As dawn breaks Krish walks around the back of the cabin and starts up her rattletrap circa 1980s Jeep Cherokee. The diesel engine knocks to life. She shoves kerosene and diesel cans to the side then piles the corpses in the back, rolling them in a waxed drop cloth. Krish tosses tow chains and a pile of tanned hides over top of them. There aren’t usually human rangers out this way, but why tempt fate? The smell of the bodies is nauseating even in the freezing temperature. Contrary to myth, werewolves don't shift back to human form when they die. They stay whatever they were when you kill them. It takes magic to shift. Dead things don't have magic. She elects not to turn the heat on in the vehicle. Sliding the barricade open she drives out and down the mountainside. As she descends, the snowpack becomes thinner till it dissipates altogether. After a few hours, she comes to a gravel road. Stopping just before it she hops out and fills the Jeep’s tank emptying all her cans. “Damn, hope there’s enough to get to the valley.” A few hours later the sun is setting and the road turns to pavement, an uneasy feeling begins to settle in her bones. Coming into the valley always makes her edgy. It’s not the half-breed mongrel wolves so much as the density of life and chemical smells here. Even in this small low population town it is overwhelming. It muddles her senses and makes her want to fight everything. Pushing that to the back of her mind she sighs as she pulls into the only gas station. She pops out as the station attendant walks to her.

Willie is an aged Omega werewolf with strong indigenous blood, he is also one of the few wolves Krish can tolerate. His lean wiry form saunters out, a smile cracking across his craggy weathered face when he sees her. She has known Willie since he was a cub hunting rabbits in the underbrush. His smell carries the aroma of sweet sage flowers and motor oil to her nostrils. An odd mixture. Though she’d never vocalize it, Willie knows Krish has a gentle affection for him. His long black hair is pulled back into a thick braid that runs down to his hips. His 5'9" height causes him to crane his neck up slightly to look in her eyes. She admires his noble profile with high cheekbones and sharp angular nose. His half feral faraway stare, as if he is speaking with his ancestors or scanning the distance for the movement of prey, reminds her of werewolves from the Steppes yet his mahogany skin clearly marks him as indigenous to this continent. He is the last of a line of free nomadic wolves that traveled the Great Plains. How she adored their strong spirits and amazing hunting prowess. A sadness sweeps her as she considers the wars and atrocities that pushed them West out of their home territories into the mountains and deserts. How even her assistance had not stymied the tide of European mongrel packs from overrunning them and destroying the land.

Motor oil spots Willie’s heavy-duty overalls, he wipes his lean hands on a shop rag and greets her in a soft mumbling tone, “Hey K, been a few months. How are ya?” He begins to fill her tank. Unlike most of the wolves here Willie is not afraid of her, she taught him how to course deer, took him in when his parents died and no other wolves wanted the trouble of an Omega. He taught her to drive and purchased the beat up multi color Jeep for her. Willie is the only wolf to have seen her oak on the mountain and lived. She offered him permanent sanctuary on the mountain, but as he became an adult the pull of being near his own kind was too much. Wolves were never meant to exist as secluded creatures. She understood, but it had still saddened her.  

Krish, her voice seldom used, creaks out in a low gravely rasp, “Hello Willie, hunting has been lean this winter. Where’s Davin? I need to speak with him.”

Willie, a serious expression spreading across his face, "They been hav’n problems with sum rogues K. Council flew in an Arch Alpha to deal with ‘em. Davin’s likely at Beta Thompson’s ranch, but I wouldn’t go over. Arch might not take kindly to ya.” Willie sniffs the air then stares at the back of the Jeep. He nods knowingly at her.

Krish softly chuffs in amusement. “You wolves and your hierarchy, you never cease to amuse. When have you ever met a wolf I couldn’t handle Willie?”

Willie replies with a touch of concern ”K, You know Arch Alphas ain’t like just any Alpha. They are purebloods like us, but amped up.”

Krish chuckles, “No Wille, things like me are much rarer that Arch Alphas. I’ve dealt with the over amped pups before, though I’ve slept a few times since.” Willie knows this means it happened long before his birth. “Surprised there are any undiluted lines left considering the way most wolves will mate with any warm bodied creature. Though I’m not exactly up on current events.” Krish absentmindedly rubs her hip where the scar from a long-ago battle rests. 

Willie is aware of her disdain for the human hybrids even if he does not fully comprehend the reasoning behind it. He's never seen her treat one cruelly unless they were rogue, rogues tended to have a short life span around Krish, but he has noticed over the years the particular way her nose would wrinkle when their scent hit her. He tried to ask her about it when he was younger. The only response he received was that they smelled diseased. While rogues smelled dirty like wet dog and gym socks, he never noticed a sickly odor. Willie is certain his sense of smell is much keener than Krish's. 

Willie grins, “K, doubt anyone thinks your kin still exist outside fairytales. How old are you anyways? You’ve not aged since I was a cub.”

“Thanks for the fuel Willie, take care. Call for me if needed.” She pats his hand lightly before walking around the vehicle. Willie has tried to discern her age many times over the decades. It was a part of their banter, almost like how other people might comment “Nice day out.” or ask how the kids are doing. Her days of telling a young cub Willie stories of ancient battles and great leaders were long past. Now their conversations consisted of an almost telepathic system of nods and body language coupled with the occasional discourse about hunting and attempts to answer the question of her age.

”Be careful K.” Willie calls after her.

Krish slides back into the driver seat. The rancid smell of rotting mongrel corpses seeping out of the wax cloth makes her stomach roil, even the overpowering odor of freshly poured fuel can’t drive it from her nostrils. She’ll have to scrub out the vehicle thoroughly to eradicate it. “Hopefully this will secure permission to hunt in the valley for a few months.” She thinks.

It’s not that she needs permission, Krish could easily hunt wherever it pleased her. Over the ages she found allowing others to believe they had a choice simplified her own life. The last thing she wanted to deal with was the attention of a werewolf council should she find it necessary to rearrange the local pack power structure. That was a traditionally bloody task, requiring inconvenient amounts of effort to keep quiet. There were the complications of arranging the coupe so it appeared as an internal power struggle instead of being driven by the will of an outside force. She had been in seclusion for ages and her intrigue skills were dulled. Her ignorance of the council’s current strength and reach, coupled with modern technology, she was certain secrecy would be next to impossible. Krish wondered how accurate the council’s historical memory was. Had she faded into myth, or would they remember her bloodlines and the destruction her family wrought fighting against the Church purges?

It didn’t matter, she would get permission to hunt from Davin and disappear back into the wilderness leaving the pack to their own devices as she had for many decades.