Family.
She looked down at her hands. They were human. Soft. Nail-bitten. She thought of her cabin, her books, her life of quiet loneliness. She thought of the root cellar door with its three deadbolts. She thought of the way she’d felt last winter, running through a blizzard with snow in her fur, and the pack around her, and nothing to fear because fear was for prey. june hervas pack
But tonight was not the full moon. Tonight was a Tuesday in October. Family
June understood. This was not a threat. This was an invitation. She thought of the root cellar door with its three deadbolts
Six wolves stood in a circle around a fallen log. Not a pack—a pack . Their fur was the color of wet earth, of charcoal, of dying leaves. But their eyes. Their eyes were the same shade of amber as the moon, and they were all looking at her.
It wasn’t a howl that woke her. It was the absence of one.
And then she saw them.