Stray Dogs Meaning Novels & Stories

He just hummed, signaling her to continue. "There are lonewolves, like myself who live alone. We stay far far far away from packs. Loot humans from time to time. Live a pretty decent life until we find our stupid mates who could turn out to be the Alpha of their pack and make you the stupid Luna who have to sit and do paperwork all the time, and not hang from a tree branch like we used to." Ezekiel rolled his eyes. At least he had his annoying brat back. "Then there are the strays." She said. "Basically lonewolves, but in groups."

My boots sank into the muddy ground, a mix of dirt and who-knows-what, as I stumbled into the new town. My pack had a particular scent that bonds everyone together but not for a place like here. There were most huts with only a few houses built with bricks. Lanterns flickered, casting shadows that danced like ghosts, and the noise was everywhere—shouts, metal clanging, wild howls. This was no pack, no valley with rules and wolves. This was a chaotic place mixed with different kinds of abnormal wolves, and I was just another stray dog in it. I was still Rose, but the name felt like a bruise, like a stupid word to use in a place like this.

“If you follow us home, I’m sure you can have some food.” Hana’s eyes glaze over for a bit and then she snaps out of it. She turns to Asha. “Beta Wendy says we can bring the stray.” The stray? What stray? I look around for strays. “Come on, we’re allowed to bring you.” Hana reaches for my hands. Realisation dawns on me. “Oh,” I say. “I’m the stray?” They press their lips together, and I frown, offended. But they weren’t wrong. It’s better to be labeled a stray than a rogue.