softly against Lyra’s muzzle. Her tail wagged, lifting high into the air. Tundra bristled. This was not right this was not Alpha why was she why was she there is no she is not Alpha Alpha Alpha what is this why is he being like this why does he not act like this to me I want I want I want-

His father pulled away quickly, surveying her, and then, before brushing a single grain of snow from the almost uncovered rock, he stepped off, steps slow and he acquiesced his spot back to Taiga and Lyra.

And Tundra-

Tundra didn’t understand. Alpha was always the one to push the last of the snow off of the rock. He was the one who always led them through the finishing stretch of land. Why was he letting Taiga do it now? Why was he letting Lyra?

Something dark and faded and green filled Tundra’s chest. He turned his head away, shut himself off of the pack so they could not see what he was feeling.

Something was different, something was changing. Tundra watched as Taiga and Lyra nosed the last of the snow from off of the rock, before turning to press their noses into one another's scruffs.

This is not I do not understand I do not-

The pack began to gather around the rock, just like they always did before they began to move. This had always been Tundra’s favorite part- standing before his Alpha, tail held high with pride as he stood on the rock, paws digging into the wet surface. Sometimes, his mother would join her mate, looking so small next to his father.

Now, though, they did not crowd around his father. They crowded around Taiga and Lyra, and Tundra bit back a whine because he didn’t understand.

The rock was exactly as he remembered. Everything was exactly as he remembered. But now, it was Taiga and Lyra, and Tundra didn’t understand why that felt so wrong to him. Like something was being torn out of him and crushed beneath the stomping feet of a moose.

Without the snow covering the rock, Tundra could see the cool, wet stone beneath it. Imprinted in the rock were pawprints, many, many pawprints. Adalia had told him that they were the footprints of Alphas past. There were three, main, noticeable sets of prints. Alpha usually stood in the middle. His mother would stand on his left. The third was for a rank not used- the Alpha’s true second, sometimes the third mate.

Now Taiga stood in the middle, and Lyra stood on his left. It was wrong, Tundra thought. It was so wrong.

Vivian stepped next to his side, her driftwood and creosote scent accompanied by soft warm red- and darker red, too, but that wasn’t directed towards him. Tundra whined and directed his jumbled thoughts at her instead.

What is why do I it’s broken Vivian aunt sister it’s broken it’s broken-

Vivian turned her head and licked comfortingly at his ears as if he were only a pup. I know, she thought at him. I know.

Vivian may have known, but Tundra did not. He warred with himself, a mess of sickly green, and burning red that he barely managed to keep himself.

Taiga and Lyra stood there for a moment longer, their scents mixing in with each other. Tundra fought the urge to turn his face away. Taiga is not this isn’t right but I knew I knew he would be Alpha but he cannot be I don’t I don’t Lyra is not I cannot-

Taiga threw his head back and howled. It echoed over the landscape, like a heralding trumpet. It was proud and excited. It was a song of homeland.

But it didn’t feel like that. The others began to join- Lyra’s loud, light howl, dainty and removed, Theodore’s deep, throaty grumble, his mothers’ faint, shaky howl, like a breeze trapped in the woods. His father, loud and warm and familiar, but not quite right, still. He should have been leading it.

Tundra should have been-

No. No, that wasn’t- he shouldn’t think like that. He wasn’t- it wasn’t right.

Even if it felt like-

Slowly, more began to join. Tundra noted how some hung back as if they were still waiting. He turned to Vivian, only to find that her eyes were focused on him, her eyes the same familiar brown of Alpha. A few others were looking at him as well- Kobe glanced at him from the corner of his eye, while Evan kept flicking his gaze back and forth, unsure. Only Vera stared openly, head cocked slightly to the right.

Tundra didn’t know what he was waiting for. He should howl, he knew. Should show support of his pack and his Alpha but… he couldn’t. And, maybe, the others knew that. Maybe that was why they were watching him.

Not for the first time, Tundra missed Adalia. She would know what to do in this situation, and she would guide him. If he focused on it, he could almost smell the scent of pine and cinnamon on the breeze, but it was gone in a single moment, and he was sure he had imagined it.

After another moment of silence, Evan finally tipped his head back and howled, high and rich. Kobe only watched him for a moment more, before giving in, letting his soft, low howl wash over the group. Vera watched him with some unidentifiable feeling in her eyes, before giving in to the call.

Vivian was the longest to wait. She watched him with eyes that seemed so old, yet so young at the same time. Something in them seemed to say, This is it, then. And she, too, howled.

Usually, pack howls felt warm and safe, and of pack, pack, pack, but this time, Tundra could only focus on the dissonance. He tipped his head up to join them, but his howl died in his throat. He just stood there, instead, eyes trained upon the overcast sky, high above him, and wished he could understand why this felt so wrong.

|❆| Word Count: 3021 |❆|

ii. visitor
Tundra Wilde |❆| 19 |❆| April 27 |❆| 7:00

They were close, now.

Tundra didn’t need to look for familiar landmarks, not when he knew this land like the pack of his own paw. The air held the scent of homeland and familiarity. It made him feel small and big at the same time, as if the landscape was wrapping around him and holding him close. He whined, whether from the familiar feeling of dense, spongy pine needles that buoyed his steps on the snow, or the strange feeling of change, he didn't know. Of things being wrong in so many ways that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend what the main cause was. It was too complicated of a thing to consider in this form, he was sure.

He was tired today, mostly because they had not stopped to rest the following night like they usually did. Taiga had been inordinately invested in reaching their home as soon as possible, and Lyra had been right there to snarl at any who complained, no matter how much they whined with exhaustion.

Vera had been the worst off, walking forward with a hobbling sort of gait, whining as she pressed her nose to her mates’ muzzle. Evan stared at Taiga and Lyra with a strange sort of look that Tundra had never seen before, but he did not protest, simply pressing his body against his mates’ as they kept going. A snowstorm, one of the final ones of the season, had hit sometime in the middle of the night, long before they reached the relative cover that the thick fir trees would provide. The pack had continued to limp along, growing wearier and wearier by the moment. Something about that- seeing his pack struggle behind as Taiga and Lyra pushed onwards, deaf to the groans and whines of their pack, the blue misery that swept off of them with every gust of wind, set Tundra on edge.

Tundra had wanted to do something, but he felt helpless enough to ignore the notion. Instead, he found his way over to where his father was beginning to lag behind the pack, silver hairs mottling his muzzle, and turning the end of the long, black stripe that went down his nose a misty shade of grey. He pressed his weight against his fathers’ form, much like Evan was doing for his mate, and snuffled into his fathers’ neck. The scent of fresh creosote and burdock root filled his nose, reminding him of old wounds smothered in herbs.

His father grumbled softly in response and licked his nose in greeting. Wise, dark eyes watched him with quiet interest. Go ahead, they seemed to say. It is almost time anyways.

Tundra didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t like it. He whined and pressed more of his weight against the aged wolf, silently urging his father to reciprocate the motion. He was a prideful, stubborn wolf, but so was Tundra in his image, and he finally gave in, leaning his weight into Tundra’s warmth.

His father had always been one of the bigger wolves in the pack, but now, he seemed so much smaller. Fragile, almost. Tundra whined and pressed forwards. He did not remember his changeform getting this big, either. It must have been the extra snow fluff he gained for the winter. He had always been on the smaller side, a trait he took on from his mother. This past winter had been hard on them; he couldn’t imagine he had put on much weight, and gaining muscle seemed impossible. He hadn’t been this close to his father in a while, though- maybe he misremembered, or maybe his father had gotten smaller with age. He thought that must be the case.

They had continued to travel forward, Tundra pressed into his fathers’ side as they worked their way after the rest of the pack. He could feel his father slowing the farther on they continued, but he didn’t dare complain. He remembered the flash of Lyra’s eyes, spittle flying from her muzzle as she snapped at him- a memory that would mark the first incident of many. He didn’t like her imperious attitude, but it was something he would have to deal with. When they got back to the summer territory, it would go back to normal- his father and mother would take up the lead, and when they got to their camp, they would howl their final greeting.

The camp would need to be cleaned. It was a small group of cabins arranged in a sort-of circle, hidden in the depths of the pine woods. There was a water tower that watched over them from a distance, the only sign of human life. Their camp had been chosen many generations ago by the first Alphas who had moved to these lands and populated their pack. Once upon a time, they would have stayed in them year-round, but overgrowth in the wolves had turned into overhunting in the winter times, driving the prey farther into the Alaskan Tundra. They had been forced to follow them. Werewolves, while being omnivorous, mainly got the nutrients they needed from meat.

That wasn’t an issue anymore. In recent years, with the prey becoming harder and harder to find and catch, the pack had dwindled into near nothingness. Now, they persevered with only twelve members.

Or, no, Tundra remembered. Eleven now.

When the dawn had finally arrived, they were granted a reprieve. The blizzard slowed to nothing more than a slight snowstorm, and the ground began to feel spongy and damp, frozen snow giving way in some small places to reveal the slight imprint of grass beneath the heavy snow. There would still be many months before patches of the ground might finally give way to stiff, scruffy grass, but in their pine forest territory, they had a bit more protection.

Taiga slowed, yipping softly at Lyra as he did so. He took in the state of his bedraggled pack, their condition stark in the pale dawn. He had kept that pace through the rest of the day, and though he did not allow them to stop and stretch their aching muscles. It only seemed to push the wolves farther and farther forwards, the call of home, home, home overwhelming them.

Now, despite his protesting limbs, Tundra kept his head high. He still took the rear, walking in-step with his father. The snow crunched pleasingly under his paws- a sound which he would have usually enjoyed, if not for the painful snow sores decorating his paws. He, like many others, left bloody footprints in the snow as they moved. The sight of all of those bloody paw prints filled him with some quiet sort of rage, but it was an emotion he did not know what to do with.

They reached the edge of their true home around seven. Tundra inhaled deeply, letting the scent of pine and winter moss fill his nose, and for a moment, he forgot to feel blue, because everything was red and orange and yellow, too. He wanted to roll in the snow, surround himself with home, to yip and bark and nip at the heels of his packmates, to play in the snow. He leaped forward, intent on doing just that, and yipped playfully at Taiga’s tail, tongue lolling out.

Home, he thought, sending red over the bond. Home, pack, safe, brother-

Taiga did not turn back to him with a playful riposte, did not dance in that familiar way that he used to on their return trips. Instead, he twisted around with a sharp snarl and snapped at Tundra’s ears. Tundra stumbled back with a surprised whine, tail falling still. What was happening? Taiga had never reacted like that to him before, even if things between them had seemed tense, lately.

Tundra slunk back to the rear of the pack, where his father was waiting with watchful eyes. He could feel the gazes of his packmates burning through him, and he cringed, feeling as if he had been stripped bare. He looked up at his father expecting some sort of answer in those wise, brown eyes, but there was nothing waiting there except for placid observation. For some reason, that was the worst part of this humiliation- the complacency of his pack. He had done nothing wrong, he was sure of it. So why were they all acting as if he had?

The rest of the return journey was uneventful. Tundra kept his tail and head down, still confused at why everything was happening so fast. Any excitement or joy of homeland had been dulled by pale yellow shock and lavender anxiety. There was also a fair bit of deep purple hurt mixed in with it, which might have been irrational, except he didn’t understand enough to really know what emotions he should have been feeling. Mostly, he just wanted to get home, to wrap his feet, and to sleep for a while. Perhaps this would all make sense when he woke up again.

Unfortunately, such dreams would not be realized. When they were about halfway to their camp, Lyra paused, raising her head to smell the breeze. Taiga copied her, and the rest of the pack slowed to a stop, taking their quick reprieve to stretch their legs or lick at their aching paws. Vera fought the urge to sit down on shaking legs, while her mate held her up with a muzzle pressed into her side.

All at once, something changed. Lyra let out a low, slow growl, the type she made when she was about to tear out a creatures’ throat, and Tundra cringed back a little, wondering if he had done something wrong. His worry was quickly extinguished- or, not ended, just changed- as she turned her head to the side, smelling the air again. Tundra raised his nose, too, wondering if he could catch it, and then the faint sense of alarm ran through the pack. Tundra smelled the source of it only a few moments after- the scent of a strange wolf, mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

Two different emotions encroached on him at once. First, the red of homeland and anger, worry for his pack, the need to keep them safe. Then, a strangely human emotion- a strange mix of purple and blue. Compassion, he thought, but it was only an afterthought to all of the red- something to be examined later.

Lyra immediately set out at a breakneck pace, Taiga only a breath behind her. The pack hurried back into formation, struggling after the two. Tundra paused for a moment, unsure. He should make sure this wolf was not a threat. But shouldn’t his parents be leading the pack?

In the end, he gave up on the questions and sprinted after them, the need to protect singing in his blood like a wildfire. He would keep them safe from harm, away from threats. This intruder would not be allowed to harm them.

It was not hard to follow. Dried blood fell in scattered patches across the snow, the sign of a healing werewolf. The scent grew stronger the closer they grew to their camp, and with it, so did Tundra’s worry. Pack pack pack must protect pack mine mine mine sang through his veins, and for the first time since Lyra and Taiga had taken up the lead, maybe even since Adalia had disappeared, Tundra felt a sense of belonging and responsibility.

Some of their packmates- Vera, Evan, his mother, his father- stayed behind. The rest of them followed, ignoring their bloodied paws and aching joints. Taking his left flank, Vivian stormed through the snow, mouth open in a silent growl. On his right, Kobe hurtled across the ground, eyes set in front of him. Neither of them broke in front of him, he could not help but notice. If they were doing it on purpose, however, neither seemed to notice. If Adalia were here, she would have taken up Vivians’ spot. Kobe and Vivian were new.

Theodore followed to the right of his daughter, while Tundra fell to the left of his brother. It was a spontaneous decision, driven by instinct instead of logic. The position was familiar, but something was disconcertingly off about it. Tundra shook his head as if to dislodge the thought, focusing instead on his current goal- protect.

The group veered right, making a beeline away from camp, but then back towards it. The scent of sweat and prey fear swirled around them- hunting. The intruder had hunted on their territory. A rough snarl was ripped free from Tundra’s throat, a sound he had not heard before. In front of him, Taiga stumbled, as if surprised by the sound but was quick to regain his footing.

They streaked forwards, paws thrumming against the ground like the beating of battle drums. The forest blurred around them, thinning into the sparse meadow that surrounded their camp. Usually, Tundra would have felt only relief to see his home. Now, worry filled his mind, causing him to bare his teeth in a silent threat. This was his home, these were his packmates. He would not be cowed by a reckless rogue.

Taiga was the first to notice the wolf. He slowed, his steps becoming deliberate, and growled. Around him, the others began to fan out in a threatening half-circle.

They had cornered the foreigner against one of the cabins. It seemed they had been trying to get in- the lock had held, though, and they were in their wolf-form. Tundra took in the sight before him, his deep crimson suddenly beginning to fade into something else. The wolf in front of them was not large or threatening. In fact, they looked quite the opposite of that.

Smaller in stature, they were very obviously newly-turned. The scent of humanity still clung, weakly to their fur. Their form was small and underdeveloped, a splash of black against frosty white. Honey-gold eyes, only strengthened by their black background, flicked warily from one wolf to another.

Tundra felt his rage deflate. This wolf was still injured, perhaps only barely healed enough to continue. They were obviously hungry, if their emaciated form had anything to say about it, and thirsty, too. After being turned, wolves were supposed to eat as much as possible- the newly-turned wolf would need time to adjust. It did not seem this wolf had been given any of that.

Tundra carefully stepped forwards. He could feel Lyra’s enmity coming off of her in waves, only backed by Theodores’ low growls. Many wolf packs were coldly opposed to turned wolves, especially the more traditional ones. They saw turned wolves as lesser, weaker than those who were born with pack blood in their veins. Tundra’s pack was not completely free of this- Theodore’s line was very notably opposed to turned wolves. Tundra himself had never seen a problem with it.

Theodore’s line was very notably opposed to turned wolves. Tundra himself had never seen a problem with it.

Before he could step forward to meet this new wolf, perhaps learn more about them, Lyra sprang forward with a snarl. Tundra took an involuntary step forward as Lyra’s jaw connected with the rogues’ throat, roughly digging into the fur and tossing them away from the side of the building where they were cornered. Theodore stepped forward, jaw hanging open as if in sick anticipation. Tundra realized what was about to happen before he recognized that he was already moving.

As Lyra jumped forward, mouth opened wide to deliver a striking blow. Tundra barrelled into her with a snarl that did not sound like his own, using his superior body size to throw her against the side of the building. She hit it with a heavy wham, and crumpled, momentarily stunned. Theodore was already stepping forward, rogue forgotten. He let out a furious roar and charged. Tundra braced for the impact as Theodore hit him- hard. He almost went down, but managed to keep his footing, turning with a quick movement and catching Theodore’s jaw in his waiting mouth. He twisted, turning as he did, and slammed Theodore into the ground. Before he realized what he was doing, he turned, trying to see if the rogue had made it safely away from them. He only had a moment to look- much too short to discern anything of note- before another weight slammed into him, bowling him over.

Tundra was quick to pull himself to his feet, but almost fell over again as his attacker continued. They caught Tundra’s neck in a deadlock, jaw crushing against his neck, pressing uncomfortably against his windpipe. Tundra let out a cry, and jerked away. When that didn’t work to dislodge his attacker, he pressed forward. The scent of black tea and rocky seaside filled his nose.

Taiga.

A sense of betrayal slammed through him, strong enough for the rest of the pack to feel. Taiga let go, as if surprised, and Tundra stumbled away, unwilling to fight. The last few seconds filled him with terrified confusion- he didn’t understand, suddenly, why he had reacted like he did. How could he have attacked pack?

But then he remembered the glint in Lyra’s eye as she bore down on the terrified rogue. Unnecessary cruelty. Tundra turned to try and find her with his eyes. He saw that Taiga was recovering, leaping towards him. The sharp glint of hatred from Taiga as he neared again, eyes set on Tundra, lost to his bottomless rage. Tundra stepped backwards. He did not have the emotions to be able to deal with this situation. He wished, perhaps foolishly, that Adalia were there. She would know what to do.

Before Taiga could slam against him, two bodies were between them. Vivian stood proudly in front of him, while his father caught Taiga mid-leap. He smashed him into the ground, effectively snapping him out of his crazed fury. He stumbled to his feet, shaking his pelt, and limped over to Lyra, who had just recovered her footing. Tundra did not remember when he had injured it.

Vivian padded over to him. Tundra waited for the quick snarl and snapping teeth that were sure to follow, but she only pressed her muzzle against his cheek and gave him a quick lick. Then, she padded over to his father, where she pressed close to him. A silent conversation passed between them, before he turned, eternally weary. Tundra whined, and pressed himself to the ground, flattening himself in an attempt to seem small. Blue threaded its way through his mind. He felt, suddenly, very tired, as the adrenaline began to seep from his body.

Lyra started towards him with murder in her eyes, baring her teeth with a deep snarl. Tundra tried not to tremble, his momentary confidence evading him. Before she could get any closer, however, his father stepped between them, Vivian at his side. A silent conversation took place, one that Tundra was not privy to before Lyra spun around and stormed away, pelt bristling. Tundra felt his brothers’ eyes on him but found he could not move his eyes from where they were focused on the icy ground. He gave up after a moment and turned to follow after Lyra. Taiga stayed still and tried to ignore the blood spattering the snow.

When he finally did manage to glance up again, the visitor was long gone.

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