A Delta's Daughter

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the clearing, painting the leaves in hues of orange and gold. You sat comfortably at the base of a large oak, the gnarled roots forming a perfect chair as you lost yourself in the pages of your book.

It was a warm day, unusual for the time of year, and the quiet shade was your sanctuary. Your best friend, April, had left a while ago for her run, promising not to be long. You agreed to wait in the clearing, the usual training spot for the pack's younger wolves, despite the unease it stirred within you. You felt the weight of invisible eyes, the silent judgment of those who trained hard while you found solace in fiction.

A faint murmuring reached your ears, just at the edge of hearing. Instinctively, you knew it was other wolves, close enough to be heard, yet far enough that their words were indistinguishable. You hesitated to look up, not wanting to confirm your suspicion that you were the subject of their whispers. The mumbling grew louder, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps – heavy and numerous. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a primal warning echoing in your ears. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Swallowing a shaky breath, you forced your eyes back to the words on the page, your fingers tightening around the book until the paper creased. You willed yourself to stillness, to become one with the wind as your father had taught you, but the bark digging into your back reminded you of your vulnerability. A shadow fell over the page. Muddy toes appeared in your line of sight.

"Well, well," a voice drawled, laced with mockery. "If it isn't the princess of the pack."