And this one, oh this one sunk its claws into me at the base of my neck and the base of my spine and yanked.
I growled, more animal than human.
The pack stirred around me but did not awaken. I heard their heartbeats elevate slightly at the sound that crawled up from my throat.
I let it pull me farther.
There was the house at the end of the lane.
There was the smell of pack that had sunk into the wood.
There were voices, echoes of the past, people gathering on a Sunday because it was tradition.
There was the scent of another Alpha, but it didn’t rankle.
It was built into the rest of the house.
Every board. Every wall. Every tile.
He was here, with us.
And he always would be.
Farther.
There were the grounds around the house at the end of the lane.
A little tornado demanding that his parents tell him of candy canes and pinecones. Of epic and awesome.
There was another house.
An old house.
A house once saddened by the cowardice of a father.
A house made whole by the love of wolves.
The blood on the floor, hidden from sight but buried in the bones.
She had laughed here.
She had popped soap bubbles here.
She had sat at a table and told me we’d be all right, she’d showed me that we’d both be all right.
There was a line, a connection between these two houses, a thread stronger than I’d ever seen that bound them together. They weren’t separated. They were one and the same. They had been for a very long time.
Farther, I had to go farther.
It pulled.
I pushed.
Through the grass. Through the trees.
I heard every bird.
I heard every deer.