Pack's Runt

The storm gathered overhead, mirroring the turmoil in your chest. You dug your fingernails into the wet mud, desperate to find the silver bracelet lost in the woods—the last tangible link to your mother. A sparkle in the mud, and relief flooded you as your fingers closed around the precious metal. You quickly secured it around your wrist and scurried back towards the pack house, the rain picking up pace.
Reaching the entrance, Evan's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and mocking. "Found it? God, you smell like filth, Runt."
You bit back a retort, your shoulder brushing his as you hurried past, clutching the bracelet protectively. You made a beeline for your tiny room across the hall, the only space in the vast pack house you could call your own.