The Strays
Mara crouched near the base of a large tree and pulled her leather jacket tight around her. She listened intently as the wind moved swiftly through the trees, carrying the scent of fresh rain and the earthy musk of animals. Her nose twitched as she tracked the faint smell of deer and something else – someone following. The scents were unfamiliar and out of place this deep in the forest.
She let out a frustrated groan as she crouched lower, inching forward through the underbrush. She hadn’t lived this long by ignoring her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her.
After nearly a century of running with, and then away from werewolf packs, Mara had settled into her life of solitude. Packs were trouble. They were rigid, hierarchical, and full of rules. The rules always chafed her, even as a young wolf. And then there were the wars, the blood feuds, the endless politics that turned brothers into enemies. No, it was safer alone, away from the mess of pack life.
Except now, in the heart of this quiet forest where she had carved out her piece of peace, she could sense it again—trouble.
A faint whimper reached her ears first and her senses flared. Her muscles tensed as she crept closer, moving like a shadow over the damp forest floor. Then she saw them.
Three children.
Huddled together in the hollow of an ancient oak, trembling, their wide eyes reflecting the last fading light of dusk. They didn’t see her yet, too wrapped up in their fear and hunger. Two of them were human, their ragged clothes hanging from their thin frames, while the third—a boy, maybe seven or eight—reeked of fur and magic.
Werewolf, Mara thought.
The boy looked smaller than most cubs his age. His posture gave it away—the way his body tensed as if ready to spring at the slightest movement, his eyes reflecting a wildness no human child could ever possess. But there was something else, too. Something in the way he held the others close, shielding them.
They weren’t a pack, not in the traditional sense. But he was protecting them all the same.
“I need you to stay here, the deer is just up ahead,” the boy said quietly. The two humans nodded their heads and the boy began to move.
Mara stayed hidden in the shadows, studying them, her mind racing.
What in the hell were three kids doing out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere? Why is a werewolf cub protecting two human children? How long have they been alone?
And more importantly, why did the sight of them stir something deep inside her that she’d long since buried?
The smaller of the human children coughed, the sound ragged and wet. The werewolf boy’s eyes flashed, panic flickering in them for a moment before he forced himself to stay calm.
“Shh,” he whispered, inching back towards them. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine. We’ll find food soon.”
The boy’s voice was steady, but Mara could hear the uncertainty behind it. The kind of uncertainty that only came when you had no idea how you were going to survive the next day. Mara could only wonder what these children had been through.
Against her better judgment, Mara stood up from the brush and stepped into the small clearing, just far enough for them to notice her. Their eyes locked on her, a mix of fear and shock rippling through their expressions. The werewolf boy, predictably, pushed the humans behind him, baring his teeth in a growl.
“Easy, cub,” Mara said, her voice low but firm. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The boy didn’t relax. If anything, he stood taller, his small form trembling with the effort of appearing more dangerous than he was. Mara felt a pang of something she hadn’t felt in decades—sympathy.
“Who are you?” the boy demanded, his voice trying to sound strong. “What do you want?” His eyes looked from the hunting knife on her hip to her eyes.
Mara met his gaze, tilting her head as she regarded him. “I could ask you the same. What’s a young pup like you doing out here with two humans?” She sniffed the air again. “Not your kin, clearly.”
The boy’s growl deepened, but he didn’t respond. The human girl peered out from behind him, her face streaked with dirt and tears. The third child, another human boy, watched Mara with wide, unblinking eyes, too scared to move.
Mara sighed. She should turn around. Leave them. They weren’t her problem. But something in the way the boy stood—his tiny body radiating defiance despite the overwhelming odds—reminded her of herself, all those years ago.
Against her better judgment, she crouched down, making herself appear less threatening. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. But if you stay out here much longer, you’re going to starve, or worse. The woods aren’t kind to strays.”
“We’re not strays,” the werewolf boy snapped. “We’re—” He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “We’re a pack.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “A pack, huh?”
The boy nodded, though Mara could see the uncertainty in his eyes. It wasn’t hard to figure out that this makeshift pack was thrown together out of desperation.
“Where’s your real pack, pup?” she asked softly, her tone gentler than before.
The boy’s lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. The human girl coughed again, weaker this time, and the werewolf boy’s resolve cracked, just a little.
“Gone,” he muttered after a long pause. “They’re all gone.”
Mara’s chest tightened. She could recognize the pain in his voice. The same loss that had driven her away from her own kind so many years ago.
The boy squared his shoulders, lifting his chin. “But I’m going to take care of them.”
Mara’s lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re a little young for that.”
The boy bristled. “Doesn’t matter how old I am. I’m all they’ve got.”
For a long moment, Mara said nothing, her eyes scanning the small, ragged group of children. They were dirty, hungry, and scared—but they were holding on. They were surviving. And something about that stirred a part of her she thought had died long ago.
She sighed, straightening up. “All right, little one,” she said, “If you’re going to lead, you’re going to need help.”
The boy blinked, confused. “What kind of help?”
Mara turned. “Food, for starters. A place to sleep where you won’t freeze your tails off. You’re not going to make it out here alone. And I’m not going to let you die on my watch. Stay here until I get back, I won’t be long.”
The kids hesitated, exchanging glances. The werewolf boy’s protective instincts flared again, his brow furrowing in suspicion. “Why would you help us?”
Mara shrugged, her face hardening. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to be a stray.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then, cautiously, the boy stepped forward, still keeping the humans behind him. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice small but curious now.
“Mara,” she replied, meeting his gaze with her own. “And yours?”
The boy hesitated, as if unsure whether to trust her with his name. But finally, he spoke. “Luca.”
Mara gave a slow nod. “All right, Luca. I’m going to go get that deer. I need you to stay here.”
Luca nodded, staying in front of the other two children.
Mara hoped that they stayed put. She didn’t want to have to track them down. Mara moved quickly and quietly through the forest, tracking the deer by its scent. Within the hour Mara had found the deer and field dressed it, slinging the carcass over her shoulders and moving back toward the children.
The three were still in the hollow of the tree. Luca’s head turned as he heard Mara approach, relief visible when he saw her with the deer.
Mara didn’t stop. “Let’s get your pack moving. You’ve got a lot to learn if you want to be someone worth following.”
As the children slowly followed her through the woods, Mara couldn’t help but feel the weight of the decision she’d just made. She had promised herself she’d never get involved with packs again, but here she was, taking in strays like she’d never left the pack life behind.
What am I doing?
But deep down, she already knew the answer. These kids—this makeshift pack—they needed someone. And for better or worse, Mara had just decided that someone was going to be her.
