When I woke, the sun had yet to do so. A hefty sigh escaped me; usually, we rose together. ’I guess the sun is procrastinating today.’ 

I sat up and stretched, a heavy yawn escaping my still tired body. Regardless of the time, I did not have the luxury of returning to my phantasmal hunt. I rose with a rumbling stomach and carried out my morning routine: shower, breakfast, hair, and teeth.

Afterward, I stepped outside to another brisk and sun-filled day. Fresh snow dancing over me as a gale swept in. Like all mountains, mine was pervious of the frigid north winds. I inhaled deeply, letting the cold wash over my bare skin and prick at my lungs. The fog from my exhale wisped away just as quickly as it appeared. From here, I could observe everything within a ten-mile radius. A herd of Prod-Elk grazed in the eastern meadow, River Rats played near Hagrott Lake to the west, the patrols were not slacking off, everything was as it should be. 'Another Beautiful Day.'

Once I had my fill of the peaceful morning, I breathed deeply and let a howl tear through the icy crevasses. The sound carried, ricocheting down the mountain and well beyond the hunting valley below. This icy cavern nestled in the Roc Mountain Range’s tallest peak is my sanctuary, my territory. The terrain this high up is testy and requires quick, precise movements to navigate, but the view and the acoustics were well worth the treacherous climb. From here, it felt as if the entire world could hear my call; it was exhilarating. There was a brief pause before a chorus of alert howls reflected back from all directions.

I listened to each member of the night watch, picking up one cry in particular that cracked. ′One of the older wolves, perhaps?′ They seldom participated in morning reports, so it was difficult to tell. Everything appeared fine, so I made my way back into my den. It was rare to not hear the Alpha’s call this late in the morning. ‘He must be procrastinating too,’ I scoffed to myself as I poured a cup of coffee. I secured my mug and the only known copy of ‘History of Rerecross’ and went to my hammock for a lively a.m. read.

I had just made it to the war that supposedly wiped out the Kingdom of Rerecross over a hundred years ago when I heard it. The clear, fierce, and demanding summons of the Alpha aimed right at me. I grew up listening to tales of how Merrick Brier is not an individual anyone would dare trifle with- as ruthless and cold as the frozen mountaintops that surrounded our home. I received that cruelty first hand, so the talks wanted, in a way, that didn’t do him justice—a real ‘chip off the ole iceberg,’ as my grandfather once put it. Briers of the White Lilly Pack are known for their high bloodlust and furocity after all.

With one swift movement, the leather-bound pages I had been reading snap shut, and I placed the ‘History of Reracross’ on my redwood nightstand. The hammock swaying behind me as I made haste.

Another gust blasted my naked husk sending a welcome shiver through my burning body. Shifting from two to four legs was considerably more natural for me than vise versa. Most werewolves have a hard time turning because they spend most of their time on two legs; and consider themselves to be more human than wolf. I however, spend about three-fourths of my time on four legs, and that suits me. My trek to the packhouse demanded an hour; the route- steep and dangerous any given day, was again blanketed with virgin snow. Still, after the better part of six years, navigating the path I could sleepwalk it. This was the easy part.

The tricky part is the 'Pillar Path,’ it’s a sure way to the afterlife if you botch it. Merrick constructed the dangerous column trail between the mountainside and the residence. The towering pillars were twenty feet from each other and a three-hundred-foot drop to the valley bed below, give or take. It’s seen as a rite of passage-- if you couldn’t manouver the path or were too scared to attempt it, you had no business being in the Alpha’s house, A.k.a the packhouse, let alone on a squad. Most make it.

I glared, from a few feet above, at the weathered rocks that stood between me and the house, with animosity. It was such a primitive way of thinking. Nonetheless, I executed a vault from my elevated mountain ledge directly to the center of the first pillar with expertise. Strectching my body to make it a bit more limber before taking off and hopping the next three pillars with ease, and using that momentum to jump to the final pillar before taking a short break. When the subordinate on duty made eye contact with me from the deck he moved out of the way. With a quick breath, I put all my strength into my last jump, reeling the wooden deck as I landed firmly. I swayed the water from my pelt with a hushed rumble. As they all do, the subordinate trembled and slid the generous duel glass sliding doors that lead to the kitchen open. Droplets fell from my fur as I walked, leaving a wet trail behind me.