PAIGE

"Hey, kid. You going out today?"

I looked up from my sketchbook where I was hard at work sketching the Nightshade plant in its flowering form. My father was busying himself with the fridge, pulling out the egg carton with his lanky hand hardened my work. He always wore this sort of tilt to his lips, like a grin that didn't form completely. "Out where?"

My father was the kind of man you felt proud of as a kid, and not the generic pride every child has for their parents... But on a whole other level. He was my absolute hero, my universe. Maybe it was because I lacked other perspectives, or friends, or trends most children had such as toys. But maybe it was also because my mom was gone and he was all I had. Either way, he meant everything to me, and was often the topic of my every conversation from then out. Rather that was with his colleagues or my boyfriend much later on.

"The ridge. I think it's about time we started paying closer attention to the pack that lives off our backyard don't you think?"

Taking a big mouthful of the fruity cereal I wasn't sure why we had bought in the first place, I contemplated my answer. The pack nearby had kind of been taboo for us, we distanced ourselves because of their close proximity. I was always so curious about them, but I would always abide by his wishes. Always. My father had some sort of superstition on revenge or balance at their paw. So we chose to research further out. Travelling longer distances and camping out. Those trips held some of my best memories. Swallowing the bite, I spoke up. "What about the whole revenge thing? You said they're smart animals, what changed?"

"They are. Never think otherwise, or you're dead."

"So? Why would we go to the ridge then?"

"Because I am ready to see what these wolves are all about. I think I'll take my chances with Mother Nature."

Hell, if Dad was willing to go up against the balance, then he would, and could. So I just merely shrugged, looking down to shade the petals that would be purple if I decided to color them in. This was a vicious plant, one my father collected sometimes, for a reason I never knew.

The reason my father was so enthralled by wolves was one I did not know at the time. Why he studied them so closely or made it his job to know everything about them was beyond me. On our field work trips, we would spend the weekend studying. Yet he would always send me home early with a colleague of his. Never did I get to end the outing with him. This meant to me that the real purpose wasn't for me to know.

I let it be. I had other things to occupy me. Ever since I was young and mother mysteriously dissolved into the trees, I had found ways to keep busy in my lonesome. Spending every waking moment out with dad was always nice.

"Whatcha' drawing now?" He peered over my shoulder and I caught a whiff of his fresh aftershave, another constant for him. "Ah... Nightshade. You remember what I told you about that stuff?"

"Wolves can't tolerate it."

"And?"

"Neither can we."

Pointing his finger at me absently, he nodded. "That's right." I heard a crack and a splash and knew his usual breakfast of eggs with shredded cheese was underway.

Fall was just beginning and my last year of book-significant homeschooling was long past. With the journal I possessed, we had began the real business. I learned what my father wanted me to learn. We lived far too deep into Northern Montana to travel a reasonable distance to a school, so we made do. I enjoyed it very much, it was always nice. Just him, the wolves, and I.

Though I sometimes made escapes with fiction books full of outer space and other planets with more moons. An escape through battered, dog-eared pages.

My cereal bowl was empty so I retired it to the sink and gazed out the window that hovered above the faucet. Brown and red tones took over what was once green and lush. I had always disliked Autumn for the bipolar weather it housed, mostly gray days with sun every morning and rain in the evenings. Looking out the window, I realized the colors bothered me too. Spring was always much more beautiful.

When I turned back my father was seated and munching away at his meal, coffee with milk in hand, paper laid out before him. He was dressed in his usual attire; cotton flannel, over worn jeans, and hiking boots. His faded blue baseball cap hung limp on the rack by the back door, waiting to be placed over thick, dark hair that I did not inherit.

I took my cue to get going and grabbed the thick, tan coat hanging from the same rack. It was lined with flannel and fleece. Against the biting winds, it was my best defense.

"Don't forget the camera." Distantly, he called. I looked over to where my prized possession perched on the side table next to a small stack of mail. "I'll be out in a second."

Pulling on my boots, I called to the kitchen. "Got it." Hearing the silence that followed, I slid out into the freshness of morning. Testing out my camera was a routine, switching it on, checking the battery. I'd lift the viewfinder to my left eye and swirl the focus ring slowly, until it came into blissful focus. As if just waking up.

Moments later, my father was out, looking signature with his long field duffel over his shoulder. He smiled at me, the look travelling all the way up to his brown eyes that matched mine. And we were off, a fantastic duo. Our boots sounded loud in the settling quiet of transition. I seemed to step on every dry branch and leaf for a few minutes, until I gathered my bearings and became ghost-like. Dad was always that way though, always part wolf, or so I liked to tease.

Journal and pen tucked beneath my arm, strap hung over my neck with the camera knocking against my breast bone, and boots rubbing blisters into my heel made up most of the hike to the ridge. I had never been allowed up there before, so the going was hard to navigate as the terrain wasn't too familiar. I trailed after him like the pups I had seen with their mothers, except I didn't stumble or get lost anymore. He seemed to know that forbidden trail like the back of his hand...

Trees, tall and mighty, began to thin out and become more limber. They stretched taller and taller as the terrain heaved toward the sky. Coniferous giants showing off their guard-like stances. Shielding the mountain and its inhabitants.

Often, he would point out different forest commoners to me. Asking for a name, waiting for me to trip up. A tall pink flower by a stream bed; Foxglove. Clusters of unblooming, spatula shaped greens; Alpine Goldenrod. A tall, gloomy looking needle tree; Hemlock. I had done my studies, and I was impressing him.

Shedding layers as we reached for the sky, taking light photos of the pine cones and the sun peaking between branches and clouds the same. I took an angled shot of a blue Harebell flower falling out of bloom with its sisters. I would sketch it later, add it to the collection of plant life from the areas I've explored. I made sure to note things that hadn't been relevant while in the lower basin of the mountain where we lived.

"Have you been up here before, dad?" I asked with a soft voice, as if I might disturb the wildlife consuming us. We were at nature's mercy.

"Of course I have. You can't live in a place your whole life and not explore it."

"Then how come I've never been able to travel up here?" My brows drew inward and I watched my feet pick over the loose rocks scattered around.

"Because. You're only eleven. I decided more recently that today would be the day I showed you the ridge." Dad took one of his deep breaths, a contemplative one. "Not just the ridge, but also my true work. I'll explain more thoroughly. But it is time you knew the genuine motive of our studies."

"Motive? What do you mean?" Confusion set in like a murky haze, blanketing my feet, distorting the path. It had that kind of way, always did. Potential to become a monster of unknown substance, conjured and fabricated by the very mechanics of your mind. But it also held excitement for me. Ready excitement to be apart of my dad's world in completion. No more secrets or closed mouths. I wanted to be like him, I wanted to impress him.

"I'll show you. Here." We had reached the top of the ridge, and the view was well worth it. You could view the whole western valley from our perch. The angry storm clouds that settled over the western face, the endless points of treetops, a cleared winding path for an even more bitter river. I decided right then, the loveliness of this place. Earth.

Decisions also confirmed on my steep, ensured trust with my father. I would be with him every step of the way. He was my rock, and everything else to me.

When I looked up at him after a long bout of gazing, I expected to see binoculars raised to his squinting eyes, scouring the valley like a hawk made of man. Instead, a gasp left my lips as I was bitterly surprised.

In his hands was a gun, large and long. My reaction was short lived as the cold of the object seeped through my veins. It merely looked inanimate and useless, but at the same time... I knew better. I could feel the power of such an object, a machine for killing and nothing more. The scope settled on top held his attention as he peered through, moving it slowly to look around.

"A gun?" I ask.

"I don't like wolves." He spoke, lowering the weapon and turning to face me. Fire was alight in his eyes. "And you won't either."

"Why, daddy? We've always watched them..." I couldn't help the slight quiver of my voice, couldn't let my eyes stray from the metal in his grasp.

"With time and thorough training, you will see. I decided that this pack will be the first to meet your infliction. I have always been a hunter, my dear. Our whole family has been hunters. Never ever, not even once, have I felt for a creature so vile as these."

I said no more, because what he said, always went. Instead, lifting the viewfinder of my beloved camera to my eye and seeing if I could spot any wolves below. I could.

They were happily scouring the forest, a small portion of the pack roaming the expanse of trees at the bottom of the granite face we perched upon. There were a few juvenile looking ones, not yet reaching their prime. A few older wolves watched over. One was just a pup, bounding around, continuously knocking into the larger male, coated in paint-like black fur.

"They are more than meets the eye."

"How? These are just wolves."

"You'll see."

With those words heavy on my slender shoulders, we made our way back down the mountain. The gun was slung over my father's shoulder, and my childhood was left in shreds at the top of the ridge.

The next day was the first day I ever shot a gun, and understood.

DAMON

I was born in the woods, naturally, as I was a wolf. The yellow eyes will tell you everything you need to know. I hold power within, strength, the biggest wolf in the pack. I am built to be strong, the protector. I am what the Alpha needs. There is reason behind my position, natural balance and the ability to win a fight.

And again, I am just a wolf, more wolf than human sometimes, like the whole pack. Even in the thick of it when my instincts take over in the snap of a mood change and I awaken without human thoughts. Not perfect, but not imperfect either. It could happen to anyone, really.

Miles to the east sat a house with humans nestled within, they were unnerving. Everything about them whispered stay away. And for forever, they stayed away.

We kept to our territory and they kept to their's and all was fine.

Until I saw her.

And everything changed.