4. A House

In the days that followed, changes began to appear everywhere.

Patrols along the borders doubled. Training sessions started earlier and ended later. Warriors who had once joked with one another in the yard now moved with a sharper focus.

At first the pack welcomed it. Strength always brings comfort.

But slowly the atmosphere shifted.

Order had replaced warmth, and the pack no longer felt like a family. It felt like an army.

And in an army, everyone must have a purpose.

I tried to find mine.

The next morning, I went to the training yard.

It had once been my favorite place in the pack. The ground still carried the marks of hundreds of sparring matches, and the scent of dust and sweat clung to the air.

But when I stepped into the ring, the conversation around me quieted.

The warriors greeted me politely enough, yet none of them asked me to join.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the ring where I grew up and for the first time I really felt like an outsider in my pack.

“Resume your training,” Aron’s voice boomed behind me.

“You are their Luna now. Go to the private gym in the house. It’s inappropriate for you to be here.”

He could have said anything but that.

One word would have been enough to end the strange tension in the training field.

Instead, he dismissed me.

Obviously, I took a second too long to decide if I should give him a piece of my mind here or “in the house” because when I turned around, he was already greeting an Elder at the other end of the yard.

“Really?” I stomped angrily before I realized how childish it would look. 

I couldn’t decide if I am angrier or more embarrassed now, so I decided to take it to the house as I was suggested.

Of course it was not the same. Alone, indoors, the training felt more like torture. 

But still, I forced myself to keep going. This would only minimize the consequences of no real training. But at least I wouldn’t lose muscles fast and maybe I would be tired enough to not wallow in self-pity.

For a while, it worked. Aron was avoiding me like the plague. He was coming late at night to sleep in the house and leaving before the sun rose. If we met by any chance, he was always surrounded by people so we couldn’t talk. 

And the pack members, they were always polite, nodding to me when we met, but no one ever initiated a conversation. My friends, Gamma, the cook, and the cleaning girls, were always busy with work. 

Everyone was living their lives like nothing happened at all. And I was like a ghost walking around. 

Not seen.

Not wanted.

Not needed.

---

The next change came a week later.

Aron dismissed the staff from the house.

“They are needed elsewhere,” he explained briefly when I confronted him

“What do you want from me? What is this all about?” I asked. Desperation seeping into my voice.

Silence.

And a cold, measured look that hid every thought behind it.

“Tell me!” I tried again. “It will be easier this way for both of us. Right?”

“Right,” he agreed.

“Stay put”

“Read”

“Learn to cook or take care of the flowers in the yard”

“Smile when we meet”

"That would be enough.”

And once again I was so stunned that he succeeded to disappear before I started laughing like a mad woman.

I was taught to strategize, to lead, to protect, to fight, but this...

Me and cooking?

Me?

He didn't like the house, did he? 

It was like a request to burn it down.

Maybe I should make a campfire in the center of the living room and ask him politely to give me his cold heart. Then I should put it on a stick and roast it like a marshmallow. At least at the end it will be as black as his soul.

After a while the laugh died followed by the crazy thoughts. 

Then tears came. 

I don’t need to hide now. There was no one that would see me.

I was alone. Truly, deeply alone.

The house was the only witness, cavernous, and hollow.

---

Eventually I found myself at the orphan house.

The children did not care that I had no wolf.

They only cared that someone listened when they spoke.

For a few days, it became part of my routine.

In the mornings I trained alone in the house and actually started learning to cook.

Salads.

 It was safer that way. 

You could not burn a salad, right?

And I was getting better. Now the kitchen didn’t look like a post tornado place, and the ingredients were evenly sliced instead of chopped with an axe like.

In the afternoons I walked to the orphan house.

I spent a few hours each day there. I helped them with their lessons and listened to their stories.

Even if I constantly felt the intense gazes of the school staff, it was a well spent time. I started expecting it. Those children’s presence eased the pain in my chest a little.

That and the fact I was expecting a Letter from my brother in two days at most.

Some days I even smiled. Hope it could get better was slowly crawling its way back.