Chapter 33 I'm One of You
Lyra
I take a deep breath, the smooth curtain brushing my cheek. Beside me, Bram’s hand grazes mine reassuringly. The murmurs swell in the meeting house, families of Song Pack sitting together, shoulders drawn tight with weariness rather than menace.
I nod once to Bram, and we step out. The effect is instant. Gasps break through the hall. Someone cries out, a high-pitched scream that makes the smallest children cling to their mothers.
Before panic can fully take root, Reed’s mother rises, her posture straight, her expression calm. “It’s all right,” she says, her tone carrying authority. “I invited them. They saved Reed and I. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”
The room ripples with whispers. Skepticism hangs like fog, but the edge of fear dulls.
“May I speak?” I ask.
No one answers, but no one stops me either. So I go on.
“We didn’t come here to frighten you,” I say. “Bram and I… we can offer you protection.” I let the word settle, meeting the gaze of a woman clutching a boy to her chest then an old man with a scar across his brow. “We know the dangers pressing on all sides. Rogues, hunger, and rival packs, but we can help feed you,” I continue, more confident now. “A few days ago, we brought down several deer. More than we needed. We wanted to share that with you, and we still have plenty of jerky, if you’ll accept it. We can do it again soon, so you’ll have fresh meat.”
The silence is taut, strung tight like a bowstring. I feel the doubt and the caution. They have been hunted, abandoned, starved. Why should they trust strangers?
But I also see how hollow their cheeks are. The way one child licks his lips at the mention of deer. The way shoulders soften ever so slightly when Reed’s mother folds her hands and nods once in quiet confirmation of my words.
“I know trust is not easily given,” I add. “But we didn’t come here to take or harm. I ended up here, cast out of Running River Pack, and Bram followed me. We have a friend named Jorin. You might see him around sometimes too. He’s one of us.”
Bram clears his throat. “Lyra’s right,” he says. “We didn’t come here to take anything from you. We know what it feels like to lose everything. To wonder where the next meal will come from, to sleep with one eye open, waiting for the attack you can’t stop.”
Voices rise, rough and uneven, swelling into overlapping noise.
“They’ll only bring trouble.”
“Strangers always take more than they give.”
“Protection? And who will protect us from them?”
The words sting, though I expected them. A man near the door pushes to his feet. His fists are clenched. His beard is patchy, his eyes sharp with suspicion. “We’ve lived this long without outsiders barging in to tell us what we need. You think a few deer make you our saviors?”
Others nod, muttering agreement. Bodies draw closer together, forming a wall of wariness between us and them.
“I understand your hesitation,” I answer, keeping my composure. “I would feel the same if strangers showed up at my meeting house.” I look from face to face, not flinching when some glare back. “But I’m not a stranger to you. Not completely.”
That earns a scoff. “What claim could you possibly have here?”
“My mother,” I say, my voice clear, “was from Song Pack.”
The silence that follows is heavier than any outburst. Dozens of eyes fix on me, stunned, and suspicious. An elderly woman remarks: “She’s lying.”
“She must be.” The bearded man jabs a finger toward me.
“Convenient story,” the man by the door spits. “Say you’re one of us, and we’re supposed to open our doors?”
The room hums with disbelief, the sound of it crawling over my skin like nettles. They don’t believe me.
Taking a step backward, I say, “Then let me show you.”
Some jeer, others mutter, but I don’t wait for their permission. I slip behind the curtain, Bram at my side.
My fingers tremble as I tug at my clothes, pulling off the fabric piece by piece and handing it to Bram. I reach inward and call to the wolf beneath my skin. The shift ripples through me in a rush of heat, and now I stand on four legs.
Gasps echo as I reappear. “Silver,” someone says. “She wasn’t lying.”
But then a man with a scowl on his face, speaks up. “Anybody can be silver. Color means nothing.”
A ripple of agreement follows. They don’t trust me, even with the truth of me standing before them because what they’re saying isn’t true. Packs tend to have the same coloring.
I reach outward with my mind. The link hums at the edge of me, waiting.
“You.” My voice weaves into the mind of the bearded man who challenged me first. “I am no stranger. Do you hear me?”
He stumbles back, staring at me. “She—she has the mind-link.”
Some people lean away from me, others forward, caught between fear and wonder.
I turn to look at a woman with her arms folded tight. I push gently into her thoughts. “You doubt me. That’s fair. Will you listen now?”
She nods, respectfully, both a surrender and a promise of hope.
Then I turn to a boy at the back, maybe fifteen, his arms crossed but his gaze locked on me. “And you? Do you believe your ears?”
He gasps. “She spoke to me through the mind-link!”
At last, I lift my head high. “I am Lyra,” I say, this time to all of them, my words pulsing through the mind-link. “Daughter of Song Pack blood. I came here tonight to offer help, not harm. I came to stand with you, if you’ll let me.”
Reed’s mother rises slowly from her seat. Her eyes glisten as she takes a step toward me. “It’s true,” she says. “She carries the link of the pack. You heard it yourselves.”
And just like that, the tide has turned. I lower my head, and I feel the fragile seeds of acceptance, stretching toward me.
The hall falls quiet as their distrust fades. Those who once judged me with suspicion now hold curiosity and cautious recognition. It’s not complete trust yet, but the smallest thread of it is enough for tonight.