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Mywalkthroughtheforest is typical. Birds and small ground dwelling creatures are quick to scatter from my path, knowing they’re in the presence of a predator. They don’t always run in the presence of ordinary shifters. They sense the difference. They know we are faster and stronger than the shifters they share this space with during the daylight hours.
The only thing they don’t know is that tonight they don’t need to be afraid of being hunted down.
So, they run for their tiny lives while I take a familiar path through the forest.
Walking a trail I’ve often followed ever since I was first abandoned to The Abyss, I only stop once I realize what I’m doing.
There is one person who does not deserve to be hurt for her part in my exile.
My mother did her best to keep me hidden away from everyone else.
She was alone when she gave birth, and she told my father I was stillborn.
Since he was the only one who knew she was pregnant, and they were not living together as mates, she was able to raise me for the first few years of my life.
My only happy memories are of my mother.
She saw me as a kid, not a monster.
I spent a long time wishing I could go back to see her.
But I always stopped short of coming within sight of her back yard.
Some part of me was always afraid to see a monster reflected in her bright eyes.
The way she viewed me as a child may not be the same way she views me as an adult.
Eventually, I decided it was better if she thought I was dead.
I never could have gone back to living with her.
The barrier stopped me from exiting the woods, and even if it didn’t, I knew she could get into real trouble over me. I didn’t want that. She didn’t deserve it.
Now, the need to see her propels me forward in spite of myself.
If there’s one person I want to see spared from the path of destruction that’s about to be blazed, it’s my mother. I would protect her with my dying breath. She’s the only person other than my pack brothers who ever meant anything to me.
Picking my way through the trees, I stop when I see her cabin up ahead.
There’s no light from inside, and no candles lit in the yard.
It’s possible she’s sleeping.
I am not sure how late it is. It has been a long time since we were sitting at the kitchen table, and she was teaching me how to tell the time from the clock on the wall. I’m not sure I remember what the hands meant. A couple of decades have passed, and I mostly only know that because of my brothers.
I made a point to know their ages, so we could celebrate their birthdays.
I no longer remember the date of my own.
Counting days and having a rough idea of the season thanks to the forest isn’t the same as having a calendar full of months to look at.
I step into the dark yard, creeping toward the house as quietly as possible.
There are candles under covers on the steps that lead down from the slightly overgrown grass to the paved stone that leads to the kitchen door.
I’m careful to step past those candles without letting my clawed toes nudge the covers.
Peering in the dark windows, it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.
