Page 73 of Untamed

I roll my eyes at the Laughing male and take my dress off. Rolling my underwear down past my butt and legs, I shift as soon as it hits the floor.

"I didn't see her naked," the Laughing male holds out both of his hands, the picture of innocence. He's not laughing now. He looks a little scared.

Mactiir snarls and flashes fang his way, but the Moon just smirks. The tension is broken between the two.

We stretch, our tail wagging. We let out one high-pitched bark before we hurry to the door and scratch its shiny surface with one long rake of our claws.

"No! Don't scratch the doors!" the Moon shouts.

We whine at the loud sound. A much softer curse comes next. "Sorry, sweetie. I just... you can't scratch the doors, OK?"

We look at the Moon and huff before we scratch the door again. We want to run. When will these pack wolves stop talking and let usrun?

"She just scratched my door again," the Moon says faintly. "After I told her not to."

We bark and lift our paw towards the once-smooth wood.

"No!" the Moon shouts while the Laughing male does what he does best and laughs. "She's not listening at all!" the Moon looks at Mactiir, bewilderment all over her face.

Mactiir shrugs, his eyes gleaming with pride. "She's just as much a luna as you are, Lyri."

"Yes, but she's soyoung, In." The Moon smiles at me, pride flitting across her face, too. "Hurry and shift, I guess, In. Your Wild luna is impatient." We think we hear her mutter something like "teen-gers" under her breath.

We yip at the Laughing male, who approaches us still chuckling, and opens the door.

So, Laughing male might not be as dumb as he seems.

We take off down the hall, knowing that Mactiir is just a hairsbreadth behind us. The chain is still on us,ofcourse. But the bells sound like a pretty melody today, probably because we get to run!

"Slow down,Qitsuk," Mactiir warns us, his walnut eyes glinting seriously. He takes off his clothes more slowly, still unsteady from the rotten vegetables they fed him. It smells more potent when we're on paws than feet. When he finally gets completely naked, he takes a deep breath and swallows. We whine in sympathy.

Mactiir shakes his head and grunts before the shift begins. His muscles shudder in revolt as his bones crack and bend. He groans, shaking his head, back and forth, as if a bee flew right into one ear. Another grunt and he collapses to his hands and knees, his spine curling upward. We whimper and whine, circling our Mactiir as he suffers through this prolonged shift. Finally, the fur seems to explode onto his body, his snout appearing as his face lengthens and grows. His canines snap in the air, the grunts turning into growls.

The shaggy mottled beast in front of me shakes his body, aligning the last small vertebrae into place with sharp little clicks of bone-on-bone. We bark happily. It's time to run.

Other wolves are around us. Pack wolves. The star-scented males are here, along with their Moon. We have never run with children of the sky before. Other wolves appear in the yard when we finally walk outside the Too-Large-House. Wolves who scent vaguely familiar. They must have been there when Mactiir chained us to the tree.

A big, brutish nose nudges me when we hesitate at the sight of the pack. So many wolves. We snap our canines at him, and he immediately bites our ear gently in reprimand. We ignore the correction and let our paws do the talking... or barking. We run.

A song Mama taught us runs through our head.

Run, run, as fast as you can

You can't catch me

I'm the gingerbread man.

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22 - Lonely, Crazy, Mine

Inuit

Getting a glimpse of my mate's thoughts and feelings is a little like being lost in the magical woods of some surreal fairytale. I have impressions of great trees with massive trunks, leaves of the most vibrant colors, scents of oranges and animals, and... is that the sky? How does she know what the sky smells like?

It feels like...more. More trees, more scents, more air, more sky and sun, and dirt and yet... there are the most minute details. She sees the bright green caterpillar with its poisonous spikes when no one else does. Her eyes sharpen on a falling orange leaf. She knows where to put her paws as she races through the trees because she knows where the roots are bulging from the ground, even when they're hidden under inches of leaf litter.

It's incredible, a little overwhelming, and confusing. Definitely confusing. I keep thinking I must be reading her wrong because even as she turns her entire body on a dime without seeming to slow down the slightest bit, I can hear the faint melody of a nursery rhyme that filters through her wolf to mine.

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