I yawned and shook my head as I woke up. My ears brushed the top of the den with the action. I was used to waking up in tight locations, so it didn’t really bother me. Such places were safer for someone as small as me.

I uncurled and stretched in the limited room of the old rabbit burrow. The rabbits on this side of the mountains were supposedly much larger than normal, but my belly fur was almost touching the floor of the tunnel as I headed towards the surface.

I paused with my nose mere feet from the entrance as I slowly inhaled, carefully testing the scents in the air. After a minute, I poked my head cautiously out of the burrow and glanced around. The coast was clear. I exited the burrow and shook my light grey fur hard to get any possible dirt out of it. I stretched again as I looked around.

My view was limited to the underside of the bramble bush. This part of the forest had huge sprawling bramble bushes, which was a perk for me. I could easily get underneath them while anything larger than me would get a face full of large, sharp thorns for their efforts. I took care not to raise my head too high since I had ended up with scratches on my ears more times than I cared to admit.

A cream color off to the side caught my attention. I trotted over to inspect the small mushroom. I was familiar with this one and knew it was edible. It must have sprouted overnight because it hadn't been here last night. I lightly wagged my tail in anticipation; where one had appeared, more would be nearby. I used my paw to push it over and break the stem before gently picking it up in my jaws. If I bruised them, people wouldn't pay as much for them. I quickly carried it to the edge of the bramble bush and put it down on the ground.

I peeked out from under the edge of the bramble bush, pricking my ears up to catch any sounds while carefully sniffing the air again. I only heard the normal morning birdsong and smelled the normal scents of plants and small animals. I was pretty good at telling if something was around at this point.

I carefully came out from under the bramble bush and glanced around before shifting. Seconds later, I was standing in my somewhat-tattered jeans and t-shirt. My clothes and backpack shifted with me.

I took a deep breath of the cool morning air as I relaxed somewhat. I was more at ease in my human shape simply because my wolf shape was so small. Most werewolves were large enough to almost look a human in the face. I, on the other hand, could barely lift my head high enough to reach someone's knees. A runt.

I had even seen some huge house cats that were bigger than me. At that size, quite a few creatures might think about trying to turn me into a meal. Bears, coyotes, or even a really big eagle was a potentially lethal threat while I was in wolf form. Cougars were my personal nightmare – if they were hungry, they wouldn’t care if I was in human or wolf form. One had almost caught me when I was little. Thankfully, my parents had been nearby and had quickly attacked it.

I have no idea what my parents had thought when their daughter first shifted. I had been told that I was a late shifter and hadn't shifted until I was nearly six months old, whereas most infants shifted by the time they were three months old. I was far too young to remember. They had loved me in spite of my tiny size.

I glanced at a butterfly as it fluttered by. I kind of wished I could shift into my wolf form and chase it around without a care in the world. But that longing would have to go unheeded. It was simply too dangerous for me to drop my guard out here.

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I bent down and carefully extracted the mushroom from under the edge of the bramble bush where I had left it. After fetching a small willow basket from a nearby lean-to, I looked around and spotted several more mushrooms from here. I started picking various mushrooms, occasionally shifting to retrieve several from underneath the bramble bushes. As I picked the mushrooms, I thought about my original pack.

My childhood had seemed mostly normal, the pack had accepted me even if they preferred to keep my presence a secret from visitors. Sometimes other packs thought that the presence of a runt meant that the pack was weak, which occasionally led to attacks. The Alpha wouldn't tolerate bullying, so I had never really been picked on too badly. All in all, life had been pretty good.

Then the ferals had attacked. I had been twelve at the time, and my mother had told me to run to my hiding spot until she came for me. Our home had been near the edge of the town and a long distance from any of the safe rooms. My parents had taken advantage of my small size and had taught me to use rabbit burrows if trouble approached.

I had run to the burrow my mother had directed me to and hid just like I had done dozens of times before. Whether it had been a drill or an actual attack, my parents had always come back for me when it was all clear.

This time they never came back. The next day, hunger eventually brought me out of the rabbit burrow. I had wandered back to the town, but it was deserted. The smell of blood had been overpowering, although I hadn’t seen any bodies. I went back home and called for my parents, but they never answered.

Two days later, six strangers walked through the town. They had been checking for survivors and picked up my scent. When they found me, they explained that everyone in the town had been killed by the feral werewolves. The six who found me had been rogues. They were kind enough to take me with them and care for me for a while. I still felt a faint pang of grief for my lost parents and friends.

I was a rogue now, too. That simply meant I wasn't part of a pack. True, some rogues were feral, bloodthirsty killers or lawless troublemakers who stirred up trouble, but most were not. Some had been kicked out of packs for things like theft or disobedience. A few were simply unable to tolerate the authority that Alphas could wield. Others could be a bit anti-social and had a hard time living with a pack since packs usually had three hundred to five hundred members.

I had even met one rogue who had been exiled because he had dated a lady who later realized she was the Alpha's mate. He had no interest in dating someone who found their mate, but Alphas could be extraordinarily jealous and paranoid.

I was a rogue because most packs didn’t want to let a runt into their pack. They usually accepted a runt if he or she was born into the pack, but most drew the line at letting a runt join their pack. My heart felt heavy as I thought about how many times I had been turned away. I simply didn’t belong anywhere. Packs didn’t want a runt, and life for a runt as a rogue was extremely difficult.

Rogues traveled and lived in the large expanses of no man's land between various packs, rarely staying in one spot for long. Most rogues traveled in groups that ranged between two and ten members.

Life as a rogue wasn't the easiest, and for a runt, it was even harder without having a large and powerful wolf form. Most rogue groups didn’t overly mind my presence, but they wouldn’t wait for me either. I was left behind within minutes if I tried to keep up. It hurt.

Most wolves could easily bring down a deer or catch a rabbit, but I had to rely on snares and archery. Rogues tended to spend the winter as a wolf, relying on their thick winter coat for warmth and protection from the elements.

Like most runts, my fur had never grown guard hairs. I only sported my soft undercoat, although it did thicken up a bit in winter. It was warm enough as long as there wasn't a strong wind and I didn't get wet. I had begun to dread winter with its wind and snow after I had become a rogue.

I kept picking mushrooms while keeping a watchful eye on my surroundings.

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