Chapter 1
Winifred
My claws slice through the wet mud with every gallop, the feel of uneven ground adding to my ever growing panic.
Dark skies and heavy rain blurs my vision, the water weighs down my fur and makes it impossible to smell any of my pursuers.
My burning limbs and ragged breath beg for me to stop and surrender, but I know what awaits me if I do. How could I have been so stupid?
I'd had every territory line memorised for over a decade, yet for some reasons I let the scent of a potential meal, my first for three days lull me over the worst line of all.
I'd heard terrible things about the Alpha lineage that lived on these lands, the way they took the lives of rogues like me; lost or not, without a second thought.
A boulder catches my eye moments before I crash into it and I luckily manage to spring over the solid object, my mind not registering the pain of my back paw connecting with the jagged top of it.
Running on adrenaline and terror, I hear their thundering steps and murderous howls, and wish I were back home. I am so stupid.
I can't out-run them so I try to out-manoeuvre them by darting in odd patterns around the never-ending trees, jumping from fallen barks then rocks to circling back on myself, but there's too many of them. Someone always spots me and I hear their snarls and gnashing teeth once more.
My lungs are burning now, my throat scratching in desperate need of rest and oxygen when a sharp pain to my shoulder steals what little I have left.
I collapse to my paws with a scream of pain and watch them forcibly shift back into human hands. "Silver." I whisper through gritted teeth, able to see the arrow sticking out of my back with just a turn of my head.
I have to keep going, I can't stop.
I lurch forward with what little energy I have left and begin to run again.
Branches whip at exposed skin and stones cut into unprotected feet as I scramble for survival.
Maybe I could climb a tree or bury myself in some mud and leaves? Their sense of smell has to be as terrible as mine in this downpour.
I can't think, I can't decide and it's too late.
I don't get a chance to do either as their howls are closing in, I have to run.
Barely making out the surroundings with my human vision, I can just about tell that I've landed in a small clearing that leaves me with no coverage.
"Dammit!"
I can't keep my balance on the wet mud that coats the floor, stumbling forward until I'm met with the border of a cliff on bloodied hands and knees.
A strangled cry of despair leaves my mouth, my fingers curling around the rock's edge. "Come on, Wynn. Stand up." I rasp out to myself.
The river below looks so small from here, would I make it if I jumped? Would it be a gentler death?
"Rogue, halt!" I hear someone call out clearly from behind me and I blink, what choice did I have?
My whole body shakes when I stand, there was no time to consider how many there were as I took in the small army wanting nothing more than my destruction.
I lift my eyes and scan the crowd as the rain seems to fall harder now, causing my hair to stick to my face and my body temperature to drop.
A growl resonates from behind the front line that's so deep it practically vibrates against the very ground and I flinch.
The crowd shifts to allow the biggest wolf I'd ever witnessed to slowly walk forward. My eyes drift up from his black, muddied paws to the purest silver I'd ever seen in my twenty-six years.
It's colour matches the moon itself as it shimmers under the night sky and it's all I can focus on for a brief moment until I finally look into the wolf's eyes.
That's when an invisible band in my chest snaps and my lips move on their own accord before I can stop them.
"Mate."
"Mate."
The sound of a longbow releasing at that exact moment the only thing I hear before a sharp pain crashes into my collarbone and another silver-tipped arrow buries itself into my chest.
"NOOO!" A male's voice loudly rips through the clearing when the push from the arrow sends me falling back over the cliff's edge.
All my thoughts are instantly lost to the pain of a thousand needles stabbing into seemingly every inch of my skin as I break the surface of the river. The heaviness of it engulfs and weighs on me, limbs floating without feeling in front of my opening eyes.
Survival takes over and my head shoots up towards the moonlight with one thing on it's mind, the need to breathe. But that heaviness persists, the force making every kick of my feet and every stroke of my arms mean barely anything at all.
I was sure I wouldn't make it, the surface seemed so far away until it wasn't and after too long, I breached it with a deep inhale.
Eyes scan wildly and hands slap at the water until I see and grab onto a long root, pulling myself towards the shore before collapsing onto my side.
It would be so easy to rest here now, but the thought of my mother or little brother never knowing what came of me drove me up to my hands and knees.
Grunting with effort, it takes a couple of tries before I'm on my feet once more and gripping onto a nearby tree for balance.
My mind keeps teetering on the edge of what just happened, wants to ponder more on the consequences but the pain beating through me takes precedence and I scent the air, I have to go home.
Wounds appear and heal on my worn feet, my naked body shivering under the cold night's breeze but luckily the rain has stopped for now.
I might not be able to shift but I could still find my way home if it was the last thing I did.
After hours I reach the first of the subtle marks my mother carved into trees for us and I allow myself to feel hopeful as the sun begins to rise. Then, as I go to brush back the foliage hiding the cave entrance I notice the tips of my fingers are blue, the evidence of the silver slowly moving through my system reminding me of my urgency.
Moving as quietly as I can manage I slide beneath the ivy camouflage and into one of the many small alcoves until I find what I'm looking for.
I open the dirtied jar before grabbing a nearby rag and stuffing it in my mouth, this was going to hurt.
Going for the arrow in my chest first I inhale deeply through my nose before snatching it free with a whimper as fresh sobs fall down my cheeks. The arrow in my back is harder to grab but I manage and it clatters to the floor with the other.
I keep the rag in my mouth and with shaking hands, slather the rake-nettles into both wounds while trying to remain quiet.
Finally, I allow myself a moment to rest and let myself breathe. Soon silver begins to drip from my nose and I spit out the now damp rag into my waiting palms.
My fingers are no longer blue and my wounds are starting to slowly heal much to my relief when the sounds of my family waking bounce around the walls of the cave.
