Running With Wolves

It had been raining for two days and it wasn’t particularly showing signs of stopping. Rain pelted black umbrellas, dress shoes squished unhappily in mud but nobody dared to try and evade the weather. Fifty-two umbrellas, fifty-two pairs of feet, fifty-two pairs of wet eyes; the group was a mass of black; black trench coats, umbrellas, shoes, but Sage stood apart from them. She stood several feet away from everyone including her brother and Mia, and she alone was without an umbrella.

Sage found it hard to have the majority of the Western Pack baring down around her. She could feel them pressing in on her. Protect, comfort, protect, comfort, Sage.

The Reverend was talking, reading a bible passage perhaps, Sage didn’t know. She couldn’t hear him, she couldn’t hear anyone as though she had cotton balls in her ears. She heard nothing and she saw nothing except the red maple oak coffin with engraved hand prints and paw prints along the edges, each one unique.

Conan glanced in Sage’s direction, safe beneath the umbrella, he just wished more than anything that she would stand beneath it with him. Conan had offered her the umbrella half a dozen times (as well as several other people) but Sage wouldn’t take it as she allowed the rain to wash over her skin, cool raindrops against hot skin.

Mia was standing behind the two siblings quietly, her own umbrella in hand while Jasmine stood beside Conan. It was the closest the two had been since they’d broken up and Conan allowed her to link her arm with his as they listened solemnly to the reading. Yet even Jasmine had the decency to glance worried in Sage’s stoic direction. Everyone wanted to comfort her but no one was willing to draw close enough. It was when Sage was most vulnerable that many found her all the more dangerous.

“-and though we shall forever remember,”

Her hearing went in an out like a radio signal.
She heard the padding of feet behind her but Sage couldn’t bring herself to look, she was frozen, numb, she was (for the moment) giving up and giving in. But then she felt the soft fur beneath her hand and she broke her gaze from the casket for the first time.

Sitting beside her, eyes’ gazing intently at the casket was a white wolf, Sage’s palm resting atop its head.

Rune.

She felt strength then or nonetheless a weak sense of purpose. Rune was here, wolf or not, she was here and as always she would look to Sage and Sage alone for what to do.

She could sense Rune even in her wolf form.

Sage, sad, Sage, friend. Corenliu, dead, alpha. Alpha?

Sage heard her name them and her focus snapped back to the present situation.

“Sage, his daughter, requested now to say a few words.”

Sage licked her lips and her hand fell from the wolf’s comforting fur as she stepped forward to where the Reverend had stood.

She stared out at all the faces, recognizing nearly all of them, the faces of those Conan and Sage had personally allowed to be present here.

“No one will dispute that my father was good a man and a great alpha.”

Why did I want to do this? Sage asked herself. This was torture. She gazed out at the faces looking back at her, all solemn, sad, and filled with pity. But none of them really knew her or Conan, or for that matter they didn’t really know her father. She glanced to Rune’s wolf who, to Sage’s surprise, was now human and shielded by an umbrella—Lukas’ umbrella. A dizzying sense of relief washed over her at his presence. His stormy grey eyes, the exact shade of the clouds, was staring at her unwavering, giving her the strength she needed.

Breathe.

Sage closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she continued. “My father put everyone else before himself, if anyone was ever in need he did everything in his power to protect them. He believed in honor and duty but he also believed in love and family and I know he considered each and every one of you family.” She closed her eyes knowing her next words might make some flinch but they would be the truest she’d speak. “My father died with purpose and he died protecting his daughter and I know in my heart that he wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way.”

Lukas wasn’t the only Canis present at this occasion, Knoll was beside him and on the opposite end of the group was Viktor beside Mankato; two alphas side by side, uniting the packs for one day. Sage would never like Viktor and if she had the chance she wouldn’t say she’d never put a knife in his back but to see the sadness in Viktor made Sage feel vaguely happy. Everyone was forgetting that before the war despite everything Viktor and Corneliu were the best of friends and somewhere in his cold heart Viktor had lost the truest friend he’d ever had.

“I think…” Sage trailed off as she caught sight of an unexpected figure. Head bowed and umbrella blocking most of her from view, Sage saw the one person she did not expect.

Long brunette hair, the same shade as each of her siblings, perfect porcelain complexion, and peach colored lipstick was all Sage could make out but she knew instantly: Moma.
“My father did the best he could. He made mistakes,” Her head lifted and their eyes met; Sage was talking to her and her alone. “but everything he did was for love; the love of his family, the love of the pack, of this town. I think my father wouldn’t want us to forget the things that this town has gone through. I think he’d want us to continue the way we have, to do the things that must be done for the love of each other and our packs.” Her eyes flickered to Viktor. “not out of want or greed.” She licked her lips. “My mother loved to read and my father built her an entire library for her books. While my mother loved to read my father also had a favorite poet of his own by the name of W.H Auden.”

She glanced around at the crowd, each person had her undivided attention. All except her mother who had turned and was now walking away. Her stomach dropped and Sage felt like she was loosing the woman all over again. She felt like an orphaned child and the sense of a abandonment struck her so hard tears fell from her eyes and air wouldn’t fill her lungs.

Sage.

She could feel him. Like a toasty warm blanket on a freezing night she could feel his presence press in around her and drown out everything else. He drowned out her sorrow, her broken thoughts, her fear. He drowned out the entire pack, forty-eight minds, that subtly pushed at her mind calling her to her birthright.

Lukas.

She blinked and took a deep breath, regaining the composure and air of her alpha linage.

“The stars are not wanted now, put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

Her mother had disappeared from sight, deeper into the graveyard and Sage glanced down at her hands suddenly lost. She didn’t want to talk anymore, she didn’t want to be here anymore.
She glanced at Conan who stepped forward beside her. He managed to kiss the top of her head before Sage walked away, not toward her spot beside Rune, Lukas, and Knoll, three souls that didn’t quite fit into their packs, but amongst the crowd searching desperately for her mother.

She ran down the stone path, rain beating against her hot skin. She knew the path by heart but when she reached her destination she was met with disappointment and further sadness; her mother was nowhere in sight. There was no one around but the endless rows of graves and the haunting echoing sense of solitude.
All of the graves were nearly identical in shape and size but one grave stuck out to Sage. One grave had a fresh cut rose upon it. Her stomach dropped and slowly she made her way toward the sight, not looking at the slab of stone until she was inches from it.

Seneca Claudia Florina Wolfe

November 4, 1988 – August 27, 2004

Here lies the most beloved daughter and sister.
May angels lead you in and give you wings to fly.

She moved the rose quietly to the side to reveal lavender growing. Sage sighed weakly before she fell to her knees in the mud and stared at her sister’s grave. It was a hallow and emptying feeling to gaze upon the only marker left of your sister and Sage did it with a heavy heart. Even just staring at the headstone made Sage feel like the little sister she was. She felt vulnerable, she felt lost. She needed Seneca in a way that Conan couldn’t be for her. She needed her girl talks, she needed her boy talks, she needed not a shoulder to cry on but with it. She needed Seneca to be her heart and mind.

“Hey Senny,” She swallowed hard and tears pooled in her eyes. She traced her sister’s name with her finger. “Sen, I don’t know what to do.” She admitted quietly. She bit her lip but she hardly felt the sting of the pain as the skin tore. “Mom is gone, Dad is dead, Chey is missing…” She closed her eyes tightly and concentrated on her breathing as it hitched in her throat.

She thought of what she needed to say to Seneca and Seneca alone. She needed to talk to her big sister, the one who was supposed to be next in line…

“Seneca, I don’t want to be Alpha,” She said suddenly. “You were supposed to be Alpha and now your dead and Dad is dead and I can feel the entire pack pulling at me to lead them but I don’t want it. I don’t want to tell people how to live, I don’t want to order sons and daughters to war.” She fell silent as she stared at the grave, remembering the last words her oldest sister ever said to her.

“Remember when I asked you why you were going with Conan and Dad to war when Moma begged you to stay? You told me that to live within a pack means duty, to live within a family means love, but to be a Wolfe means doing what you believe is right…even when your mother is crying and begging for you to do otherwise….You told me you weren’t going because of Dad or Conan or the rest of the pack but because you believed with every fiber of your being that what you were doing was right.

…I’ve never felt like that Seneca. I’ve never been sure of anything since you died. I never stopped doubting myself or believing that nothing is within my control.” She pulled at the grass beneath her almost absentmindedly when her eyes caught sight of something that had been pushed into the ground.

A small perfectly polished craved piece of wood that was no bigger than her thumb was perfectly crafted into the shape of a wolf with its head upturned to the moon. Beneath it was a note, soaking wet and with running ink Sage could still make out the familiar handwriting perfectly.

’My dear Sage,

I know the anger you must feel toward me for leaving but you must understand the full picture of what it means not only to be born Were but to be your father’s daughter.

To be a part of our family means heart break and loss, it has been written into the Wolfe family for a hundred years. But you my dear, you are different. Hunny you have to run, we both know you are rightfully Alpha now and that you do not want it (nor do I believe is it your destiny). Blackwood is not yours to fix—leave it. This town killed your sister and it killed your father and it will kill you.

There are secrets within this family, Sage, that set you apart from all others. You must find the truth of these secrets and make your own path. Do not doubt yourself Sage everything that you are will lead you on the right path.

People will come for you Sage, as Corneliu’s daughter they will hunt you my daughter. Please, take those you trust, those you would love and protect, and leave Blackwood.

My love always,
Moma.’

Sage stared at the note, barely legible now as rain pelted it, and cried. She cried until she couldn’t breathe, she cried until her ribcage was sore, she cried until not one muscle in her body would move and she had to lean against her sister’s grave for support.

She cried for her father.
She cried for her mother.
She cried for her sister.
She cried for herself.

She couldn’t leave Blackwood. She couldn’t leave her people. Her town was broken, divided, and she could feel it within her that it wanted to be healed. It wasn’t the peoples fault but the fault of a friendship gone wrong. She couldn’t leave her people to live their lives divided when she had the ability, somehow, to fix it.

Her mother was asking this one thing of her, begging her this one bequest—and she couldn’t do it.

What a horrible daughter I am? To disappoint both parents. She thought. I can’t be alpha and I can’t obey my mother.

“They should just place a grave with my name on it beside you, Sen.” She stated brokenly. “I’ll never be who I want to be, I’ll never be normal. I’ll only ever be a product of everything around me, a protector to everyone but myself.” She laughed bitterly. “I suppose I truly am my father’s daughter, huh Moma?” she reached angrily for the grass beneath her and pulled at it furiously. “Here lies Sage Wolfe, the spineless coward who never made her own choices, who couldn’t make her own way. Here lies Sage the Band-Aid to her elders fuck ups.”

“That’s not true,”

To Sage’s chagrin she jumped startled and her head snapped faster than humanly possible in the direction of the voice. Black trench coat, black dress shoes, and an umbrella hiding their face, they looked like every guest in attendance.

Pine needles and wet leaves.

Sage said nothing as she stared at him, too weak and tired to care. She felt his protection for her envelope her like an angels wings.

“Are you here to tell me ’I’m so sorry for your loss, your father was such a good person.’?” Sage couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for thinking that if one more person approached her and told her as much she’d snap.

The umbrella moved revealing his handsome face shamelessly filled with sadness, sympathy, confusion, and annoyance.

“Its good to see you too Sage.”

She made a face and looked away, glaring at the paper clutched in her hands.

“Go away, Luke.” She sighed tiredly. She didn’t have the strength to fight him or push him away. In fact she knew for a fact that if he tried to comfort her she would curl up like a kitten in his arms.

“I’m not leaving you Sage.”

She could feel the undercurrent of an aged message.

She shook her head weakly. “Won’t anyone just leave me in peace?”

“I’ll leave you in peace,” He countered, venturing closer. “but not in pieces.”

She rolled her eyes at him, wiping tears from her eyes angrily.

“You know what Seneca would say if she saw you like this?” Sage was silent, trying to block him out. She couldn’t stop Lukas from talking but she could try to will herself not to listen—at least that’s what she told herself. “She’d say being conflicted is a useless emotion.”

In spite herself she gazed up at him both annoyed and curious.

“She’d say feeling conflicted never helped anyone. You do what you feel like doing and that’s that.”

Sage swallowed hard, “What do you say?”

His face softened as he knelt down into the mud in front of her, nothing short of love and patience in his eyes. “I say, you’re father doesn’t bear the same burden you do, that Seneca’s choices never affected as many lives as each of yours will.” Tears fell freely down Sage’s face, mixing with the rain. Lukas cupped her cheek smiling sadly at her. “I say, you feel conflicted because no matter the ‘devil-may-care’ attitude you try to perfect, you care so deeply for each and every person that you always try to make the choice that betters them even if it doesn’t better you. I say, your burying your father, you saw your mother,” He gave her a knowing look, “and you’re sitting beside your sister’s grave—if you want to feel sad you’re more than entitled to it. Sadness doesn’t make you weak Sage, it just makes you human.”

She hesitated for a moment before looked at his stormy eyes, so sure, so strong, and she marveled at him. “What’s your take on self-pity?”

His thumb brushed tears from her eyes before tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “I say, I’ll find the nearest bottle of Sambuca and meet you at our treehouse.”

She stared at him silent and perfectly still for a moment before she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, his scent smelled like home to her. His arms wound around her tightly and Sage closed her eyes revealing in it tiredly. If there was one thing she’d wanted and deprived herself of for all these years it was this right here.

“I missed you Luke,” She was crying all over again, tears wetting his neck as she clung to him more vulnerable now then any moment before.

“I missed you too,” He whispered. “But I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

“Don’t let go,” She mumbled. If there was any medicine that healed Sage, better than stitches and alcohol, was Lukas’ hugs.

“Never.”