A shewolf in distress

Henrietta’s POV:

Last night, my brother and I, along with about twenty other werewolves, arrived in the North. We were all asylum seekers, seeking refuge and relief that the North could offer us.

In the morning, just as we expected, we were discovered lying in the bushes by the Northern patrol soldiers and they interrogated us. After scrutinizing us and confirming that we were really asylum seekers, they led us into the Northern city.

As we passed into the mighty brown gates of the North, I heaved my second sigh of relief and looked at my brother. He smiled at me and I smiled back. Surely, our lives are about to get better.

The patrol soldiers took us to the welfare home and handed us over to the welfare officials to sign us in.

“So, tell me, girl, what is your name and who is this boy that is clinging to you like this?” a man, one of the welfare officials, asked me.

“Sir, my name is Henrietta and this is my younger brother, Benji. I mean Benjamin.”

“And where are you coming from? What pack and what place?”

“Sir, I really do not know my pack. My brother and I are strays. And we have travelled to the North from the South with others here.”

“So you do not remember your pack’s name? What do you remember about where you come from? In fact tell me about yourself,” the man pressed on.

I was very careful with my answers as I could not risk revealing my true identity to this man.

“Sir, I believe that in the never-ending war, battles, and struggles for power that form the foundation of the North, South, East, and West, my pack got destroyed. I do not know how or remember when, but all I remember is that I escaped from a burning village with my brother, and we ran as fast as our legs could carry us away from the village. When we awoke the next morning, we didn't know where we were and hence, we became strays. I believe that the pack my brother and I belong to must have been destroyed in a power struggle.”

“Hmmm, and you say you can't remember when this happened?”

“Yes sir,” I replied, my heart pounding heavily in my chest. I prayed silently to the gods for this man not to suspect anything fishy and just give us approval.

“So, for how long have you and your brother been living as strays?”, he asked.

“Three years sir”, I said.

“Hmmm. It could be that you possibly belonged to one of the Southern packs that were put down in the fierce battle of bloodherds that took place in the South three to four years ago. I say this because the South has been relatively at peace for two years now with no wars or power struggles.”

I kept silent, not saying anything, but making sure that my face looked like I believed everything he said.

“Alright then girl. How old are you and your brother?”

“I'm eleven sir. My brother is eight.”

“Ok. Then it's very believable what you said. You were just a little kid then. You possibly can't remember what happened”, he said to me as he wrote down some things in a file.

I felt relieved when he said this. That means that he didn't suspect anything.

“Alright then. Henrietta and Benjamin, welcome to the North. Here are your identification tags.”

My tag read 45-7/10/2020 and that of my brother read 46-7/10/2020.

“Do you know how to read dates and numbers?” the man, whose name I now knew, asked me. His name was Cornel, I heard it when his colleague called out to him.

“Yes Sir. Cornel,” I responded.

He looked surprised that I knew his name but quickly deciphered how I knew.

“So tell me, what's written on your tag?”

“Number 45. 7th October, 2020”, I said.

“You are a smart kid, aren't you?” the man said, looking pleased with me. Not many asylum seekers, especially kids who come in here, can read, nor can they speak with such confidence as you do, or quickly pick things up like you picked up my name.

“Thank you Sir Cornel”, I said and smiled.

,

“Now, how about you, young man? Can you read what's on your tag?” Sir Cornel asked, turning to my brother.

“Yes sir. I'm number 46. 7th October, 2020,” my brother Benji said in a tiny voice.

“Brilliant!!!” Sir Cornel exclaimed looking very pleased with us.

“Now what your tag means is that…” he paused, looked at me and my brother, and then asked me.

“Can you tell me what the numbers on your tags mean?”

“Yes sir. It means that my brother and I are the 46th and 45th refugees allowed into the North on the 7th of October, 2020.”

“Wonderful!” Sir Cornel said, and I believe I heard his wolf growl excitedly.

I tried to keep my composure and not allow the praise to get into my head. Because the reality remained that, I was just a refugee seeker and at the mercy of these people. I had to be careful.

“You are really brilliant Henrietta for a stray. Wow”, he said, calling my name for the first time. I was surprised and didn't know what to feel.

“Thank you sir”, was all I said in return, bending my head. Even though the interview was going smoothly, at this point, I wished that it would just end so that my brother and I could move on. Everything has been going so well that I started to fear that things going this smoothly was not normal and doom awaited us soon.

“The man over there will take you and your brother to your quarters. Welcome to the North Henrietta and Benjamin. But…”, he said. The moment he said ‘but’, his face changed and he looked stern.

I got scared. “Oh god, could this be the disaster I was fearing that was about to happen to us?”,

“You and your brother may have passed the interview and been accepted into the North. We have accepted you here and we believe that you should be on your best behaviour. If we find out that you are spies or have ulterior motives for coming to the North, we will kill you, reanimate you with magic and kill you again. Be warned!” he said, the stern look on his face never left and his eyes glowed a fierce and bright yellow. That was his wolf eyes and I was terrified.

My brother who was now scared of the man before us, clung to me and I held him, patting his head to calm him down.

“Yes sir. You won't regret having us sir”, was all I could say.

“Now move along”, he said, gesturing with his face towards the man some distance in front of us.

“May the gods be your covering”, I said to him and my brother repeated same as we moved on and other refugees took our place before him.

We had said these last words in a final show of impressing Sir Cornel. ‘May the gods be your covering’ was a popular Northern greeting.

As we were finally led to our quarters, all the nuts of fear and worry in my heart melted and I felt grateful, really grateful to be here.

And in that moment, I reaffirmed my promise to myself that my brother and I must surely live better lives in the North.