I race into the night, unable to stop the urgency building in my chest. I have to save my family. There is no other option. But—thoughts plague my ever circling mind. Will I be too late? They’ve been in the hands of a rotten empire for over a week now, closer to two. I feel time like a living thing, an hourglass I'm racing against. The problem? I don't know how much sand is left.

Even if I make it in time—will the boys I remember still be alive? Will my brothers be the naïve, gentle souls I had to stop from rescuing every egg we put in the pot just because they were afraid it would hurt the little chicks growing inside?

A smile pulls my lips into a wolven snarl. They drove the cook crazy hatching plots to rescue what they called ‘baby chicks’. Nothing I said convinced them that until the mother sat on the eggs, it was just goop in there we could eat.

Young Barry almost burst into tears when I said that. I learned quickly not to call the eggs ‘goop’.

Will my brothers still be there—should I bring them home?

My smile disappears. I push my head down and run harder into the night. My strength is slowly replenishing, but much slower than in times past. I don’t understand why. Perhaps the silver. Perhaps the worry.

My chest heaves as I reach the edge of the pond where I’ve found myself every night. The beauty here is undeniable, and it’s the only place I’ve been able to find any semblance of peace, yet the longer I linger in this place, the less the peace invades.

Even distracted by teaching—thoughts run through my subconscious. I toss and turn every night, wondering. It's become harder with each passing day to find the drive needed just to speak with the men.

I wish I could stay a wolf. His acceptance of situations is much better than mine. He knows things will be how they will be. The only thing left to do in the meantime is what he can. He doesn’t worry if he’s good enough or fast enough. He accepts things as they are for what they are.

But my human mind can’t accept that.

So I find peace by sitting beside the pond and watching the moon rise into the sky.

I turn as footsteps follow my trail.

Heather steps into view and gives me a smile. My traitorous tail wags.

She watches it in amusement. “The only thing you can’t control, eh?”

I nip at her fingers, and she chuckles.

I give a disgruntled huff.

“Oh, save it. You can’t hide your soft heart, you big doofus. Shasta already knows who to run to if she wants cookies.”

I pin my ears to my head, trying to cut out the sound of her voice. Spoiler alert—doesn’t work.

She sets a hand on my head, and my tail wags again. She scratches an itchy spot and my leg beats the ground.

I lean into her touch for a split second before my brain catches up.

I am mortified. I growl at her half-heartedly, then turn away with a disgruntled snort and try to rub away the tingles of her touch with my paw.

It… it feels good to be touched again without pain. My wolf form is the only form that doesn’t flinch. Perhaps because it was this form alone that the Masters mostly left untouched. They preferred to hear my pain.

Her citrus scent of humor mixes with the pine and lavender of her person. It calms me, and I am truly starting to see her as a sister. It’s—different. And often awkward around her father. But it’s also… nice.

A scent on the wind touches my nose. I look across the pond and meet the gleaming eyes of a Werecat. Against common knowledge, Shifters and Weres do not mix, despite us both being basically the same genetically. One just turns into a monster of a wolf, the other turns into a giant, lithe cat. The same, right? Wrong.

The Were's silver eyes shine with the moonlight as her black and silver striped coat bristles. Her tail swishes behind her as she stalks from one end of the pond to the other, a mere thirty feet' breadth separating us.

Beside me, I hear a growl as Heather shakes into her white wolf, her tunic fluttering to the ground in tatters. I flatten my ears back and nudge her behind me. She steps around me with measured steps, still growling. I yip to get her attention, then nudge her towards the town.

They need to be warned. Her eyes say she gets my intent, but again sidesteps. Stubborn woman! I growl lightly and nip her ear in insolence. I will not put her in danger. Her tail drops slightly and I plead with my eyes as I jerk my head to town. She gives one last low, threatening growl before turning tail into the thicket.

A chattering cry rings out from the other side of the pond, making my fur stand on end. How dare they threaten one under my protection? A pure black cat with paws as big as horse hooves leaps from the dark, hairy thistles at my right. He streaks towards Heather.

With two bounding leaps, I tackle him to the ground. I get my jaws around one of his paws and clamp down. A snap and a cat's hiss are all I hear before his back paw streaks underneath me, pushing me off and barely missing disemboweling me. I land on all fours and turn to put the pond at my back.

There were no velvet paws, only claws. Three jagged lines along my stomach from shoulder to ribs drip with blood I cannot spare, my body still weak from the battle for Shasta. I growl as three more cats appear from the edge of the woods, moving with feline strength, carving paths through the swaying grasses.

I glance back at the tigress. She has a younger version of herself sitting beside her. The little one meets my gaze with something akin to pity before looking away. She glances at her relative and twitches her tail. I get the distinct impression she isn’t happy with the situation, but nothing she can do will help.

I know the feeling, Little One.

The mother licks her cub's head, then steps in front of her to block her from the coming slaughter.

I shake the thoughts from my head and turn. The black limps towards me with obvious discomfort. A toothy snarl stretches my jaws as I flash my blood stained teeth in warning.

Two pounce. I barely escape the first set of fangs, twisting just in time to grab for his jugular. A swipe of paws catches me on the flank from behind, and I’m forced to let go before much more damage can be done to the one in front of me.

The other two join their brothers. A grey grabs my back paw in powerful jaws and twists, popping the bone with a snap. A yelp comes from me as I turn back to bite at his face. I only glance a blow on his ear. I know I don’t just imagine the grin on the black’s face as he holds his own bleeding paw aloft in a smug salute.

Another swipes in front of me, raking powerful claws across my chest. They’re toying with me, only darting in fast enough to injure and retreating before I can retaliate. I’m done being prey.

I spring forward despite my aching body and bowl the black one over. He’s so startled he goes down without much of a fight. I grab his jugular and bite down, feeling the blood pounding millimeters from my jaw.

I let out a low growl. He stills. I won’t take a life that has surrendered—the Masters did everything they could to beat that honor out of me, but they only caused me to become more stubborn. There were only so many things that I could still claim: my honor, my will, and my mind. My body and my skills belonged to them.

Despite the fact this will probably get me killed, I unclench my jaws and back away. He lays there another moment, as if unsure why he’s still breathing. He slowly unwinds himself and gets back to his feet.

I see flashes of grass and leaves when the gray tackles me from behind. His fangs glint in front of my eyes, grazing my muzzle. I kick out with my back paws, using the grey's own momentum to my advantage.

A hiss and a squeal of terror comes from the other side of the pond. I glance to that side even as I duck to let the black tumble over me. My heart pounds in my chest as the little mini tigress goes plunging into the pond with a tiny mewl before it's reduced to gurgles. The mother tigress swipes for her, but it's too late. All motion around me comes to a screeching halt.

I look to see every Were completely focused on the water where the little one disappeared. The mother paces along the water's edge, fighting within herself. She swipes at the water in anger and frustration, and I see glimmering pools in her fear-filled eyes.

My blood mother’s blue eyes as she was torn from us flashes in my memory. I should turn and run when they are distracted. Or at least slash a few hamstrings and cut a few throats. But all I see is the little one sitting there, looking for all the world as if she’d rather be anywhere than watching a murder. She didn’t deserve this.

I snort. Why do the logical? That’s no fun. I gather my paws and leap.