It has been many moons since that fateful day in which I found the World of Wolves. Since then, I have become a proper part of the pack, and adjusted to a completely new, yet freeing, way of life.

I guess you could say that our Pack's structure is somewhat similar to how Cat Clans work in Warriors.
Only, instead of a leader, we have an Alpha. Hugo, being the oldest and strongest, is our Alpha. But, recently, his age has begun to weaken him, so Chase has began taking on some Alpha duties.
We don't exactly have 'warriors' and 'apprentices', but I am sort of in training, but instead of one mentor, I am taught by all of the pack. We have hunting parties in which we go out in groups and hunt for prey.
Although not big enough to fill my belly, I have become very fond of mice. There is just something about their delicate meat and crunchy bones that makes me feel so energised.
Luna continues to teach me in the way of wolves, and the Pack teaches me in the way of learning to accept myself.

Throughout these months, I have learnt something that I could never be taught in the human world. How to be Kind to myself. I'm not going to lie and say I'm magically better, because I'm not. But every day I feel the wounds heal, the darkness lessen.

I have also learnt the stories of all my pack. The reasons why the World of Wolves was revealed to them. Their suicide stories. Here are the shortened versions of them...

Max

Max is 37 years old.
He is the sweetest person I ever met, always quick to help and ask what was wrong. When he told me his tale, he did so with few words and in a quiet voice. He came to the world of wolves many years ago, back when he was still in high school. You see... Max has Aspergers. And because of it, he was terribly bullied by everyone. Even the nice students of the school would make mocking comments right in his face, acting as though he were too dumb to understand. At that, I had given him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder, for I too had known that feeling. In the end, he had decided that it would be better if he were dead. His inner wolf, Joey, had appeared just in the nick of time.

Leah

Leah is 26 years old.
Many years ago, at only 15 years, she was raped. That experience scarred her, and she began to spiral down. Worst still, she was forced into an abusive relationship, one that she had no hopes of escaping. She was hit. She was sworn at. She was told over and over that she was a 'little bitch' who 'deserved all she got'. The poor girl was locked in the house, forced to be this man's maid. All of her friends had left her, manipulated by the man to believe that Leah no longer liked them. With every phone call and text being monitored, she had lost hope of ever being saved. One day, filled with despair, she had gone to the bathroom, looking for sleeping pills. Then, the World of Wolves was revealed to her through the bathroom mirror, and she met Edith, her Inner wolf.

Chase

Chase is 18 years old. He is the kindest, most handsome perso- I mean wolf, I have ever met.
He was one of the first to tell me his story. He had been only 11 years old when it had happened. 11 years old , what cruel world do we live in that an 11 year old was felt the need to try and kill himself?
Anyway, although he is cheerful and a very joyful person now, as he was in his early years, he has Anxiety.
When he saw my concern at that, he had gave me a gentle lick on the ear and reassured me that it has gotten a lot better whilst he had been in the world of wolves. A classmate of his was being bullied. He had tried to tell the teachers, an adult, anyone, but every single one had done nothing, only leaving the useless advice,
"Just ignore them and they'll stop bullying you".
He had left it at that, not bothering to remind them that it was his friend, not himself being bullied, but little did he know that was going to change soon enough...
One day, things escalated, the bullies crossed a line with his friend and Chase had protected him, a burden that fell heavily on him. He got suspended for fighting back. The bullies got away with it with no consequences. The next time they sought him out, taunting him for acting like a hero, saying that if he enjoyed protecting weirdos like them then he must like being beaten up. Every. single. day. They tormented him. They started laughing and saying that he should just kill himself and everyone would be better off without him. It wasn't long before he began to believe those dreadful words. He was saved by Blake, and ever since then he has stayed in the world of wolves, trying his best to help all those who entered this world.

Liz

Liz is 21 years old, she entered the World of Wolves 3 years ago.
She is a complete Perfectionist. For her, whenever she does anything, if the results are anything below 'Excellence' or an 'A' or 'Awesome', she used to berate herself for being a failure.
As she told me, she still struggled with this sometimes. But the World of Wolves was helping her be okay with not doing a perfect job. Accepting her imperfection.

At school, she had always been top in her class. She always got Dux. Her Grades? Straight A's.
She had to do everything perfectly. The pressure had begun to get to her. Now feeling the pressure to look good as well as have good brains, she had began starving herself. Only allowing herself a single Muesli Bar or Apple each day. The pressure got to her. It shattered her like glass. Everytime she "failed" (did less than excellent) or didn't get something perfect, she began to berate and hit herself. Screaming at herself for being such a fucking failure.
Sadly, it wasn't long before her mind turned to darker things. Whispering that the world would be better enough without such a failure like her. Liz had tried to kill herself, but every time she had been too scared. Of course, each failure only served to strengthen her resolve. Then, like Leah, when she was about to try her most desperate attempt, her inner wolf, Silvia, appeared to her and saved her, leading her into the world of wolves.

Hugo

Hugo was the very last to tell me his story. It had been many, many months. He almost never talked to me, but he was always kind. So it was to my great astonishment when he slowly approached me and asked to speak, leading me away, he had sat down and turned to me. To my surprise, he spoke in human tongue, in broken English,
"When I was a-" he searched his memory, "Jung junge, uh, young boy. The great war, ah... World War Two came to my home. I was young aber, my apology, I mean but, they did not care. They needed soldiers and I was forced to enlist. The first battle I was in..." he trailed off, and I could see a haunted look in his eyes. It was then that I knew he must have PTSD. I gently nuzzled his shoulder, softly saying,
"It's okay Hugo. You don't need to tell me".
He turned wearily, a brief look of thankfulness on his face, then he continued,
"Yes, I know. But I need to. I have, how you say, kept this inside too long. It has eitern, uh..." he glanced at me apologetically.
"Festered?" I prompted. He gave a grateful look,
"Ja, festered inside." Hugo paused, gathering his thoughts,
"People talk of war as a glorious thing" his face darkened, "but they have never heard the rattle of gun fire. Never seen their comrades fall in battle. Never fought and seen the horrors of war..." he trailed off, shaking his head.
Although I had never seen war, I nodded in understanding, softly saying,
"Yes. There are many things that people glorify which should not be".
His features softened as he gazed as me. For we both knew that suicide is so often glorified, when it is a horror beyond comprehension.
He slowly continued his tale,
"One day there was a battle. We were badly outnumbered. Our commander made a poor choice. And... my freund uh, friend, my best friend from childhood paid for it. I watched him die by my side." He broke down, sobbing, "why him? Why did he have to die? Why not me!?"
I could only sit and support him as he released the tears he had held for so long. I knew that his reason was one of guilt and grief. Grief from losing a friend in such a horrific way, and Guilt for being the one who lived.
We had talked together for a while afterwards, and he recounted his childhood memories and adventures with his friend. Since then, although he still usually keeps to himself, he occasionally seeks me out to talk. He is still a man of few words, but after all he has been through, I don't blame him.

I have yet to tell my own story to them, but I will, one day. Until then, they continue to revive my will to live day by day, treating me with kindness.