I wake gasping for breath. Around me is a little shack with bandages, healing ointments, and strong smelling flowers laid about in dark oak cabinets and hanging from every window. The place has a soothing earthen aroma from the mixture of drying herbs and tinctures set in every available darkened corner.

Tasteful white curtains billow from the open windows and doors, allowing a refreshing breeze into the room along with the sunlight.

A mattress stuffed with sweet smelling wheat-grass softens the table, and a pillow cradles my head.

I try to sit up and twitch as something rattles. Chains bind me to the table, hand and foot.

I jerk frantically against the cold metal as previous cages and shackles rampage through my mind. I don't hear the footsteps until it is too late.

“Easy now.”

I jerk and a growl rumbles in my throat as I struggle harder to free myself. My wrists chaff against the chains, but I don’t feel the metal as it breaks skin. I only want to get away. To be free.

Is that too much to ask?

“Roland! Son, it’s ok. You're ok.” I look up through my panic.

My black hair sweeps into my eyes even as I bare my teeth to the threat that has me chained. Brown eyes meet mine. Friend, my instincts say.

So why does he have me chained?

He must read the question in my eyes. “You were hurting yourself, calling out and thrashing in your dreams. The chains were only to assist us... you must know how strong you are,” he speaks gently and honestly. He holds his hands up in an unthreatening manner even as he takes slow but steady steps towards me.

I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment. “If that’s so, release me,” I say, my voice raspy and raw, as if I’d chewed up glass and swallowed it.

He keeps his demeanor unthreatening and doesn’t meet my gaze directly, as if knowing the challenge that is to wolves.

From a pocket, he takes out a set of keys and inserts them into the lock on my left arm. He repeats with my other arm and both legs as I resist the urge to snap his neck and take the keys myself.

At last... free. Something loosens in my chest and my mind works past its previous wild bondage.

He takes a glass of water sitting at my bedside and brings it to my mouth. I don’t drink, despite my thirst.

He must read the mistrust in my eyes. With a patient smile, he takes a deep drink from the glass himself.

“We didn’t save your life just to poison or drug you,” he chides gently. His voice is just as calming an influence as the way he keeps his movements smooth and his lips creased in a slight smile. His heart rate is even and no scent of fear comes from his pores. The calm and unthreatening manner helps ease some of the tightness in my chest.

He once again offers the water and I am too parched to refuse twice. The first sip I only let linger on my lips for a few moments. No tingling.

I nod, and he patiently brings it back. I only manage five deep gulps before he draws it away. My eyes follow the water. I've learned to never underestimate the availability of the life-saving liquid.

He gives me a paternal glare when a low grumble of malcontent rumbles in my chest. The fact I find no hint of fear in the air makes my respect go up a notch... or perhaps that says how pitiful I look.

I should undoubtedly command more respect for myself. And yet, somehow I can't make myself care. I'm enjoying the time without another's fear clogging my nostrils.

“Too much at once will make you sick. Slowly now,” he says.

He brings it back and I force myself to take a couple more sips.

But even so, that lands hard on my stomach.

I grimace. He chuckles. “Don’t say it,” I hiss.

“Alrighty then." He slaps a knee, and I jump slightly. "Even if we both think it,” he says with a wink.

I smile despite myself.

“Shasta? Heather?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and even.

“Both are alive and healthy, thanks to you. Shasta is having nightmares, but she’s a brave girl. She’ll bounce back.”

I smile as I remember her little giggle as I licked her cheek and her courage when we fought the jingoist.

“At her age, they’ll fade,” I say, remembering the nightmares I had from that age and how they don’t return now.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” he replies, eyes darting to my bare torso. The silvery and white jagged lines litter my chest like a patch-work quilt.

I shift in a struggle to find a more comfortable spot and only grimace as I find everything hurts no matter how I turn. I settle with holding my arms over my chest as if to hold myself together.

I glance up at him.

“What do you mean?” I ask, wary of the turn this conversation is taking.

“Who is Alec?” His voice is kind and gentle, as if perceiving the name itself will bring terrible pain.

And that it does. Pain so deep it hurts worse than any silver wound ever could. A tear slips down my cheek even as I remind myself that wolves don’t cry.

“He is... was my brother." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All that remains are ashes.”

He busies himself with dragging a stool beside the bed.

At last he meets my eyes. The compassion there nearly breaks me. Pools swim in the bottom of his eyes that he blinks away, as if knowing I don’t want anyone to experience such on behalf of me.

“Son, I’ve seen the scars. I’ve seen the unfathomable fear in your eyes when you realized you were chained and defenseless.” I flinch at his words. Each one feels like burning coals heaped on my already broken and bruised heart. I shouldn’t be so readable.

“Sometimes I feel the scars are all that hold me together,” the hoarse whisper escapes. I don’t know why I shared. But somehow, the words lighten my load a miniscule amount.

He sits his hand on my shoulder gingerly, eyes searching my own—for what, I don’t know. I flinch slightly as his icy fingers land on bare skin, but he doesn't seem to notice. I drop my gaze and rub fingers over my stinging wrists.

“You have been through so much for one so young. Yet still you fight. You still choose to save others from situations that you are specifically suited for." He pauses, watching me with sharp eyes. "You may feel like scars hold you together, but I believe it’s your courage and compassion driving you forward. Sometimes it takes a cleansing fire for us to find our growth. My grandpappy always liked to say that ashes are the fertilizer of the soul." He watches the wall, smiling sadly at some memory long past, before turning those keen eyes on me. "Sometimes, the only way to rid ourselves of the burdens we have inside is to let others join us in our burdens. A chord of three is not so easily broken as a strand of one alone. If you ever would like someone to share your burdens, I am here.”

His kind words are a balm to my aching soul. I blink back a stinging behind my eyes. “Thank you, sir. I can only hope I do not bring my burdens down upon your people.”

Fire fills his eyes. He squeezes my shoulder. “If so, know you have people who will fight with you. You’re not alone anymore.”