Deep in the heart of the forest, on a path known only to those with a sense of the land, one would eventually stumble upon a hidden gem. The air, crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth, whispered through the leaves of ancient trees, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into dancing patches on the mossy ground. It was a world of hushed greens and soft browns, where the only sounds were the rustle of unseen creatures and the distant song of a babbling brook. Following this brook, the traveler would find a small, secluded lake, its surface so still and clear it was like a sheet of polished glass. Every stone and every small fish at the bottom was visible, a perfect, underwater world on display. And just beyond, a small waterfall tumbled down, its constant murmur a gentle rhythm against the profound silence of the woods.
Past the waterfall stood a colossal oak tree, so tall its crown was lost to the clouds. Its trunk was thick and gnarled, a testament to centuries of endurance. Near its middle, a large, ragged indent bore witness to a long-forgotten trauma, a scar the tree had carried for hundreds of years, yet it had not only survived but thrived, growing around the wound. This was the sanctuary where Deborah had found solace. She lay in her human form, curled into a tight, shivering ball at the base of the mighty oak. Her body trembled intermittently, a subtle vibration against the cool earth as if she were desperately clinging to warmth in the cold.
After testing the women of the pack, Marcus had given the order for everyone to return home. He had sent a few beta's to find food, to make up for the village's disrupted schedule. Their group would be leaving at first light, to continue their search. Before he could leave, Marcus still had one question he needed answered. Without a single glance back, he slipped into the deep shadows of the forest, his feet moving silently over the cushioned floor. His mind was a living map, every trail and landmark of his territory etched into his memory. He knew exactly where Deborah was.
Boris, meanwhile, had been watching the council from the moment the elderly woman disappeared into the trees. His eyes had never left them. He had a deep-seated need to make sure she was safe, knowing the council's ways all too well. They were creatures of secrecy, their history a locked book no one had ever been able to pry open. The generations of silence only affirmed his suspicion that they would kill to keep their secrets buried. So, when he saw Marcus vanish into the woods, Boris followed.
He hadn't expected it to be Marcus, not after seeing how kind and gentle he had been with the villagers. The council, after all, was not known for their gentle behavior. Boris kept to the shadows, moving from tree to tree, his gaze fixed on Marcus's back. The council member moved with a purposeful gait, as if he knew exactly where he was going. For a moment, Boris's fear began to waver, a doubt creeping into his mind. Perhaps his hunch was wrong, maybe Marcus was simply patrolling a territory he knew well.
But his fears were soon realized. Marcus led him straight to the elderly woman, who lay curled on her side, naked and asleep, a pitiful smile gracing Marcus's lips as he approached her. Gently, he took off his red robe and laid it over her shivering body. He chose not to wake her, instead sitting quietly beside her, hoping her dreams were kinder than her reality.
"I know you followed me," Marcus said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the dense forest where he knew Boris was hiding. Though Boris had been silent and stealthy, a council member's senses were far beyond anything a regular wolf could comprehend. Boris gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing, before standing up from behind the large tree he had been crouching behind. He walked slowly toward Marcus and, in an act of submission and apology, sat before him, exposing his neck.
"No need!" Marcus said softly. "You wanted to protect her." If it had been anyone else, Marcus might have been offended, even vengeful. But he had seen Boris before, protecting Deborah, and he could only assume he was doing it again.
"Do you know her?" Boris asked, his gaze fixed on the red cloak draped over the sleeping woman. The cloak, a sign of the council member's respect and authority.
"She's an old friend," Marcus simply answered, refusing to give anybody leverage over him. "Like all the Shadow Fang pack." The two sat in silence, a light breeze rustling the leaves above them. The long, stretching limbs of the trees creaked softly, a gentle complaint against the wind, while the distant sound of the waterfall provided a constant, peaceful backdrop. It was a serene moment, a piece of quiet that was often lost in other packs where the buzz of electricity and the sight of power lines were a constant intrusion. Here, there was only what was supposed to be there. Boris felt a profound sense of connection to the world, a feeling of being completely apart from the human world but so grounded in the earth itself. He thought of Trinity, of how he would love to bring her here, a place he knew she would love.
"Blood!" The word tore from Deborah's lips. Her eyes snapped open, a violent red washing over her vision. She shoved the material away, realizing it was the cloak, the cloak of the "bad men."
"Willa!" she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she touched the rough bark of the tree. She looked up at something the two men had yet to notice. Boris and Marcus stood up and followed her gaze, their eyes landing on the indent in the tree. The tree had been forced inward, a wound from a hundred years ago that still remained.
"Hair like the sun. He killed her," Deborah cried, grabbing the council member's jacket as if she were strangling a person, her fingers twisting the fabric. "You killed her!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
"Claws," she cried out, her body trembling with a pain that felt as if it were reaching her very soul. With a sudden burst of rage, she threw the cloak away from her. Boris felt his chest tighten, his heart freezing with the realization that she had seen the council kill someone when she was a child. But who?
"Hello, friend," Marcus said softly, stepping into her line of sight, his hand gently patting her shoulder to get her attention. He finally understood what Philip had been hiding, what Deborah's fractured mind was trying to remember.
"Hello, council!" she responded, her voice suddenly clear.
"A wolf is always free," Marcus said, his voice a gentle whisper. "Rest your mind friend." As if something crucial had clicked into place, Deborah nodded, a happy smile spreading across her face. Her body began to shift, the bones in her body grinding and creaking with an agonizing slowness.
One by one, they reformed, reshaped, a profound and painful transformation. Her flesh stretched and tore, reforming over the shifting bones. Her body was wracked with pain, and with each slow, agonizing movement, her old human form was shed, replaced by the brown fur of a wolf. When the transformation was finally complete, she stood, a beautiful brown wolf, and let out a long, mournful howl that echoed through the woods. Then, she lay down in the grass, her sides heaving with the effort of her last transformation. Her breath, a strained rasp, slowed. One. Two. Three. Four. The eerie silence that followed her last breath was profound, a void where sound had been, a stillness that had never existed before.
"What? How? What did you do?" Boris asked, his voice cracking.
"I didn't do anything," Marcus answered, his voice thick with a sadness that mirrored Boris's own. " Deborah is over 400 years old. She lived most of her life in her wolf form. Her time did not come suddenly." He knelt, resting his hand on her head, feeling her coarse fur, which had lost its luster over the centuries.
"We will bring her back." Boris felt a deep need to honor her, a desire to carry her home one last time. He gently scooped her up in his arms, her body surprisingly light. He carried her back to the village, following Marcus, who walked ahead with a deep sadness that emanated from him like a physical presence. But when they reached the edge of the village, the sadness was gone, buried so deep that no one else could feel it.
"Grandma!" The ten defectives ran over to Boris, their eyes widening when they saw Deborah's still form in his arms.
"She took her last breath beneath the oak tree. She shifted for the last time," Boris told them, his voice raw with emotion.
Some of the defectives began to cry, while others led the younger kids away. Their pain was palpable, a testament to the fact that they had found a home with her. The Alpha came over and took Deborah from Boris, giving him a nod of respect before carrying her to the large fire in the center of the village. He laid her gently into the flames. His body rippled, and he let out a long, powerful howl to the sky, an order that forced everyone in his pack to shift into their wolf forms, a final act of respect for their oldest member.
We will lead Deborah on her final run. The Alpha's voice boomed in everyone's mind, even the visitors and the ferals. He had become so adapted to the forced mental communication that it caused no pain to the people around him.
A chorus of howls began, a symphony of grief and love that rose to the sky as they began their run. They were guiding Deborah to the fields of Nyx, leading her back home so she could finally be free.
Boris knelt before the large, burning fire, which was quickly engulfing Deborah's small frame. He spoke the ancient words that every wolf knows, the final farewell. "May you run swift in the fields of Nyx by the light of the moon and the shadow of the night. May your spirit's journey be endless. May the howls of your pack be the beacon guiding you through the dark so you may find your way home to rest."
Author's note
I don't know why, but I really love Deborah's character. I'm so sad she's dead. I know I'm the one that killed her. But I'm still grieving her loss!