Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“If you’re just gonna stand there, you may as well help.”
No reaction.
I sigh and go back to work. Pritchard’s been shadowing Nia since they mated. I should be used to a dude skulking around in the background at this point. Shivers keep running up my spine, though, and tickling the back of my neck.
The wolf watches. A pair of blackbirds rise from an elm, flap across the clearing, and resettle at the top of an oak. I swipe the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve and shuffle forward.
When I’m almost used to him standing silent guard, there’s a rustle. He pads over to face me. For a moment, he surveys the clearing as if he’s assuring himself that we’re alone, and then he sticks his snout in the brush I’m combing through. He’s down there a while before he lifts his muzzle and glances at me, his eyes narrowed to baffled silver slits.
“I’m foraging.”
He keeps staring.
“I’m looking for ashbalm. That’s the jackpot, as the humans say. But I’ll take dragon’s tongue or anything else I can use. Claws. Bone. Shards of antler. Bottle caps. Good rocks.”
He tilts his head.
“Quartz. Obsidian. Jasper.”
He doesn’t seem to understand, and he’s planted himself in my way. I have to stick to the grid system, or I’ll end up covering the same territory twice.
“Want to help?”
He blinks.
“It’s just that you’re kind of in my way.”
Blink.
For the life of me, I can’t decide whether Cadoc’s wolf is not all there, or if he thinks I’m the weird one. Regardless, he’s gotta move.
“Okay. I’m just gonna need you to come over here, okay?” Very slowly, and with exaggerated and gentle nudges and tugs, I encourage him to move beside me. Once he gets what I’m aiming for, he repositions himself and looks at me for direction. Inside, I straighten. I know it’s not a show of submission, but a wolf like Cadoc’s listening to me? It’s a rush.
“Now we find. Keep an eye out for tiny white flowers. That’s ashbalm.” I go back to sifting through ivy and shuffling forward, inch by inch. He observes me for a while and then buries his snout in the brush, sniffing.
I don’t know if he’s actually foraging. I can only keep an eye on his area and hope we’re not missing anything. It makes me less nervous, though, with him searching beside me instead of staring. His scent is pleasant, too, and as we muddle along, some of the tension leeches from my body.
I do like having company when I’m foraging. Does Cadoc’s wolf count as company? I guess he’s close enough.
It’s a beautiful day. The sky is blue. The air is crystal clear. We’re surrounded by green things and tall trees and invisible creatures rustling. No walls. No bells. No ping, ping, ping and swipe, swipe, swipe.
My lungs swell, my muscles relax, and the good feeling expands to include this weirdo wolf.
“So what are you doing out here? Don’t you know nobs only shift on a full moon?”
Cadoc’s wolf perks his head, considers me for a second, and buries his nose back in the undergrowth. He’s got excellent focus. If he can actually find things, he’d make a good forager.
“That’s your first problem. You’re all pent up.”
I’m kind of full of crap. I haven’t let my wolf run since that first shift. I’m terrified about letting her out again. What if she’s like pop biscuits, and next time, she won’t fit back in the can? I don’t need to tell Cadoc’s wolf that, though. Besides, everybody knows it’s essential to balance time in your skin and your fur. Well, scavengers know.
“You also spend too much time inside.” I tell him what Abertha always says. “Walls mess with your perspective. You get used to everything being right in front of you. You forget to look around, see what’s in the distance, what’s coming at you.”
I don’t know why I’m lecturing Cadoc’s wolf. I’m not the bossy type. That’s Nia. Maybe because he’s so quiet. It feels like he’s really listening. It’s a novel experience—me talking to someone intent on my words. Not that folks ignore me. It’s just I’m never the center of attention. Not like this.
It’s another cheap thrill.
“You need to shake your posse more often, too. Everyone’s always up your ass, doing whatever you say. My family is like that with my nephew Danny. It’s turning him into a real turd.”
My fingers graze a loose rock under the leaf meal. I hold it up to the light. Shale. It’s got those great flaky, crumbly layers, but it’s from somewhere else, and I don’t like holding things when I don’t know where they’ve been. I drop it. Cadoc’s wolf lunges to check it out, startling me. It’s the first sign of wolfy life he’s shown.
He sniffs it a bit, but eventually turns his nose up. He doesn’t want it either. He goes back to watching me.
I start feeling bad about what I’ve been saying. I’m being like Drona with her girls—fix this, fix that.
“Sorry I’m being mean. You just don’t know better.” I offer him a weak smile and go back to foraging.
It’s nothing but pebbles and twigs. If I’m interested enough to give something a second look, Cadoc’s wolf trots to check it out once I toss it away. I find myself explaining to him.
“I can use claws and teeth to make mating necklaces. A male will trade a week’s food rations for a nice one. A good rock can be used as a marker.”
Cadoc’s wolf tilts his head.
“Oh, yeah. Nobs don’t use markers. Markers are like—” I roll a little squarish rock—a piece of siltstone—over to his paw. “I give you this, and it stands for something. Maybe first dibs on the next kill. Or I’ll be lookout when you go finding. Or it means we’re allies. Or we agree. Understand?”
He noses the rock until a hawk overhead distracts him. When it flies out of sight, Cadoc’s wolf goes back to switching between watching me and snuffling in the undergrowth.
He finds a stick and offers it to me. The way he’s got it in his mouth, it pushes his cheeks up into a smile. It looks so weird with his blank eyes.
No, not blank—wary. Uncertain. Like he doesn’t know how to wolf.
“Thanks,” I tell him and take the wet branch. It’s too green to use as kindling. I place it back on the ground.
He picks it up again and pokes me in the side with it.
“It’s no good.”
He pokes me again.
I sigh and twist around to slip it into my backpack. “I can’t do much with sticks. Look for things that are out of place.”
He considers me a long moment, and then he trots off into the trees. I can hear him rustling and bounding. Birds take off and critters scramble.
He’s out there a while before he remerges, tail first, dragging something with his teeth. It takes a minute for me to make out what he’s got. It’s an old tire on a rusted rim.
I clamp my lips hard so I don’t laugh. That is definitely out of place.
The tire’s weight is nothing to Cadoc’s wolf, but the shape is awkward as hell, and his fangs keep tearing the rubber. He wrestles that thing all the way over to where I’m standing, shading my eyes from the lowering sun to watch. He props his front paws on it, head high, neck long, proud and expectant.
“Found a tire,” I say.
He blinks.
“An old one.”
The tip of his ear flicks.
I see nothing else to do, so I lower myself to sit on it, stretching my legs out. He circles the tire and me, admiring his find, and I suppose he’s satisfied with the honor I’ve done it. He plops down on his rump beside me and surveys the distance.
I grab water from the pouch in my backpack.
Even sitting, Cadoc’s wolf has a straight spine and a lifted muzzle. I can’t quite decide if he’s regal or—like—animatronic. Sometimes it seems like he’s imitating a real wolf.
I feel bad for him, and I don’t know why.
I hold out my water. He noses it back toward me. I’d pour some in his mouth if he showed interest like I do for Nia and Bevan when they’re in their fur, but he’s turned his attention back to scoping out the area.
We’re close to the foothills, but there’s a thick forest and a tributary of the river between here and there. You can scent ferals, bobcats, and bears on the wind, but they rarely venture down this far.
Cadoc’s wolf raises his snout, and his dark fur bristles.
“You smell them, eh?”
He stands.