Crying to the moon

The night I was born, a heavy snowstorm fell, toppling many of the trees in the forest where we lived, forcing the pack to move in search of a new home. It was a special night, not only because of the uncommon weather phenomenon in those lands, but also because of the lunar eclipse that occurred that dawn. As I grew up, I discovered that I was different, but it wasn’t until my father’s death that I truly understood the cost of that difference.

My name is Arya, and I am an albino wolf—actually, the only white wolf of my kind. My condition has always made me stand out, and not in a positive way. In a world where dark fur is essential, I am seen as a bad omen. My father, the leader of the pack, always protected me, since no one ever doubted his decisions, whether out of fear or loyalty. That kept me safe for eighteen years, but it wasn’t enough for them to accept me, let alone for me to grow up without feeling like an outcast, a mistake, a freak who couldn’t join the hunts with the others or simply play in the surroundings with the other pups, always under the watchful eyes of overprotective parents who only wanted to keep me safe. But when he died, a large target appeared on my back.

Though my mother kept me away from the gossip that spread through the forest, the wolves whispered loudly enough for my keen ears to hear them say that I was the cause of his death, that my birth had brought the bad luck that led to his end, and that if I stayed, I would bring misfortune to the rest of the pack that I once considered family. The night he died, I had to flee. I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes as she pushed me toward the edges of the territory.

“Run, Arya, run until your legs can’t go any further,” she whispered desperately as the howls of anger and accumulated hatred became deafening. “Don’t let them find you, and trust no one.”

And so I did. I ran without looking back, tears streaming down my face and my heart broken, not only from losing my father but also from not being able to say goodbye. I would never forgive myself for leaving without giving him a final farewell. Though if I had stayed a minute longer, they would have torn my head from my body, displaying it at the camp entrance like a trophy. Maybe that was the fate I deserved for being so cowardly and not fighting with all my strength like any prey does before the hunter delivers the final blow.

Since then, I have wandered through the world alone. Every night, I howl my sorrow to the moon, between sobs. I long to belong, to be accepted, to find a place where I am neither feared nor hated for what I am.

But tonight, something is different. The sense of danger that makes my legs tremble settles in my chest, pumping my blood and causing my heart to pound furiously, sharpening my senses and keeping me alert. A shiver runs down my spine, a feeling that something—or someone—is searching for me. Is it my pack, finally coming to finish what they started and put me to death?

I lift my head to the full moon, letting out a howl from deep within, ripping through my throat as it echoes through the forest. It’s a battle cry, a signal that even though I’m rejected, I still have the spirit of the wolf my father raised me to be. I have to be brave—or at least appear to be—if I want to keep searching for a home. I stretch my legs to either side of my torso, digging my claws into the green grass, baring my teeth and growling.

The sound of my howl fades among the trees, but the response comes quickly. Another howl, distant, low, and guttural, slides through the valley where I decided to settle this morning, laden with rage and threat. My legs tremble slightly, not just from the cold that begins to seep through my fur, but from the deep fear that grips me.

I sniff the air, not recognizing the scent that reaches my muzzle, and lay my ears back. I take a few steps, lifting my head proudly as if terror isn’t consuming me from within, knowing full well that the first thing hunters smell is the fear of their prey. I stop when the crunch of leaves beneath some nocturnal animal’s paws tells me that it’s closer than I thought, and that what that enormous figure emerging from the shadows is seeking is me.

It’s a wolf, three paw-lengths taller than me, but not from my pack. He smells of fresh pine and smoke, and his dark gray fur, streaked with silvery tones, shows small scars. His bright blue eyes shine with an intensity that makes me question—friend or foe? He continues his calm stride until he stops a few meters away, observing me with a mix of curiosity and distrust. I don’t know if I should attack or just wait. Wait for what? For him to rip out my heart and eat it? For an endless moment, we simply stare at each other, as if words were unnecessary, just measuring each other’s ferocity.

“Who are you?” I manage to ask with a trembling voice, mentally scolding myself for letting my fear show.

The wolf doesn’t respond immediately. He just tilts his head, as if evaluating my presence. Finally, his lips part, and his deep voice breaks the silence of the night, only punctuated by the fierce wind beginning to pick up.

“I am not your enemy, but you are not welcome here, Arya. The forest has its rules, and you have broken one of them by coming so close to our territory.”

I’m shocked that he knows my name. How does he know it? Was he sent to hunt me down, or is it something much worse? And what rules is he talking about? I only wanted a quiet place to spend the winter before continuing my journey in the spring.

“How do you know my name?” I ask, distrustful, baring my teeth again with ferocity.

The wolf steps forward, and I step back until his gaze softens slightly, and I freeze.

“I’ve heard of you. The albino wolf that brings misfortune and bad luck. The daughter of the Nevian pack’s leader, now wandering alone, without a pack.”

I can’t help but feel sadness in his tone, which isn’t laced with rejection, hatred, or disgust—the kind I’ve grown accustomed to after years of blows.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice firmer but still trembling.

“I just want to know why you’ve come. What are you looking for here, so close to my territory?” he asks, his gaze fixed on me.

I clench my teeth, unsure. What am I really searching for? Revenge, acceptance, a home? I take a deep breath, not knowing exactly what to say. I used to hate my pack, but I don’t wish them an awful and painful end—not anymore. Not after my father gave everything for the prosperity of a pack that never accepted me, no matter how hard he tried over the years, years during which he raised me as the best father that ever existed in the entire Leuksna territory. And although I was never unaware of the hatred and disgust they felt toward me, I was able to live a happy childhood with him and my mother.

“I’m seeking to understand why my own pack wants me dead. And maybe, just maybe, a place where I don’t have to run every night, though this damned valley doesn’t seem to be that place either.”

The wolf nods slowly, circling me.

“How long has it been since you let your human form out?”

A knot forms in my heart and stomach. My human form? It’s true. As a child, I used to pick flowers around the camp, but it’s been so long that my mind had banished it, as if only the beast existed and I had no humanity left.

“No need to answer,” he says, wagging his tail. “I’ve heard that when a white wolf loses its pack, it also loses its human form, but I’ve never met anyone who could confirm that legend.”

“A white wolf?” I ask, lowering my head. “Does that mean you don’t lose it?”

He shakes his head, lowering his ears, stretching his legs, and howling at the moon. What I witness before me horrifies and fascinates me in equal measure. The wolf writhes as if all the bones in his body are breaking, but it doesn’t seem to hurt him—his face remains impassive, as if he can’t feel the cracking of his cartilage that echoes in my ears. Little by little, he loses his fur, curling up on the ground until he’s completely exposed. I approach him cautiously, sniffing the wolf’s face, now in human form.

“Good girl,” he says, raising his hand to the top of my head, stroking my fur.

I remain still at his touch. It’s comforting. It brings me a happiness and calm I’ve never felt before, and if I have, I don’t remember. My tail wags unconsciously as I watch him rise, putting his hands behind my ears without stopping his strokes. Though I try to pull away to make him stop, I can’t—the simple gesture clouds my mind and dulls the survival instincts I’ve honed over the years. When he stands fully, I marvel at him, breathing heavily. He stands about 6′3" tall. His bare, muscular torso is marked by small scars that are barely noticeable against his olive skin. His dark gray hair, streaked with silver, falls rebelliously over his forehead. I lower my gaze to his member, fully erect, and when he raises his eyebrows and opens his blue eyes slightly, I jump back in embarrassment. It’s the first time I’ve seen a human in so long, but I’ve never seen one completely naked.

“There’s going to be a big snowstorm tonight,” he smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth with slightly longer, sharper canines. “Come with me to shelter at least for tonight, and meet the other wolves. If you decide to stay, you’ll have to earn your place.”

I shake my head, feeling my limbs tense, and without thinking twice, I run. I run like I have every night since I lost my place, remembering my mother’s words. I won’t fall into the same trap twice. I don’t have a place, and as much as it pains me, I never will.

“Damn it, Arya.” I hear the gray wolf’s voice in the distance, then feel his intoxicating scent following close behind.