I start to head toward my manor so that I can be reunited with Flora. Perhaps she will have an idea of how we can best proceed, but I know that at one point or another, I will have no choice but to speak with Erasmus again.
And that talk might very well determine how much longer I can remain a Fierce Growler.
Because if Lewis speaks for the other Fierce Growlers, if they all see that Erasmus did nothing wrong, how can I dare to remain in the pack?
Yet, how can I leave without knowing for certain another human will not be killed in the same manner? Or even a different manner. I wish for no more human lives to be taken. I have uncovered no reason as to why Erasmus killed Roger nor the need for that manner of death. My alpha claimed it had been necessary, but why?
As I trudge along, I think of what I can do to get answers. Or even better, how can I stop this from happening again?
The wind picks up, and a chill runs down my spine as if the universe is trying to send me a message. I truly wish to accept that my place is among the Fierce Growlers. We have always sought to have protection together, but now I wonder if they value justice as I do, and if not, what do they value most of all?
A twig snaps under my feet and dispels my thoughts. I have not yet reached my manor, and now, I wonder if I will as other Fierce Growlers approach, skulking around in the shadows and watching me with suspicion. They must have heard about my run-in with Lewis, and now they have come to confront me, doubtless questioning my loyalty to the pack and Erasmus.
I stand tall and look them in the eyes, determined to not back down. Even though I know that speaking against Erasmus could get me expelled from the pack or worse, I will not waver from what I believe is right. Even if it means risking everything that matters to me.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at them, ready to stand up for what is just and true. My beliefs are strong and I will not be swayed. They can challenge me as much as they wish, but in the end, I will remain firm in my convictions and refuse to back down.
I am a werewolf, as all of them are, but they, like me, are not just a wolf. We are also human. How could they have forgotten that?
“I do not know what is being said about me,” I start, “but I will tell you the truth. A human has been killed by a werewolf in such a way that his death is causing the other humans to wonder who could have done it. Who or what. The humans will not ignore this murder. They will try to find the killer, and they will—”
“There is no reason at all to be concerned with the humans,” a female werewolf named Nancy says. “They can investigate all they wish. We have no reason to fear them.”
“Exactly so,” I say. “We have no reason to fear them, and as such, we have no reason to kill them.”
“You should not speak like this,” an older werewolf hisses. Andrew is his name, and he has never liked me. One of those times when Erasmus and I had been young pups and had been wrestling around, we trampled over some of Andrew’s crops that he had planned on selling to the humans. He has never liked me since, but Erasmus he forgave instantly.
“We are not just wolves!” I cry. “We are also human—”
“We are not human!” Nancy argues.
A few of the others vocally agree with her.
My nostrils flare, and I struggle to maintain my composure.
“How can you argue that we are human?” another werewolf cries. “Your father lost himself to his wolf!”
I hang my head at that. Losing my father to his wolf was one of the most horrible moments of my life.
I can still recall the last time I saw him. He was his wolf, as black as the night. I begged and pleaded with him to turn back, to come home with me.
He attacked me.
I had no choice but to let him go.
For three more nights, I could hear his howls at night. They pierced through me each time, but the next night, I heard nothing.
So I went out to investigate.
It was still dark, and I hunted my father as if he were prey.
I found his scent, and I was led up a mountain. In a cave, I found my father’s body.
There was no sign of a struggle or fight. It was as if his wolf could not handle being in control of his body for so long, and he just died. He could not go on.
But before that, before he had fled and I waited months for him to return before going after him, he had been his wolf every night, for longer and longer periods of time. He would talk little and less during the day, and he would not eat at all unless he was in his wolf form.
He had been his wolf in body and mind. At least, that is what I suspect happened.
In truth, I will never know.
“We are werewolves,” I say firmly, “but we also have hearts and minds and voices. We are not better than the humans. We are merely different. There is no need for us to go up against the humans. We do not need to kill them.”
“You must stop this,” a new voice says.
I stiffen and turn around to see Erasmus Allen.