Mitchell stood at the front of the pack, ready to address the crowd. I know that I should be paying attention to him. But I can't. Instead, my eyes wander over the group of people gathered here. I see a handful of wolves staring up at him, hanging off his every word as he prattles on about my father and all the good he supposedly did for the pack. I see others who look bored and uninterested and some who even look angry.
Mitchell went on and on about how unjust my father's sudden death was and how we all needed to remain strong in the face of adversity. When Mitchell started droning on about his efforts as a dad, I realised my mother had written this speech for him. If she thought he was so great, why wasn't she hosting the pyre herself? As the luna, she had the right after all. Or even
