A friend

Days passed before Korra could stand again. The doctors said it was a miracle; her lungs had filled completely, yet she lived. 

When she looked at her reflection in the mirror, something had changed. Her eyes, once dull gray, shimmered faintly like moonlight. Her wolf was quiet but stronger, more alive. She could feel her heartbeat syncing with something ancient and vast.

Loran came to visit her at the hospital two days later. “You are being moved,” he said gently. “To the pack house, it’s safer.”

Korra blinked, uncertain. “Kael?”

“He… made sure of it.” Loran smiled faintly. “Rest easy, Korra. Your days of trouble are over.”

The Pack House

*******************

The pack house was nothing like the place Korra had imagined when she used to peer through the trees as a child, watching the pack pups run and laugh. Back then, it had seemed like a palace with sun rays spilling from the windows, and the sound of clinking dishes and soft voices echoing through the air.

Now, standing at the threshold, she felt small and out of place, her heart drumming unevenly in her chest. The walls loomed too tall, the air too thick with scents that weren’t her own. Wolves. Dozens of them. Some curious, some suspicious, all belonging.

“Your room is on the second floor,” one of the attendants muttered without meeting her eyes. His tone was polite but distant, like someone reciting instructions he would rather not. “You will share it with another trainee. Meals are served in the main hall, don’t be late.”

Korra nodded, gripping the strap of her worn satchel. Her palms were clammy, and her throat was tight. Every step she took into that grand house made her feel more exposed. The smell of freshly polished wood mingled with faint hints of lavender and musk, scents that belonged to wolves who had never known hunger or the cold.

When she entered the shared room, she froze. There were two beds and a small wardrobe. A thin curtain separated the space. A girl sat cross-legged on one of the beds, brushing her auburn hair. She looked up immediately; her eyes were warm, not cold.

“Oh,” the girl said softly. “You must be the new one.”

Korra nodded stiffly. “I… yes.”

The girl smiled, setting her brush aside. “I’m Mara.”

Something about her voice made Korra exhale a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Korra,” she murmured.

Mara stood, offering her hand. “Welcome to the chaos, Korra. Don’t mind the whispers. They will talk for a while, then move on to the next story.”

Korra hesitated before taking her hand. It was warm and Firm, a reminder that not everyone here wanted to tear her down.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

************

The next morning came with the bustle of voices and footsteps. Korra tried to mimic the others by folding her blanket, brushing her hair, and moving with quiet efficiency. But every minor act seemed wrong, too loud, too slow, or simply clumsy.

At breakfast, she stood awkwardly by the entrance to the hall, her tray trembling in her hands. Dozens of pack members filled the room, their laughter blending with the sound of spoons clinking against plates. Some turned to look at her, and whispers rippled through.

“Is that her?” one of the pack members murmured in a very low voice.

“The rogue?” another replied, louder this time, as though daring her to react. A few snickers followed, which seemed to encourage others.

“I heard she killed a patrol once,” someone whispered from behind.

“No,” a female voice cut in. “She was caught trespassing,” she said with certainty

Another scoffed. “She drowned, didn’t she?”

Korra's heart beat faster. She wanted to tell them to stop, that she hadn’t killed anyone, hadn’t meant to cross their borders, hadn’t asked to survive. But she said nothing; she had learned silence was safer.

She turned to retreat, but before she could, a familiar voice called softly, “Over here.”

Mara waved from a small table near the window. Korra quickly made her way over, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Sit,” Mara said with an encouraging smile. “You have to eat. You look like the wind could carry you off.”

Korra hesitated, then obeyed. She picked at the food: two slices of toast bread, scrambled eggs, and a slice of fruit. The scent was rich, overwhelming, and her stomach twisted painfully.

“You are not used to it, are you?” Mara asked gently.

Korra shook her head. “Rogues eat when they find something… or when someone’s kind enough to share.”

Mara’s eyes softened. “Then we will fix that. Eat slowly, you will get used to it again.”

Korra swallowed hard. No one had ever said “we” when speaking of her before.

When breakfast ended, Korra stepped outside into the yard. Children ran past her, their laughter ringing through. One little boy glanced at her with wide, curious eyes before his mother’s hand snatched him back.

“Stay away from her,” she admonished the boy

Korra froze.

The boy blinked, confused. “But, Mama”

“Now,” she said and grabbed the boy's hands before vanishing into the crowd.

************

That night, Korra dreamed of the river again, dark, merciless, endless. She woke gasping, her chest aching as if filled with water once more. For a long time, she sat by the window, watching the moon climb higher.

It was strange; the moonlight no longer frightened her. It shimmered on her skin, soft and cold, as though testing her. Sometimes she thought she felt it pulse faintly inside her veins, the quiet hum of something ancient that refused to let her die.

Mara found her there in the morning. “Another nightmare?” She asked, and Korra nodded.

“Then come with me.”

Mara took her to the lower courtyard, a sprawling space where the younger wolves trained. The air buzzed with energy, laughter, and the dull thud of fists meeting padded targets. “You don’t have to fight,” Mara said quickly when Korra tensed. “Just watch, it helps.”

But watching wasn’t easy. The sight of sparring wolves brought back too many memories: the sound of snapping jaws, the flash of claws. Still, she stayed and studied their movements, the way strength could be grace, how discipline tethered even the wildest heart.

By midday, sweat beaded on her brow from merely mimicking footwork at the edge of the field. A few of the trainers watched her; one of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, approached.

“You’re not bad,” he said, his tone surprisingly even. “But you are holding back.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

He gave a low laugh. “You won’t, not here. That’s what the ring’s for, learning to control the thing that wants to bite first.”

‘Control!’ The word struck something deep inside her.

She tried again. This time her movements were sharper, more certain. The trainer nodded once, satisfied, then walked away.

From the balcony above, unseen by her, a figure stood in silence, a tall shadow framed by sunlight. His hands rested on the railing, his expression vague. When Loran approached him quietly, he didn’t look away.

“She’s adapting,” Loran murmured.

 “Keep her away from the outer woods for now,” he said.

Below, Korra turned, sensing something- a pull, a warmth that flickered at the edge of awareness. But when she looked up, the balcony was empty.