Chapter 2;Awakening in the Unknown

(Penny’s POV)

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Not coffee. Not the faint lavender of my body wash still clinging to my skin. Not even the stale stir-fry smell that sometimes lingered in my apartment for days.

Pine.

Earth.

Something metallic, like old coins or blood left too long in the air.

My eyelids felt glued shut. I tried to roll over, habit from years of waking up tangled in sheets, but my body didn’t move the way it should. The surface beneath me wasn’t my mattress. It was lumpy, uneven, damp. Moss? Leaves? Something soft and alive pressed against my cheek.

I cracked one eye open.

Green. Too much green. Sunlight sliced through a canopy of branches high above, dappling the ground in shifting gold coins. Trees stretched forever—tall, dark trunks, needles and broad leaves mixed together like someone had thrown every forest cliché into a blender. Mist hung low, curling around roots thick as my thigh.

This wasn’t my apartment.

This wasn’t even Weyburn in October.

My heart gave a hard, stupid thud against my ribs.

I sat up too fast. The world tilted. My backpack was still slung across my chest like some kind of safety blanket, zippers intact, weight reassuring. I patted it down instinctively: med kit, water bottle (half-full), phone (dead, of course), spare hair tie, lip balm. Normal things. Hospital things.

Not forest things.

“Okay,” I whispered, because saying it out loud sometimes made panic feel smaller. “Okay, Penny. You fell asleep in the chair. You’re dreaming. This is a very vivid, very pine-scented dream.”

I pinched the inside of my arm. Hard.

It hurt.

I pinched again.

Still hurt.

A bird called somewhere, sharp, unfamiliar. Not a crow. Not a robin. Something wilder.

My breath started coming too fast. I forced it slower, the way I did when a patient was hyperventilating in the ER. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to four. Hold. Repeat.

When the dizziness eased, I looked down at myself.

Still in the hoodie and leggings I’d crashed in. Socks, no shoes, great. My sneakers were probably still by the couch. Scrubs were gone, obviously. Hair still in the messy ponytail from yesterday. No blood, no injuries. Just me, very much awake, very much not in my apartment.

I stood on shaky legs.

The ground was cold through my socks. Pine needles pricked like tiny accusations. I took one step, then another. My backpack bounced lightly against my hip.

“Hello?” My voice cracked. Too small in all this space. “Anyone?”

Nothing answered except the rustle of leaves overhead and a distant… growl?

No. Not a growl. Wind. Definitely wind.

I turned in a slow circle, trying to spot anything familiar. A path. A road. A helpful park ranger with a walkie-talkie. Nothing. Just more trees. More green. More endless.

My phone was still dead when I fished it out. No signal bars anyway, even if it had power, there was no tower for miles, apparently. I shoved it back in the side pocket.

“Okay. Logic. Use logic.” I talked to myself because the silence felt too big. “You were writing. You fell asleep. Maybe you sleepwalked? Sleep-drove? No, that’s insane. Sleep-teleported?”

I laughed. It came out strangled.

Then I heard it again.

A howl.

Not wind.

Not a dog.

A real, bone-deep howl that rose and fell and was answered by another, closer this time. And another.

My stomach dropped like I’d missed a step on stairs.

Werewolves.

The word popped into my head uninvited, ridiculous, perfect.

I shook it off. “No. Coyotes. Wolves. Normal wolves. Canada has wolves. This is… northern Saskatchewan or something. I wandered outside in my sleep and now I’m lost in a provincial park.”

Even I didn’t believe it.

Another howl, closer. Multiple voices overlapping now. Not playful. Not curious. Angry. Hunting.

My pulse slammed in my throat.

Run.

The thought hit like adrenaline straight to the veins.

I ran.

Socks slipped on wet leaves. Branches whipped my face. I ducked under low limbs, backpack thumping against my spine. My breath came in harsh bursts. Somewhere behind me—maybe to the left, maybe everywhere, the howls kept coming. Louder. More of them.

I didn’t look back.

I just ran.

The forest blurred. Roots caught my toes, I stumbled, caught myself on a trunk, bark scraping my palms. Blood welled in thin lines. I didn’t stop.

A clearing opened ahead, sudden, shocking. Moonlight (wait, moonlight? It was daytime a second ago, no, the sun was still up, but the light felt wrong, silvery) poured down on trampled grass and—

People.

No. Not people.

Men. Women. Some in clothes, some bare, chested, some… shifting.

Fur rippling over skin like water. Bones cracking, reshaping. Muzzles elongating. Eyes glowing amber.

And in the center of it all, a village, small wooden houses with thatched roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, surrounded by chaos.

Two packs. One dark gray and black. The other reddish-brown. They tore into each other. Claws raked flesh. Fangs snapped. Blood sprayed dark against the grass. Humans, actual humans, cowered inside doorways, screaming.

I froze at the tree line.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was my book.

Moonbound Claim.

The opening battle. The Silverfang clan versus the Crimson Claw. The human village caught in the crossfire. The alphas fighting for territory, for dominance, for survival.

I’d written this scene six months ago.

I’d described the way the moonlight caught on black fur, the coppery scent of blood, the way the village elder clutched a crying child to her chest.

I’d written it.

And now I was standing in it.

A wolf, massive, black as ink, turned its head.

Golden eyes locked on mine.

It snarled.

Low. Personal.

My knees buckled.

I turned and bolted back into the trees.

Branches clawed at my hoodie. I didn’t care. I just ran, blind, breathless, terrified.

Behind me the battle sounds swelled: snarls, yelps, human screams, the wet rip of flesh.

I didn’t stop until my lungs burned and my legs gave out.

I collapsed behind a fallen log, curling into the smallest ball I could make. Backpack hugged to my chest like a shield.

Tears came hot and fast.

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

No one answered.

Just the distant echoes of war.

And somewhere, closer now, the soft pad of paws on leaves.

I pressed my face into the damp earth and tried not to make a sound.