Chapter 2 - Wren

The first rays of dawn crept through the cracks in Wren’s ramshackle cabin, rousing her from a fitful sleep. She stirred, groaning as she rolled over on her threadbare mattress, desperate to claw back the fading remnants of sleep.

But it was no use. She was awake now, and with it came the familiar gnawing emptiness that had been her constant companion for far too long.

With a sigh, she sat up, rubbing her eyes and running a hand through the tangled mess of her hair. Silence greeted her, save for the creaking of old wood and the distant chirping of birds outside.

“Another day in paradise,” she muttered, her voice hoarse from disuse. When was the last time she’d actually spoken out loud in her home? Days? Weeks? Time blurred out here on the Dark Side of the mountain, where one shadowy moment bled into the next.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as her bare feet met the chill of the wooden floor. Everything ached—a bone-deep weariness that never seemed to fully dissipate no matter how much she rested.

She was too young to feel this old, dammit.

Going through the motions of her morning routine—splashing cold water from the cracked basin onto her face, combing through the worst of the knots in her hair, pulling on the least dirty clothes she could find—she caught a glimpse of herself in the tarnished mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.

Her eyes were hard, wary, shadowed by dark circles that hinted at too many sleepless nights. Her lips, drawn into a thin line, seemed as though they’d forgotten how to smile.

Had she? She forced herself to try, just to see what it would look like. The corners of her mouth twitched, but the attempt was hollow. The familiar spark in her usually doll-like eyes was gone, snuffed out without a trace. Not even a ghost of it remained.

“You’re fine,” she told her reflection sternly. “You’re managing. You’re surviving.” But the words felt empty even as she said them. She wasn’t fine. She was barely holding on, and deep down, she knew it.

Turning away from the mirror, unable to stand her own scrutiny, her gaze landed on a small shelf where she kept the few belongings she cherished. A battered photo album. A wooden figurine her father had carved for her as a child. Her mother’s favorite scarf, frayed and faded but still holding the faintest trace of the scent she clung to in her memories.

Unbidden, thoughts of her parents surged forward. Their laughter echoing through the small home they’d once shared. The way they’d dance together in the kitchen while preparing dinner—her father spinning her mother around as she grinned ear to ear, a picture of happiness.

The love in their eyes, fierce and unwavering. A love she feared she’d never find again.

A lump rose in her throat, and she shook her head, chasing away the memories before they could pull her under. She couldn’t afford to dwell on what was lost. Not if she wanted to make it through another day.

Stepping outside, she inhaled the crisp mountain air. The forest stretched out before her, a dense sea of green that was both comforting and suffocating. This had been her home for years now, ever since… well, ever since everything fell apart. But lately, even these once-familiar paths felt foreign, as though the forest itself was rejecting her.

She set off on her usual route, checking the snares she’d set and foraging for anything edible. The routine was mindless, which was both a blessing and a curse. Her hands moved on autopilot while her thoughts ran wild, circling the same dark fears that haunted her every step.

Everyone knew what happened to wolves who stayed cut off from their pack too long. They lost themselves, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but raw instinct and madness. She’d seen it before—had nightmares about it.

Pausing mid-step, she leaned against a tree as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Was this how it started? Was she already losing her grip on reality? The chill that crawled up her spine said yes, but she refused to give in to that fear.

No. She wasn’t that far gone. Not yet.

Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths, summoning happier memories—the ones that kept her anchored. Her parents’ faces. The sound of their voices. The warmth of belonging that came from being part of something bigger than herself.

The memories helped, but they also hurt, reminding her of the gaping hole in her life. She’d known for years that a wolf’s anchor didn’t have to be their birth pack. It could be a chosen family, a bond formed with others. That’s how some rogues managed to survive on this side of the mountain, forming new lives out of the ashes of the old.

But where did that leave her?

Alone.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. Her parents had been rogues, too, and they’d built a life together, creating a family against all odds. They were living proof that hope could exist even for those cast out by society.

And look where that hope had gotten them.

With a bitter smile, she pushed away from the tree and forced herself to keep moving. There was no time for self-pity out here, not when every second of inattention could mean the difference between survival and starvation. Between life and death.

Yet, no matter how focused she tried to stay, she couldn’t shake the prickling sensation of eyes on her. The forest teemed with life, but today, it felt different—more oppressive, more sinister. She found herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs putting her nerves on edge.

Paranoia, she told herself. Isolation was warping her senses. Or was it? Maybe something really was out there, lurking just beyond her perception, watching, waiting.

Her heart raced as she quickened her pace, nearly sprinting out of the trees until she stumbled into the clearing where her shack stood. The feeling of being watched didn’t fade. If anything, it intensified, coiling tighter in her chest like a snake ready to strike.

She paused at the door, scanning the treeline, her senses straining for any sign of movement. The forest held its breath, an unnatural stillness settling over the area. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, but the thought of spending another night exposed in the open was worse.

With trembling hands, she fumbled with the latch and slipped inside, slamming the door behind her. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in the silence of the shack. But she wasn’t safe. Not really. The familiar walls felt too close, too confining, as if they were closing in on her, trapping her with her fears.

This wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way, but it had never been this bad. Was this it? Was she really starting to unravel?

She forced herself to move, to distract herself with mundane tasks—sorting through the pitiful haul she’d brought back, stoking the fire, mending a tear in her clothes—anything to keep her mind from spiraling into darker places.

But the doubt remained, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. How long could she keep this up? How long before she became like those other rogues—lost to the madness, nothing left but a feral shell?

Her mind drifted to Mara, a she-wolf she’d crossed paths with years ago. Mara had been alone even longer than Wren, yet somehow, she thrived. Wren had envied her strength, her apparent contentment with solitude.

But the last time she saw Mara, that strength had cracked. The light in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a wildness that sent chills down Wren’s spine. Mara’s words had been disjointed, paranoid ramblings about pack law and betrayals that made no sense. The encounter haunted Wren, a grim reminder of what awaited those who couldn’t hold on.

Is that my future?

Would she one day look in the mirror and see that same desperate madness staring back at her? The thought was almost paralyzing in its terror.

She clenched her fists, willing the thoughts away. No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t. But how long could she really last on her own? How many more years of isolation could she endure before it finally broke her?

The oppressive silence grew thicker. Shadows danced outside her window, twisting into shapes that set her imagination ablaze. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the warmth of the fire, the crackling of the logs, anything tangible.

But even as she sat there, the questions swirled in her mind, relentless and unforgiving.

What would her parents say if they could see her now? Would they be proud that she’d survived this long or disappointed that she’d allowed herself to become so isolated? Would they tell her to keep fighting or urge her to seek out others, to try and reconnect?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine their voices. Her mother’s gentle encouragement. Her father’s unwavering support. For a moment, she could almost feel them beside her, their presence a balm to her frayed nerves.

But when she opened her eyes, they were gone, leaving only the shadows and silence. The emptiness pressed in on her, heavier than ever. Was this all there was for her now? A life spent running from phantoms, haunted by the echoes of what she’d lost?

An endless cycle of survival, each day blending into the next until she finally lost her grip on sanity? The thought was almost too much to bear.

No!

She refused to accept that. Her parents didn't sacrifice themselves just for her to give up. They believed in her, believed that she could forge a life for herself even in the face of unimaginable loss. She owed it to them—and to herself—to keep trying.

But what did that mean, exactly? Did she stay here, clinging to the familiar routine she'd built for herself? Or did she take a risk, venture out beyond the boundaries she'd set, and try to find...

What?

A new pack? A family of her own?

The very idea was terrifying. She'd been alone for so long that she wasn't sure she even remembered how to interact with others anymore. What if she was too far gone, too damaged by years of isolation, to form meaningful connections?

And yet... the alternative was unthinkable. To slowly lose herself, to become the very thing she'd feared and hated for so long. She didn’t want that. Whatever the risks, she had to try.

The reality of her decision sank in, and she felt a strange mix of terror and exhilaration. It was a goal to work toward, however daunting it might be.

She stood up, her half-eaten meal forgotten as a new energy coursed through her. If she was going to do this, she needed to prepare. Gather supplies, plan a route, and try to remember everything her parents taught her about navigating the wider world of werewolf society.

Moving around the shack, her mind racing with possibilities and potential dangers, she caught sight of herself in the mirror once again.

The woman looking back at her still looked tired, still bore the marks of years of hardship and solitude. But there was something different in her eyes now. A spark of hope, however faint.

"You can do this," she told her reflection, and for the first time in a long while, she almost believed it.

The path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty. Would she find the connection she so desperately needed, or was she doomed to follow the tragic fate of so many lone wolves before her?

The questions swirled in her mind, a whirlpool of hope and fear. But for the first time in years, she felt a glimmer of.. something. A chance, however slim, to reclaim some part of herself that she thought was lost forever.

Her preparations continued as day turned to night. She carefully wrapped the photo album in a soft cloth, knowing that these memories of happier times might be the only thing that kept her grounded in the days to come.

Each item she chose to bring felt like a tether to her past, a reminder of who she was and where she came from.

Darkness fell as she finished packing. Stepping outside her shack one last time, she gazed up at the star-filled sky. The familiar constellations looked down on her, silent witnesses to her years of solitude.

Tomorrow, she would leave this place behind and set out into the unknown. The thought sent a shiver down her spine—equal parts fear and anticipation.

The forest around her seemed to hold its breath as if aware of the momentous decision she'd made. For so long, these trees had been her only companions. Now, she was choosing to leave them behind in search of something more.

Something real.

"I'm ready," she whispered to the night, a promise to herself and to whatever awaited her beyond the boundaries of her self-imposed exile. The words hung in the air, filled with determination and fragile hope. "I'm ready to find my pack."

Turning to go back inside, a breeze rustled through the trees. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard her mother's voice carried on the wind, urging her forward.

It was probably just her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her after years of loneliness. But she chose to take it as a sign, an encouragement from the family she'd lost to seek out the family she might yet find.

Tomorrow, everything will change. She'd take the first step toward reclaiming her life, her sanity, and her future. It wouldn't be easy—nothing worthwhile ever was. But for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt alive. Truly alive, not just surviving.

She'd need every ounce of strength and courage she possessed because that's what it meant to be a wolf—to be part of something larger than yourself, to fight for your place in the world. And she was done hiding. She was done merely existing.

It was time to live again.

Time to howl .