As young pack members, we didn’t yet learn the ritual of magically enchanting clothing and other items to shift with us, or disappear into other forms when they aren’t worn. It was also a way for items to shift sizes with our forms, allowing us not only to wear backpacks and them melding into forms that can use them, but allowing us to hold weapons in one form, and it gets larger in our warrior form not meant for a werewolf.
A claymore is a large two-handed sword for a human, but if the handle grew in size, it was a large sword in the claws of a werewolf trying to use it. Armor used to be leather and metal and has become made in different materials by humans, but before our skin could be hardened with spiritual abilities, we would need to wear something tougher that increased or decreased in size fitting our bodies before we got into nasty fights.
Days after our recent chase exercise, we ran on the track. That consisted of a large mostly oval shape like many tracks, but was nearly half a mile long and had tree limbs at different points that were meant to be ducked, dodged, jumped over, or whatever came to mind of the person running.
As I walked again pacing myself before a short jog since I had trouble breathing that day, I heard Brown-face from far ahead, “What, still can’t keep up Runt?” Chuckles belted out from both Brown-face and Tree-shredder, the young pack members were far ahead and none of us ever kept up with Fox.
Most of the time, a pack-given name like Runt was playful, a joke of something for which the person was known. It isn't just a nickname, but a given name and you would be known for years. A true-name given by spirits is something more special. When my true-name was whispered by the spirits to me alone during our naming ceremony, I flinched, not knowing how to react. Telling the rest of the pack members I was not sure if I heard the spiritually given name, they didn’t believe me. The others couldn’t convince the spirits or me to tell them over quite some time what they had named me.
Both Brown-face and Tree-shredder came up with my name. Monkey-feet didn’t like it, but her heart fell under the two dominant personalities of the young pack. Fox did not like the name either, but he was not part of the ceremony. Young pack members decided by tradition, and pack peers chose these things if there was a name for the ceremony. Other young ones in different packs found that the nickname also stuck after hearing the many stories of my non-exploits when they rarely came by. If one could not be decided, the alpha would choose.
There was silent betting that my given name was worse than Runt, B.F. and T.S. thought of worse names that the spirit must have given me and thought it would be fun to bring them up.
Brown-face was heard from nearly a hundred yards away, "We are going to lap you again Shrimp, better hurry up. That was it wasn't it, Sorry-Shrimp? Maybe it was Wimpy-wolfkin, or Old-Man child. Did the spirits make fun of you Runt?"
Fox had added in an incentive to try to get me to speed up or keep up with the rest of them, by making anyone who was lapped by another, do another chore for the week, but it only ended in ridicule when I had trouble breathing and collapsed on the side of the track. Fox rushed over when he saw me fall between the trees, but I could still breathe. Fox stopped until he heard me say he could go ahead.
Brown-face mocked me again, "Aww, look who had to stop, Alpha has to make special rules because the baby can't jog. Boohoo." T.S. chuckled and pushed B.F. to keep going.
Not long after that, however, I had to slow down and even stop, my head swam and I remember my mouth getting so dry that day. We had only been jogging for five minutes and needed to continue for the day. Fox just jogged ahead trying to keep the others moving.
Being a werewolf I would eventually heal and continue, did every time, but it didn't stop the looks as the others lapped me again.
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T.S. said not too quietly, "Maybe we can lap Alpha too when he stops again, then he'll need to do a chore this week." B.F. had a hardy laugh thinking that it was hilarious and he continued down the track. Fox tried to ignore them, but his inner wolf forced him to compete and train, like it did for the rest of us. I heard Fox’s inner wolf after he stopped again, and his eyes darted from me to the rest of them. In his mind, he must have thought, “This boy isn't my responsibility, the whole pack is, and if Runt needed to be in the pack, the rest of us need to be stronger to make up for his weakness.”
Fox shot up quickly and ran, the others couldn't possibly keep up, as his feet made dents in the hard-packed ground.
The teasing continued as B.F. ran by again. I was back on my feet trying to walk quickly, but he pushed me to the side, knocking me off my feet. I fell off of the track, twisted my ankle, and braced my fall with my hands on an uneven rock, unluckily laying on the ground, hurting my wrists.
The teasing was usual but sometimes it got out of hand. Fox was not our dad or older brother of the pack and he rarely interfered anymore. He used to, but he kept on trying to help me speak up for myself. When he did stop the mocking or ridicule directly, hours later it was forgotten and the bullying would start again as though nothing was different. There was often a subject for B.F. to choose when bullying me as a younger, weaker, meekly-speaking, often sickly kid.
The only things that gave me any comfort were small spirits who stayed around our camp area. If not being mocked trying to live life and be with the pack, I was mocked for being a little goody-two-barefoot with the spirits. Often playing with them, speaking to them in their world, and as B.F. mocked, they were my only friends.
Monkey-feet and I got along, but any time she tried to be there to help, we both got a vicious tongue lashing from Brown-face or his backup.
I lost a lot of muscle barely surviving many years ago, before being found as an infant. Even as a werewolf teen, I was skinny, my muscles didn’t form, and I couldn’t eat like the rest of them. I ate of course, but couldn’t stomach nearly as much as all of the rest, so often getting queasy. I was full quickly yet hungry again soon after that. That wasn’t as much of a thing to be mocked, compared to everything else.
The alpha has tried to bring confidence to the smallest of the pack, but things had always turned out to be a burden on me as the little one. The pack worked well together, in many practice fights, we had taken down a few small vengeful spirits at a time. The spiritual realm allowed us to practice many duels that would normally be impossible in the regular, material realm. The spirits provided creative means of torture, err… training over the years. The spiritual realm was a strategic battleground of created imagery and spiritual creation, the strength is not written or known of the spirit's capabilities until we share that strength with the pack.
Spiritual energy is given to spirit guides, regular communication, and time, bringing it energy to absorb, all of these things strengthen the bond between a pack spirit and its pack. Since I didn’t usually feel like being a member of the pack when Brown-face was in one of his good moods, usually meaning I was the butt of every joke, I'd leave to the spirit realm to spend time with any spirit around.
Entering the spirit realm was simple while we were out in the woods, communing with nature. It was much more difficult in the cities due to the complexity of the spiritual energy which had gotten much weaker over the recent centuries. Cities were usually handled by beings and creations of Nova, other wolves had gotten used to staying within its territory for many reasons.
Werewolves rarely lived in cities, but some still did along with many city-infused humans who were thought of as creations of Nova along with buildings, streets, lights, and electricity. Wolves would either try to thrive in it to help wolves that lived there, or to help those who found their way into a city to do the usual work for Gaia. The werewolves considered themselves among the same beings as the people of, The Nation.
I grew up there all of those years and wondered about cities, but all of the things said of them made me think of different possibilities. Talking to spirits over many years, I wondered why cities were supposedly harder to punch into or back out of the spirit realm. Was that by the design of Nova?
Did the spirit representation of innovation, force this difference accidentally, or did it want it like this? As a pack, we learn and grow in a large territory called The Nation, but through the rest of the country there were many areas of extreme decay which were thought of as the reasons for Lado, but there was also a whole lot of representation of Nova. This far off thinking was confusing but any time breaching the subject, I was told to simply follow tradition.