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AMARA
“Almost time for the run, Amara,” I tell myself and rub my hands together.
It is cold and early, and though I am used to it by now, today the cold is particularly bracing.
I just hope they get here soon.
I turn my head an inch at the sound of snapping twigs in the nearby forest.
Maybe a bear or a fox.
But I ignore it – the creatures close by pose no real threat to me. Instead, I turn and look at the view in front of me. There is no end in sight.
The morning is bright and clear and sharp, though the sun hasn’t quite risen yet. The light that shines down, illuminating the Great Lakes, comes from leftover moonbeams more than from any sunlight.
I run a hand over my head, feeling the slight, soft stubble of my hair. I only recently shaved my head for the third time, but it is already growing back fast.
I inhale the crisp morning air as I stand on the crest of a hill that affords me a view of a thick, ancient forest. And beyond that, in the distance, I have a view of the Great Lakes.
I am still slightly out of breath from my run up the hill, and I squat, getting onto my haunches as I wait.
And that is when I hear them. They come from behind me, a pack of seven wolves racing up the hill. I stand, and they come to a stop around me. There are five females and two males in this cluster.
And while it may be a tradition for males to be the Alpha and leader, in this pack, the oldest female, Safira, is the Alpha.
I found Safira when I was young. I must have been 14 years old when I found the half-dead pup, curled up and waiting to die. I healed her and raised her. When she got better, she started spending her time with the wolf pack that always surrounded me. I expected her to someday leave and return to her own pack, though.
She never left. And continually, she returns with more abandoned pups for me to inspect and take care of.
I don’t know where she finds them. All I know is that our pack grows each year. The pack consists of about twenty wolves now, although not all of them interact with me all the time.
Some of them are too feral to trust humans yet. Even a human like me.
Safira and the two males paw impatiently at the ground. I throw my head back and laugh, knowing that there aren’t any living souls around to hear me.
“Okay, Saffy. Let’s run.”
We stream down the hill, gaining momentum with every step we take until it feels like we’re flying before we plunge into the forest. I don’t care that my clothes and the skin underneath are getting torn up by branches and scratchy bushes.
All that matters is the run.
We only stop when we get to the clearing, which gives us a view of the mountains on the north side of the Lakes.
The monolithic structures that I am sure are older than time meet the equally old lakes, with just a strip of land separating the two ancient giants.
Everything is quiet.
There are no living things around to disturb, only spirits, and they don’t pay us any mind.
“Okay, maybe there are a couple of other wolf packs, but they won’t disturb us, will they, Saffy?” I sink my fingers into Safira’s thick fur, and she barks gruffly in agreement.
There might be a bear or two around, and maybe a pack of coyotes, but they won’t bother us, either.
“And no orcs either,” I mumble to myself as I step further into the clearing and examine the mountains.
The sun is finally rising, and the moon has receded into her realm.
“And we have to thank the lakes for that.”
