I was the squalling baby of a drudge-mother, one whom a wandering, drunk Rider had taken to his bed, and cast her out of the next day. I was an accident, she used to say to me-it's a wonder I remember those words; I can hardly remember her voice, her face..she was not a beautiful woman, far from it, but I am beautiful. My wolf-mother says it's because when I came to them, wolf life molded me into the sleek, quick creature I am now..When I came to them. Such a long time ago..I am nearly fifteen summers, many moons and suns old. My drudge-mother was fleeing, frightened, from her master, who did not want another mouth to feed. My mother was scarcely past my own age now, and, as I have said before, a coward..she did not want me, she wouldn't care for me, take me to a safe place where she could watch me grow. No, she ran far into the forest, hoping to leave me there to die..the wolves found her, and chased her..they cornered her, and in her desperation for her own life, she threw me to their mercy and ran back to the civilization of men.
My wolf-mother, terrified of my horrible noises, none-the-less came toward me, for maternal instinct took over, and she had lost her young pups not a sunset ago. She sniffed me over, and I quieted. She took me to live with her, and I grew up among the wolves. I am more wolf than human now, but perhaps that will not be so for long...
It was a night of Celebration for the beasts and demons of the forest I grew up in. The moons hung low in the sky, round and orange, their feminine grasp tugging at a fullness in my belly, making me bleed, making the male wolves of my pack, my brothers and cousins and uncles, sniff me over with interest, and I snarl at them to warn them back, for a mate is not what I want on such a night. I want to hunt, to run, with my pack, smelling the crispness of the air, hearing people laughing and screaming far away in the distance, feeling the mold and crackly leaves beneath my paws...hands and feet, so different from my mother. I could still run as fast, faster than my brothers, and I knew that a foot and a hand wouldn't matter to me on such a night, the night of All Hallows Eve, when spirits and devils dance and throw wild parties, and the humans in their villages tremble in terror and delight. Every year I long for the humans, and their parties, their sweet meats so good on my tongue. But I know that my brothers will bring me the sweet meats; they do every year, because they know how much I love human treats, even though it is a great danger to them...I love my brothers.
I look to the great black leader of my pack, and my heart swells with pride and love to see his sturdy figure, lifting his head to the stars and singing. The rest of the pack joins him, sweet chorus of tenor, bass, alto, soprano..my hoarse alto voice chimes in, slightly off tune, and I laugh, because it doesn't matter. My pack accepts me as I am, the slightly awkward, off-tune human-pup that they love, like I love them. The pack stops their wild, heart-dancing, blood-racing song, and their tails go up, their mouths open in canine grins, ears pricked. We are hunting, now, and our feet move silently over ground which a clumsy human would disrupt with shuffling, crackling noises through the leaves. I am so glad to be lupine!
