The Unwilling Forsaken Luna

RUN. DANGER RUN. HUMAN! How? What? Where? How is this possible? We are miles from any town in the middle of the Sierra Nevada mountains. There had been no signs that this area, with its steep, rocky terrain, had ever been touched by a human. The isolation was complete—until now. I ran toward where I could hear my parents' feet hitting the ground, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. I could smell the human in the opposite direction from us, his scent foreign and out of place in the wilderness. Then I heard a clicking sound as I ran, and dread coiled in my stomach. Was that what I thought it was? Strangely, though I could hear and smell a human, I could not see him. It made no sense. I caught up with my parents, my head swirling with dozens of questions. The lingering fog of sleep mixed with the sharp edge of adrenaline was not helping me process anything clearly. We ran for miles, deeper into the mountains, away from whoever this person was that had somehow snuck up on us right at daybreak. Our paws pounded against the earth, dirt and leaves kicking up behind us as we pushed our bodies to their limits. After what felt like an eternity of running at full speed, we reached one of the many small lakes that dotted this terrain. The cold, glassy surface reflected the rising sun, but we had no time to admire its beauty. With deep brush to hide in, we finally stopped to regroup, our chests heaving as we tried to catch our breath. I looked at my parents and asked, "How?" They both looked at me and, in unison, said, "I don’t know." I stared at them, my confusion visible. We were hours from human civilization. It was the break of dawn—how did he sneak up on us? Humans don’t hike at night. We should have had a sign of him last night. This doesn’t make any sense, I rambled, frustration spilling from my lips. My dad met my gaze, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know. I think we’re safe. I don’t think he saw us." I swallowed hard, but my gut told me otherwise. "I don’t think we’re that lucky. I heard clicking—like a camera—when I started to run. I hope I’m wrong, but I think we need to shift into our human form and go off the grid for a while, just to be sure." My mother sighed, rubbing a paw against the dirt before shaking her head. I knew she hated being in her human form, especially to sleep, as it made her feel vulnerable. Being "off-grid wild people" meant moving closer to civilization. Instead of hunting, we would camp, pretending to be something we were not—human. For safety reasons, my mother despised this. She would be perfectly happy living as a wolf and never shifting again. Mom looked at my dad and me, and we knew exactly what she was about to say. "If I wanted to act like a human, I would have stayed with my pack." "I know, Mom, but we have to find out if this person saw us. The only way to do that is by acting like one of them." She knew I was right, but the tension in her stance told me she hated every second of this decision. Packs stayed on the outskirts of towns and cities. Not to mention the rogues who tried to blend in with humans—both were bad news for us. We needed to make sure we weren’t close to either. Being caught between the two worlds was dangerous. I could feel Burnt’s irritation at this whole situation. She had become accustomed to shifting whenever she wanted—long, endless runs and, from the way she frequently blocked me out, long talks with my parents that, for whatever reason, I was not privy to. It was infuriating. When Burnt first appeared shortly after my 15th birthday, she explained that wolves were reborn into different she-wolves. She had lived four lives before me, all of which were long and full. She also told me there were many things she needed to discuss with my parents, and that, due to my upbringing, it was best if I wasn’t involved. At 15, I was still technically a child. I understood and accepted it, but once I turned 18, I didn’t want to be excluded anymore. There was so much I felt I needed to know. I once arranged a family meeting to bring up the matter. Burnt was against it 100%, saying there wasn’t enough time in the world to catch me up on our species. I was too far behind—it would all sound like gibberish. When I suggested maybe just letting me sit in and listen, just so I wouldn’t feel isolated, they all reluctantly agreed. But that never happened. Instead, Burnt acted as if I were overly exhausted and needed to rest, then blocked me out. When she would drop the block, they would all act weird. The whole subject was a sore spot, and they were all horrible actors. New plans would always be in place, and all three of them would be on the same page. Burnt growled her disdain at my thoughts. "What, Burnt? Guilty conscience?" "No, more like false accusations." "You know, it’s funny—I let you in on everything. I very rarely block you out because I knew you would be part of me and with me for life. I’m completely transparent with you. Yet, when you have control, you block me out more often than not. If you’re not being shady, then stop acting shady. Or maybe I’ll start playing your own games and see how you like it!" I snapped at her. "Abby, your dramatics are honestly next level. Remember, I’m supposed to protect you and take care of you. It’s not my fault you push yourself to exhaustion, and I need to make sure you recharge your batteries!" she said in a parental tone. "You know what, Burnt? All I hear is blah, blah, blah—excuses. Blah, blah—gaslighting. The only time I have ever been truly exhausted was the first time I shifted. Other than that, your excuse is pathetic!" She started growling, but before she could find a comeback, I mockingly said, "Oh, Burnt, you must be sooooo exhausted. Here, let me fix that," as I pushed her to the back of my mind and put up the block. I couldn’t help but smile to myself, knowing she was back there, mouth agape and irritated with my new boldness. For once, I had control.