“‘Adam fell that men might be,’” Jenni whispered, half to herself, half to the gray woman, “‘and men are, that they might have joy.’ No,” she said, lifting her eyes to the woman’s. “I do not regret this. Say what you will, I feel . . .” She took a deep breath. “I believe that my Heavenly Father still loves me. And I believe that He wants me to see my brother safe.”
The gray woman smiled, sadness in her eyes. “Well. I envy you. Come. Let us return to the den. There is much to be done to prepare for your journey.”
* * *
—
In the next few days, Jennilee learned to hunt, both alone and with the pack. She continued to feel a fierce joy in running with the other wolves. Without realizing it, her canine heart fell into the relationship of being one of the pack. It was a bond even stronger than the love she felt for her human brothers and sisters. Without the pack, one was wretched and vulnerable. With the pack, one was invincible.
Jenni’s human mind rebelled against this closeness, and she tried in vain to pull away, but the pack would not have it. Whether she walked on two legs or four, they crowded around her, swarming her resistance with the totality of their love.
“We could be your family now, you know,” the gray woman said softly one night. She had been teaching Jennilee to change forms at will. Human to wolf and back again, again and again until Jenni lay exhausted by the woman’s small fire. She made one of these most nights when they would be spending any time in skin rather than fur. Firelight was easier on human eyes, and the warmth was a comfort.
Jenni curled tighter into herself, drawing her shoulders up near her head. “I know,” she said, misery shading her tone. “I am so grateful . . . but I miss my papa and mama . . . and all the little ones.” She didn’t say it out loud, but the deep joy that she felt in the pack felt like a betrayal of her blood family.
The gray woman nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “I understand. I missed my human family for a very long time. But you must prepare yourself. They will not know you, not as you truly are now. They will think you a monster.”
Jenni shook her head. “My family loves me.”
The gray woman smiled sadly. “They love who you were, child. Who you are now is a mystery and a threat. I do not say this to pain you,” she added gently, reaching out to brush Jenni’s hair back from her eyes. Before she could hold herself from doing so, Jenni flinched backward, and for just a moment, pain flared in the woman’s dark eyes.
“I . . . thank you,” Jenni said, haltingly. “You have been most kind. I just . . . I find it hard.”
“So do I, dear child,” the woman whispered as she turned away. “So do I.” She shivered, and gray fur flowed like water over her as she took her canine form.
Tears gathered in Jenni’s eyes, but she didn’t know what to say. So she just laid her head down and let exhausted sleep claim her.
* * *
—
They started out the next night. Jenni went in human form, that she might carry the baby under her coat as before. The pack swirled around her feet as she stepped out of the den. The night was crystal sharp and cold, but stars studded the night sky without a wisp of cloud to cover them. Jenni staggered slightly as she began to walk. Her senses, though stronger than before, were pale and paltry compared to her wolf form’s, and she felt a sudden ache to transform.
But then the baby squirmed against her chest, cuddling his sleepy self closer to her warmth and sighing in his slumber. Despite everything, Jenni smiled. The days in the wolf den had been good for him, she reflected. He’d nursed nearly constantly, thanks to the patience of his lupine nursemaid. His cheeks and body had begun to take on the soft roundness that Jenni associated