The Tyrant alpha
I’d call her silver.
A black cat trails behind her, the expression in her green marble eyes identical to the wolf’s. They’re judging me.
I stand very still, letting my arms fall to my sides. For a long moment, while the midday sun beats down on the crown of my head, we consider each other. The cat gets bored first, slinking off into the undergrowth.
A few seconds later, the wolf shifts, rising onto two legs, fur receding into weathered, tan skin, her long muzzle melting into a wily, sharp-boned face. Her long hair is the exact silver of her wolf’s coat. In the sunshine, it almost glitters.
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