~Day Fourteen of the Migration~

Damon wakes us up.

"I'm gettin' real sick of this shite," Sam mutters.

"What else is news?" Flare asks.

"Yeah, join the fucking club, buddy," Damon says, playfully glowering at the scruffy wolf.

Sam huffs, pouting. Dean licks his nose, causing the smaller wolf to sneeze and glare. Dean beams at him.

Alarra sighs, rolling onto her feet. I watch her gather up hunters to catch dinner before she sets out with them trailing behind.

"She's rather efficient," Flare says, his mouth full of rope and fur. He spits the latter out after having tightened the rope.

"That's one word for it," Dean says, shuddering.

"Pussy," Flare says immediately before moving to the second strap.

I hum, stepping closer to inspect Flare's work. Somehow, despite not having any hands, Flare can manipulate ropes with shocking efficiency. "Alarra is smart, she knows what she's doing, so she does it,"

"Yes, well, like I was saying"-- Flare tightened the rope too far, causing Dean to yelp. He loosened it. --"She's efficient,"

"Very," I agree.

"If the two of you are done gossiping about Darra's girlfriend," Dean drawls, rolling his eyes at us.

"Would you rather we gossip about yours?" Flare asks cheekily.

Dean smacks him with his tail. A well deserved smack, in my opinion.

Flare grimaces at the blow and wisely shuts up.

"Weren't you doing something, Devil?" I ask.

"Oh, right!" Flare says before returning to the straps and loops. It's a rather complex harness that ensures Dean's bag doesn't slide around while we walk.

After the others return from hunting, we begin the walk. We drink, and then we walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Alarra keeps her position near the front with Flare and me and we talk among ourselves.

"I'm just saying," Alarra was saying. "If we stacked everyone on top of Sam, he might shut up long enough for the trip to be pleasant,"

I shake my head. "Alas, our pace would crawl to a standstill, and I'd rather just get there than deal with the logistics of stacking six giant wolves atop one relatively small wolf,"

Alarra sighs wistfully. "Oh well. A girl can dream,"

Flare sighs loudly before turning to speak with Damon. I'm still not sure what Flare's problem is.

We take our sunrise break as usual.

Wolf and Sam splash around in the river like a couple of idiots, while the rest of look on in fond amusement. Wolf was still a kid and Sam was a kid a heart, hence his very colourful version of 'are we there yet?'.

And then we have to get moving again. So we walk.

And walk.

And walk.

At noon, we drink, we retreat to the forest, we eat, and then we fall into the Sleep Pile. Alarra takes first watch, as usual.

I sleep, Dean wakes me up, I take my shift, I wake Flare, I go back to sleep.

~Day Fifteen of the Migration~

Damon wakes us up, we hunt, we relieve ourselves, we pack up, we move. We drink. We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

And walk.

And walk.

"I wan' to fuckin' choke," Sam says.

"Who doesn't?" I ask rhetorically. The answer is no one, obviously. We're all suffering. Sam was just very vocal about it.

I once again see the mirrored trait of drama in Sam and Alarra. Sam loudly complains about the walk and Alarra loudly complains about Sam's complaining.

"Then choke me, coward!" Sam shouts, throwing his head back.

"Kinky," Dean murmurs. Alarra snorts. Wolf looks at the grey-furred wolf in confusion.

"I'll leave that to someone more qualified," I say. Sam sputters.

Sunrise is upon us, so we break, drink, and rest.

"Kill me," Sam whined.

"The next time you beg for death I'm actually going to kill you," Alarra snarls.

"Kids," I admonish. "Play nice,"

"Bite me," Sam spits.

"Been there, done that," I shrug.

Sam groans. "I don't know what you expected," Dean says before nipping Sam's ear.

"How long have we been walking?" Wolf tentatively asked.

"Two hundred and ten. Hours." Flare groans.

Alarra rolls her eyes. "It's not that bad. At least we sleep every day,"

"Point," Flare acknowledged.

I sigh, standing. "Alright, let's go,"

Sam groans. Flare picks the basket back up.

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Noon comes, we drink, we slip into the forest, we eat, and then we fall into the Sleep Pile. Alarra has first watch, as always.

I sleep, Dean wakes me, I take my shift, I wake Flare, I fall asleep again.

~Day Sixteen of the Migration~

Damon wakes us up. Flare helps Dean with his bag, and the rest of us hunt. We stuff the basket to the brim and still have more. We eat the excess and then set out.

We drink from the river before continuing along the path. Following the river upstream. To the mountains.

And we walk.

"When was the last time we ran?" Flare asks. "Outside of hunting,"

"A day or so before we'd left, I'd imagine," I say. Then, I remind him: "It's better to conserve energy,"

"I know," Flare says with a wistful sigh. "But running is so fun,"

I hum in agreement. Running itself isn't anything special, not inherently fun. Running together, chasing each other through the trees and through meadows and across the riverbank, that was fun.

I turn my head to consider my brothers, so new to their bodies. They hadn't had the opportunity to participate in that kind of play yet. They hadn't had the opportunity to do a lot of things, apart from walking.

I find that the thought saddens me. I want my brothers to have fun, to engage in what I would consider a type of bonding time for the Pack. I want them to integrate, to care for the pack members as I care for them.

'Care for' 'love' Same difference.

"How is your leg?" Flare asks abruptly.

"Hmm?" I hum, confused.

"The one that was injured during the Forest Spirit brawl. I never asked. Does it still hurt?" Flare asks, looking over my flank even though the injury was on the other side of my body.

Ah. I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. It healed up just fine," I reassure. The thin pink scar on my left flank was a testament to that. I'm just thankful that Forest Spirit only uses flat-headed spears, otherwise the wound would have been much worse.

"Good," Flare says. And we walk.

Thankfully my being stabbed was the worst of the wounds sustained that day. I would have felt much worse about the whole thing if someone else had gotten hurt. Not that I didn't already feel awful about it, but still.

We take our sunrise break before we set out again.

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

I hear Wolf and Dean talking joyously and smile to myself. Seems like Wolf had broken out of his shell, at least for the moment.

Damon was silent, although he watched the rest of us with a keen interest in his eyes. It wasn't unlike the one I'd seen time and time again in Flare's eyes whenever he was presented with a new question about our nature.

Alarra slid up next to me. I smiled at her. "Hello, Winter. How's it going?"

"Not bad," the white-furred wolf says. "I got bored without Wolf to talk to,"

"You and he seem to be getting on rather well," I say with a slight smile.

Flare sighs and shakes his head.

Alarra's eyes brighten in a way I hadn't ever seen before. "He's great. After he gets past his initial shyness he's actually quite charming. How someone can go from clawing my flesh off to downright shy is beyond me, though,"

"That my dear is a little thing that I like to call the Wolf Paradox. He's shy, but he's also fierce," I say. Then I grin mischievously. "Although, 'scrappy' seems a more apt term,"

Alarra smacks me with her tail. "Mean,"

"But true," I reply.

Alarra huffs, shaking her head as though she were offended. The slight smile she wears betrays the illusion.

At noon, we stop, we drink, we return to the forest, we eat, and then we fall into the Sleep Pile. Alarra, as always, has first watch.

I sleep, Dean wakes me, I take watch, I wake Flare, I fall back asleep.

~Day Seventeen of the Migration~

We wake, we hunt, we drink, we walk.

It's the same basic motions over and over again. Day after day. Wake up, hunt, drink, walk, walk, walk, stop, drink, rest, walk, walk, walk, stop, drink, eat, sleep, wake, watch, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Day after day, night after night. Over and over and over.

It's mind-numbing, exhausting.

I felt like this would go on forever, like we would never reach the mountains and we would just walk and walk and walk for the rest of eternity.

Perhaps I was being dramatic. My mind disagreed. All around me was the grey monotony, bland and suffocating. My body could walk this path for eternity, follow the routine until it wore down to the bone and collapsed into dust. My mind would last far less.

It's too late to turn back, too close to quit. So, I keep all of my complaints and cries in my mind and keep walking.

And walking.

And walking.

Stop. Drink. Rest. Walk, walk, walk. Stop. Drink. Eat. Sleep. Wake. Watch. Wake. Sleep.

~Day Eighteen of the Migration~

We awaken with the moon and continue along our trek.

To stop the thoughts that had plagued me yesterday, I walk in the middle of the group and engage in conversation.

The words and laughter of my packmates break up the grey clouds and allow rays of sunshine through, lighting up the dull landscape. We could walk for eternity, yes. But that thought is made bearable by the prospect of doing it together. Isolation is the greatest torture.

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Together.

And that makes it less awful.

Dean and Damon sing a duet that's only slightly off-key; Alarra and Wolf make dumb jokes and giggle at them helplessly; Sam caries the basket and watches the proceedings with amused eyes; and Flare meanders towards the front of the group, occasionally making a quip about a song lyric or one of the stupid jokes.

I smile as I realize that there was nowhere I'd rather be than with them. My pack. My family.

"What's with the goofy smile, Reaper?" Flare asks.

I huff and move to the front-ish to join him. "Nothing. Just thinking,"

Flare smirks and hums before returning his attention to the path ahead. "Must've been a nice thought,"

I smile softly. "Yeah, it was,"

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

At noon, we complete our routine with all of us but Alarra falling into the Sleep Pile.

Dean wakes me for my shift, I take it, and then I wake Flare for his. I sleep.

~Day Nineteen of the Migration~

We rise with the moon.

We walk.

Dean begins to sing almost immediately. The tune is melancholy and haunting, the lyrics sung in a foreign language.

I don't know the song, but I try my best to carry a note that fits it. Soon we're all humming or vocalizing along to Dean's lyrics, the notes fitting surprisingly well with the words despite us not knowing the original instrumental.

Once Dean's words naturally tapper off, I'm left with a strangely wistful feeling in my chest.

"What language was that?" Wolf asks.

"Deutsch," Dean says. At our questioning looks he adds: "My grandmother was a native speaker,"

"It was beautiful," Alarra says.

Dean takes a mock bow. Despite his sarcastic body language, his tone is genuine what he says, "Thank you,"

We walk. While we walk we continue to sing and harmonize, filling the silence with our voices. The songs range from silly to heartfelt to nursery rhymes.

The sun rises and we stop to drink and rest for a bit before we're walking again, singing.

We walk.

And walk.

And walk.

Noon comes and we get ready to retreat into the forest.

Flare squints at the horizon, frowning.

"What?" I ask, nudging him with my snout.

"Do you see that?" The red-furred wolf asks.

I frown and turn my attention to the horizon. Along it are small, triangular bumps.

"Yeah. Are those-"

"The mountains," Flare says. "We're almost there,"

I suck in a harsh breath. "Oh thank Christ,"

"Do we keep going?" Wolf asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "After we've slept. We've walked long enough today,"

Murmurs of agreement follow my statement. We slip into the woods for what was possibly the last time.

Flare helps Dean with his bag. We eat our fill, and fall into the Sleep Pile. Alarra takes her shift.

Dean wakes me, I take my shift, I wake Flare for his. I sleep.