Two Weeks Later

I grin, sprinting through the underbrush. I leap sideways, then dig my claws into the dirt, slowing to a stop before lunging back into my sprint.

I train my eyes on to the cliff, timing my jump, so I land cleanly on the edge. I trot further away from the edge, sitting down as Flare joins me on the cliff.

Sam and Dean slow to a stop in front of the intimidating slope, panting.

"That's unfair," the grey-furred wolf chimes.

Sam huffs in agreement.

I roll my eyes. "Cmon, guys. It's not that bad, just get a running start," I suggest, smirking.

The other two look at me with resentment.

"'A runnin' start' 'e says," Sam grumbles breathily. "Like we weren' already runnin',"

Flare stands on the edge of the cliff, head held below the ledge. "It's quite sheer, so unless you're really good at climbing, it's the only way up," he says, glancing up at the other wolves.

Dean groans. "Can't we just go around?" He asks. "This thing is, like, eight feet tall,"

I sigh, hooking a paw over my muzzle. "It's not about getting up the cliff, Grey, it's about getting away from the hunters,"

"I though' you and Flare chased 'em off?" Sam says, cocking his head.

I sigh, shaking my head. I look over at Flare, silently begging him to deal with this bullshit.

The red-furred wolf glares at me. But he explains anyway. "We scared off Dean's little buddies, but even if they tell the others about what happened, there will always be someone willing to risk it for the money," he pauses for a moment, humming. "Actually... that gives me an idea," he says with a self-satisfied grin, flicking his tail happily.

I frown uneasily. It was never a good thing when Flare got an idea that made him wag his tail. The other two frown in confusion, not quite knowing Flare well enough to understand that.

###

The Next Day

"So, what do you think?" Flare asks, puffing out his chest, seemingly proud of his plan.

I gape at him. "Are you insane?" I ask quietly, eyes wide.

"Come on," he begs. "It's genius! I don't know how I hadn't thought of it earlier, honestly,"

I sputter, unable to think clearly. I shake my head, trying to clear up my thoughts. "No, I'm actually asking. Are you insane?!"

Flare blinks. "Uhh, no?"

"I- you- no?! Yes, Flare, clearly yes!" I hiss, hackles raising. "You want- I- for fuck sake! I can't believe-"

Flare calmly raises a paw. "Have I ever let you down?" He asks.

That stops me short. It's such a simple question, with such an obvious answer, that it makes me pause, take a deep breath, and think. And I look more at the logistics of the plan rather than the suicidal, bat shit crazy parts.

I sigh. "No, no you haven't..." I frown, looking away, eyes flitting around in thought. "Fine," I say, surprising myself.

I knew I wasn't putting up much of a fight, mostly because I did want to go along with this plan. Flare hadn't been wrong so far.

"Fine," I repeat, eyes wide. "It's fucking crazy. And, honestly, I'm not entirely sure about it... but it's something, and that's all I need,"

Flare blinks. "Seriously?" He asks, as though he didn't think there was any chance in hell I'd be on board with this plan.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Yes, seriously. but"- I hold up a paw -"We need to be smart about this. Go get Sam and Dean, we need to talk,"

Flare grins, nodding. "I swear you won't regret this, Reaper," he says.

I cock my head "I had better not,"

###

The nighttime air chills my blood, and the early summer wind tugs at my fur. A drizzle of rain pelts lightly onto my hide, dripping down my fur onto the ground.

I squirm uncomfortably, shuddering at the feeling of cold mud clinging to my underbelly. The feeling is much too close to dread, or the sadness of mourning, and seems to spell bad things for this exposition.

My ears flick at the rustle of leaves. I turn my head towards the noise, cocking my head.

Across the clearing, Flare emerges from his hiding place, crouching low to the ground to avoid detection.

I turn my attention back to the building I had been watching. The windows were dark, and the hatch towards the cellar had a bar across the handles.

My eyes slowly scan the building once more, and I hope for it to bring more information than we already had.

With a tower, three floors excluding the cellar, balconies, dozens of windows with thin bars bolted to them, and four doorways, it was a formidable stronghold to wild animals such as us.

Luckily, we were a lot smarter than most wild animals.

I stand, making my way over to Flare.

"No talking in there above a whisper, we wouldn't want to wake the occupants," he reminds me. We still didn't know what our natural tongue sounded like to humans, so we were being careful.

"I remember," I say, looking over at the building. "Where are we getting in from?"

"The cellar, we'll work our way from bottom to top. And keep an ear up, just in case your nose fails you," Flare replies.

"Got it,"

We nod at one another, then make our way to the cellar hatch.

I sniff along the bar, growling lowly. The bar was a puzzle to raccoons, but easy enough for Flare, who is the kind of guy that solves math equations for fun.

Flare takes the latch in his jaws, slowly maneuvering it from the bar. I take the bar and remove it from the handles.

With that taken care of, we each take a handle in our jaws and pull the hatch open.

I leap onto the lip of the stairs, ears twitching, looking into the darkness of the cellar with trepidation.

I look up at Flare, an unsure expression on my face.

He huffs reassuringly, nodding at the darkness.

Nerves eased somewhat by Flare's confidence in his plan, I slip down onto the staircase, trotting down the steps and into the cellar.

As my eyes slowly adjust to the low light, I nose around the shelves, looking for anything useful.

I hear Flare enter behind me, but ignore him in favour of nudging a jar to the side to sniff at a gardening trowel.

Flare huffs lowly, and I turn, cocking my head.

Held in his jaws is an old canvas bag, covered in dust and cobwebs. I nod, looking around more confidently than before.

I turn away from my searching to look at Flare as he struggles to pull something from underneath a crate.

Flare stumbles backward, then holds up a length of rope, looking at me quizzically.

I shrug noncommittally, standing on my hind legs while I search the top shelf, front paws resting on another.

He slowly stuffs the rope into the canvas bag, then returns to searching his side of the cellar.

Suddenly, my nose hits something soft, and I pull away with a frown. I lock my jaws around the object, pulling it down to the floor.

It flops ungracefully onto the floor, and suddenly a dusty old wolf pelt sits underneath my paws, no doubt from long before my lifetime.

Still, I take a moment to mourn for the lost soul before returning to my search.

After we finish with the cellar, Flare and I carefully walk up the stairs, creaking open a door to find ourselves in a kitchen.

I look back to Flare, murmuring my idea to him. He nods, only a little annoyed that I had broken a rule, and I continue on while he searches the kitchen.

I stalk through halls filled with doorways and up a staircase with a grand window looking out over a courtyard, keeping my nose to the floor and absorbing the scents of the building.

I come across a cracked doorway on the second floor, and slowly push it open with my muzzle, looking inside.

Asleep in a pair of bunk beds, in a small room illuminated by the full moon, are four small children, clutching to their toys and bedsheets, blissfully unaware of the danger within their walls.

I step forward, looking around for anything of use.

Finding nothing I step back. My ears perk at a small, whispery sound.

I turn, eyes locking with a stranger's.

A young woman stands down the hall in a nightgown, clutching a candle holder in her fingers, with hair like buttercream and eyes like a clear summer sky.

She seems unable to move. Frozen, perhaps, in fear.

I flick my ears uncertainly. Curious, I push my ears forwards, stalking toward her slowly.

She shakily backs away until the wall stops her dead.

I straighten in front of her, nose twitching, tail stirring.

Her uneven breathing fills the quiet halls.

I sniff at her, growling quietly, trying to wrestle a reaction from her. If worse comes to worst, I can always kill her and run.

She looks at me with defiant eyes, fearful yet unwilling to allow me the satisfaction of submission.

And suddenly, I know that she was born to be a wolf, and the killing option seems much less viable.

"Alarra?" A quiet voice calls "Is that you?"

I growl at the interruption, then turn back to the woman, who looked like she was trying to force out a plea for help. I try to memorize her scent, repeating the details over and over in my head.

I swiftly spin around, and take off on light paws, not making a sound on my way down to the cellar. Down the staircase, through the halls, into the kitchen, down more stairs, into the cellar, up the staircase and across the clearing, into the underbrush and toward the scent of my pack-mates.

Mind buzzing with information as I try to remember what she smelled like.

Sam looks up as I clear the brush "Wha' took yeh so long?" He asks, yawning "It's gettin' late, yeh know,"

"Sorry, boys," I say breathily. "I got distracted,"

"By what?" Dean inquires, frowning.

"Fate, fellas. Fate," I reply simply, preoccupied.

They look at me with concern, no doubt wondering what the hell I was on about.