After some debate, we figured that we could simply hoist the woman onto Dean's back.

Dean was opposed to this idea, but given that he was the bulkiest of the four of us, he was the best candidate. In the end, he went along with minimal grumbling and allowed the woman to be lifted onto his back.

###

The Next Day

"How's she doing?" Dean asks as he slipped into my den.

I look over to him briefly, humming. I turn back to my carvings, carefully etching a letter into the rock-solid dirt. "She's feverish, twisting and turning in her sleep," I say calmly, pulling my paw off of the wall to examine my handiwork.

Dean gives a contemplative grumble, padding over and taking a seat next to me, his eyes flickering over the words.

I consider him for a moment, frowning. "Did you want something, Dean?" I ask as politely as such a question allows.

The grey wolf turns his head so he can look me in the eyes. "Sam just told me that he saw hunters at the river," he says.

I take a breath, but Dean continues before I have a chance to speak. "He wasn't seen," he reassures.

I hum, my tail swishing behind me in irritation. "The recent events must have stirred the pot, so to speak. That could be a problem, " I say evenly, gazing at my records with an analytical eye.

Dean nods. "Yes, it could..." he pauses for a few moments, as though he were waiting for something. "What would you like us to do, Alpha?"

It takes a moment for me (still unused to the title) to realize that he was talking to me. I look over to him, thinking.

"Do not engage," I reply. "But keep an eye on them,"

He nods his farewell, silently slipping out into the night.

I sigh, turning back to the words I had carefully constructed. There were only so many times that one could be hunted and still remain sane.

###

The next few days were mostly calm. We would take turns watching over the human in my den so that the others could go out and hunt, drink water, and track the hunters.

Flare seemed to enjoy leaving footprints and waste around the most random of places to confuse the hunters. The time that he'd left a mostly stripped deer carcass in front of one of the hunter's canvas tents was particularly memorable.

The human in our care seemed to be going through the transformation process much slower then Dean. That wasn't too concerning, considering had taken Flare two weeks...

Flare, as usual, had many theories as to why this was. That, perhaps, since it had been Sam that bit her, it was taking longer due to his (comparatively) low physical capabilities. Or that maybe, there were different effects of a bite that differ from wolf-to-wolf.

I let Flare draw up his ideas in his den, knowing that he'd figure it out eventually. And, even if he didn't (unlikely), it wasn't all that important in the first place.

Still, I made sure that she had water to drink and berries to eat. She would change any day now, and I was looking forward to when I no longer have to fill a skull with water every twelve hours.

With so much time on our hands (paws?), we begin to fix up the clearing that we called home.

We dusted off the boulder and moved our information rocks ins den (who had carved out a nice little hole, just for them). We attempted to better hide the dens with branches and grass, but that only worked when you didn't need to constantly move it over just to get inside your home, damaging it the process.

Sam had decided to decorate his (newly flood-proof) den with various animal skulls, (just about giving me a heart attack when I went to call him for meal-time).

Dean had taken a slightly less horrific approach to home decor, snagging random objects from hunter camps in the dead of night and keeping them as a sort of trophy. So far he'd nicked; a belt, two arrows, six rings, a whole ass sword, and a lovely decorative teacup.

Flare tells me that I shouldn't encourage his potentially dangerous behaviour, and I agree. So I don't. Well, I don't explicitly encourage it, but I don't discourage it. Huh, on second thought, I should tell him off, given my position as someone who should be responsible. Still not sure that's such a good idea, I mean, really, Flare was far more suited for leadership.

Stolen novel; please report.

###

On the dawn of the seventh day, I am awoken by the groaning of bone, and the familiar scent of a transforming human.

I spring to my feet, hurrying over to the second chamber. I peak my head through and am greeted by the sight of the human's eyes snapping open, and her body arching off of the ground in silent agony.

I throw my head back and howl, calling out to my pack-mates.

I sit at the entrance of the chamber, knowing that the others would be on their way, vigilantly watching the transformation for any potential mishaps (As Flare had put it, "Any new development is bound to come with risks").

The human's chest rose and fell in short, panicked breaths, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the dirt floor.

From what I had seen so far, most would be screaming by now. And I wonder why she wasn't.

She does manage a small, broken shriek when the skin across her back splits, the blood quickly soaking into her nightshirt. A bone in her arm snaps inside of its fleshy prison, her rips flare out under her skin, creaking as they expand to fit her growing organs.

Flare's shoulder brushes mine as he pops his head in to look in on the woman. "Not long, now," he murmurs.

I smile. "No, it's not," I agree, looking at him briefly before returning to my watch of the almost-wolf.

She howls in pain, nothing more than a writhing pile of agony.

I don't remember much of my transformation (nor do the other three. I had asked), though judging by the snips and bits that I do remember, that is more of a blessing than a curse.

Finally, the skin all across her body pulls taught and tears away, leaving behind bloody, yellow fluid-stained fur. She falls to the ground, panting.

Sam takes this as his cue to enter the chamber, placing the water-filled skull in front of the newly-transformed wolf.

"Drink," he commands, nudging her muzzle.

She reluctantly complies, her tongue sluggishly lapping at the water out of pure instinct, no doubt too exhausted to question anything.

Flare whines, shifting from paw to paw, his tail twitching. Sam and I share a look as he rejoins us in the main chamber.

I sigh, ear flicking in amusement. "Oh, go on, mother hen," I say, nudging his shoulder with my muzzle.

Flare hardly spares me a glance, quickly entering the second-chamber and beginning to lap and nibble at the fluid-soaked fur.

Dean shakes his head in amusement, chuckling. This wasn't the first time Flare had groomed one of them, and it probably wouldn't be the last. They would all groom one another on occasion (mostly acting on instinct), but Flare seemed to have A Thing about messy pelts.

He cleaned off most of the blood and yellow fluid in a few minutes, and, once satisfied with his work, left her to rest.

He prowled out of the chamber with a huff. "Shut up,"

"I didn' say anithin'," Sam says, all wide-eyed innocence.

Flare simply glared at him half-heartedly. Finally, he gave up, sighing "You were thinking something," he says.

"Have you ever tried not thinkin'?" Sam asks, huffing amusedly. "It's not somethin' you can just turn off"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sam. All Flare ever does is think," Dean adds helpfully, a grin on his muzzle.

"Better than chasing my own tail," Flare says, swaying his tail decisively.

I laugh, enjoying the look of mock outrage on Dean's face.

The new-wolf groans in the chamber, the sounds of an interrupted sleep, and we sober.

"Best we let her rest," I say, looking over to Dean. "You've got first watch,"

The grey wolf nods briefly. "Yes, Alpha, " 

"I've got the water," Sam says, going off to fetch the skull.

Flare glanced after the scruffy wolf, ears twitching as he turns to me. "So I guess you and I are hunting?"

I nod, walking off to the secondary entry tunnel, knowing that Flare would follow right behind me.