with healthy infants . . . and which roundness had been all too scarce for the little ones along the trail.
The dark mother wolf bumped against Jenni’s hip and looked at her with an expression that clearly said, Is he all right? Jenni smiled and nodded, patting the warm bundle softly. The dark mother wolf’s posture changed—Jenni couldn’t have said how—but the message was unmistakable. The dark mother wolf cared for her tiny, two-legged pup just as much as she did for his four-legged siblings tussling about them in the snow.
Up ahead, the gray wolf gave a short bark, and the pack started moving. Jenni followed, unable to keep up on her two legs. The dark mother wolf and her pups stayed back as well, and in this manner, they covered a fair amount of ground before the sun began to rise at their backs.
Jenni was tired but not exhausted when they finally stopped. The gray wolf had found a temporary den site, and the pack waited there with small game. As Jenni approached, the gray wolf flowed into her human form and began to gather materials to build another small fire.
Jennilee looked at her for a long moment, her heart aching in her chest. The gray woman’s sadness seemed to radiate outward from where she crouched over the fire. Jenni wanted to say something, but words felt inadequate. Instead, she pulled her own cloak off and went to wrap it around the gray woman’s shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind being naked, not the way Jenni did, but it was cold, and she would feel the chill on her human skin.
The gray woman looked up in surprise. “Thank you, child,” she said softly. “But do you not need it?”
“Not right now,” Jenni said, feeling suddenly shy. She gave the woman a smile and went back to sit beside the dark mother wolf, busy nursing a greedy baby boy.
Jenni spent the rest of the day warmed by the bodies of the pack, holding her brother against her chest, sleeping deeply in the knowledge that they were, for the moment, safe.
* * *
—
It took them three days to find the company. When they did, the gray wolf led the pack around and uphill of the group of humans. Jenni noticed that the gray one was careful to keep the humans upwind. She didn’t know if this was paranoia or hunting instinct at work, but it made sense to the wolf part of her brain, and so she did not protest. That dawn, when they stopped, the gray woman drew Jenni aside.
“When you go to them, you must be prepared,” she said softly, her eyes haunted and solemn. “They will think you dead, and there will be much rejoicing that you have returned to them. You will be tempted to stay, but I warn you, you must not give in to that temptation. You are different now. Their eyes will not recognize it, but their instincts will tell them that you are to be feared. The longer you stay with them, the more painful it will be, in the end.” She blinked suddenly and shook her head, as if shaking away an old memory.
“We will return to our original den place. You may find us there, if you wish. You have a place with us, now and always. In time, you may find a mate that suits you, and you may establish a pack of your own.” Her lips curved in a smile, and she reached out to touch her fingertips to Jennilee’s cheek. “You have lost your human family, but you can still have a family of your own.”
Jenni blinked. “I can?” she asked. All of a sudden it was incredibly hard for her to focus. Part of her yearned to run down the hill to find her parents, but the gray woman’s words rang true with a horrible finality.
Her smile grew. “You can, my dear. You can mate, have pups, have a life as a wolf. The wolves will never reject you. Remember that, child.”
Jenni swallowed hard, and stroked the warm bundle that was her sleeping brother. “I will,” she promised.
The woman nodded, touched her cheek one more time, and then the gray fur flowed