Page 103 of Untamed

The lake is alive. As alive as my forest.

31 - A Whisper is Too Noisy

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Willa

My breath catches in my throat instinctively when I'm dragged forward underneath the surface of the seemingly-placid lake. I start to thrash wildly against the unknown, foreign creature that has my left back ankle firmly caught in its grasp. The burning in my lungs happens so fast, the dizzying effect of no air making my head swim. Disoriented and lost, it's all I can do to shift back to feet. A maneuver Father taught me before I could even shift.Slick,he called it, efficient, clever, shrewd.

It works just like he said it would, freeing myself from the monster.

Turning, eyes wide, all I see under the murky depths is a long body moving away from me, obscured in a half-heartbeat by the silt we stirred up. I fight to the surface, gasping air back into my starved lungs. Blinking the water from my eyes, I can see the tree limb, just inches from my face, swinging out above the water.

Shakily I grasp the leaves and pull myself free of the monster's lair. Barely able to suppress the sobs bubbling up, I crawl hand-over-hand with the help of the branches of the tree. I pull myself up onto the muddy banks on my belly, slipping and scraping my skin up again, occasionally dipping back into the water. When I reach the shore and wrap myself around the tree's trunk, I hear voices.

"She's not here, ay? Who's gonna tell the alpha?"

"Who's gonna tell her mate we lost her? Don't see nothin' about what direction she went in, either. Just down here to the lake thennothin'."

Wiping silt and water from my eyes with one shaking hand, I peer through the tree's branches to see two wolves on feet and one on paws, standing at the water's edge.

I shudder and grasp the tree tighter. The water. It looks so calm again as if the monster under its surface is just watching, waiting. Serves me right for fishing so often, I suppose. A bit of revenge for filling my tummy so often.

I dare a look down at my left ankle. It's hard to see in the dark, but I can feel it throbbing. It's swollen already. I reach down, slow to remain undetected by the enemies nearby. I don't think I'm bleeding. I can't feel any marks of teeth. I take my hand away, wondering what sort of monster doesn't have some kind of fangs.

An icy feeling of foreboding prickles. Thewildis in the lake, but I am not welcome. Fur and teeth belong on land. I can't help but think that whatever the monster in the lake was, the message is clear; stay out of here, wolf. You don't belong.

I can't argue. I'll take my river over the inky depths of this cursed lake any day. Wearily, I rest my head against the bark of the tree and wait. The wolves searching for me are looking in every direction but mine. I can feel mud drying on my skin, in my hair, stiffening it up. I'm probably as brown as bark, but it's a good thing, letting me blend in with the bare branches so close to the lake. I burrow into the tree, absorbing the warmth it can offer, which isn't much but still much better than the grey walls of that terrible room.

Voices grow louder, ebb and flow in the forest around me. There's a lot of anger out there right now. I'm angry, but it's bubbling deep down under layer after layer of exhaustion. Part of me wants to sleep here tonight for a few hours, but it would be the height of foolishness to stay so close to the grey prison. The lake monster dragged me quite far away from where I fell into the lake, but I'm still far, far too close.

Know when to run, female, and when to hide. Fight is the last option, yeah? Females are weaker than males.

Shut up, Father. I don't need you talking to me right now.

When I feel some of the strength of my limbs return, I pick my head up. I wish I could shift back to paws. Three legs are better than one, but I need to stay in the trees. It fooled my Mactiir for a few days, and the goddess knows these wolves won't think to look up in their search for a she-wolf.

It's slow-going. The trees by the lake slope with the steep hill, so I have to climb up each to the next to stay hidden in the trees. My ankle is throbbing, but at least the heat of pain keeps me awake. I've had worse.

Once the land levels out a bit, I move a little faster. The one time I reach from a limb just a bit out of reach from the branch I'm standing on, pain darts through my ankle. Slow and steady will have to be the way I go. I rest a bit, dozing for a rest at times when I feel my body is close to giving up. I miss my Mactiir. I miss his warmth and his dumb walnut-eyes. I hope the poison that burns in those eyes rots the flesh right off of the wolves that put me in that terrible grey room.

As morning approaches, I can tell that I am farther east than I am used to. The sky is lightening, a dark blue, then the soft pink as the sun rises. I panic a little at the thought of the world lighting up too soon. I should be going far away from the enemy land, but I'm still deep inside. I'm bearing south, where I think this 'Abbi' female is when I should be headed west. Sighing, I rest my forehead against the closest limb. I guess I'm going in the right direction, but the trees... I won't go where they won't guide me.

Crying takes me by surprise. Deep in the trunk, echoing through the roots of the forest. I strain to listen, holding my breath, and willing my heart to beat softer. Is it the fire? I can feel it, raging closer and closer, a monster devouring nature with devastating fury.

Another soft cry, a wolf's cry of fear and despair. Close andkeen; violent, stabbing, searing.

Startled, I wrap both arms around the trunk of the beech tree I'm currently in. The crying grows stronger. A cold sweat breaks out down my back. It's the feeling of being trapped, just like I felt in the grey room. But who is this wolf, and where are they?

There's no helping it. The pleas for help aren't up here in the canopy of the forest. I follow the roots to the ground. Cautiously I come out of hiding, down to the forest floor.

At the base of the trees is a tiny wooden cabin, its roof caved in and the door swinging open. Next to the cabin is a crumbling stone well. I creep over and peer into the dark hole, but I see nothing, can hear nothing. I can't call out, afraid of alerting enemy wolf scouts to where I am.

Searching around the cabin and the well, I see a mound of disturbed earth near what may have once been a cellar door. I sniff at the cellar. Something familiar drifts into my nose. A scent I've smelled before, but nothing comes to mind. Where have I smelled this wolf before? Is this the Abbi wolf?

I limp to a nearby tree and hear the panic again. Biting my lip, I eye the mound. It looks freshly placed, even smells of different wolves. A memory seeps into my mind. Mama and I would bury the pieces of the animal carcasses that we didn't use so that we wouldn't attract predators to our cabin. We would dig the hole in the summer and leave it open until the winter when animals get desperate enough for food to come close to a wolf's home. Then we would fill it in bit by bit and cover the remains until the hole was gone.

Could the wolf be... buried?

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