Chapter Forty-Four: Conversation
PART THREE. A wolf’s howl sliced through the air. At first, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The world spun—sky, rain, stone cutting into my feet, the blood, the bones, the half-eaten carcass. And then I realized where the sound emanated from: my raw throat. I was howling. I had been howling. For how long, I didn’t know. There was blood on my paws. I was crouched low, surrounded by viscera. My skin prickled, the air too sharp against me. I shook my head, a shudder rippling down my spine. Hunting was supposed to be a rite of passage. For wolf pups, it was tradition—their first kill celebrated with a pack party. The seniors would throw it, the kids and teens permitted their first drinks while the adults stayed up, sharing stories to drown out the guilt and trauma that lingered
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