Snacks For the pack

Snacks For the pack
Margarethe wiped her hands on her apron, eyeing the pot of simmering water.
The dough was ready, resting in the wooden bowl, waiting to be pressed through the Spätzle maker.
The kitchen smelled warm—like eggs, flour, and the faintest hint of salt.
Margarethe turned to Seraphina with a smile. “Come, let’s take it outside.”
Seraphina blinked. “Outside?”
Margarethe nodded, already reaching for a tray. “We’ll serve the pack.”
Seraphina stiffened. The pack. The same people who whispered behind her back, who saw her as an outsider, maybe even a threat.
Would they even eat something she made?
Margarethe must have sensed her hesitation because she placed a warm hand on Seraphina’s arm. “Food brings people together, child. You helped make this. They’ll eat it.”
Seraphina wasn’t so sure. She chewed the inside of her cheek but nodded anyway.
She wasn’t about to back down. Not in front of his mother.
Together, they carried the steaming bowl of freshly made Spätzle outside.
The crisp evening air greeted them, the scent of pine and earth filling Seraphina’s lungs.
A few wolves had already gathered near the communal fire pit, their murmurs dying down as they spotted her.
Her grip tightened on the tray.
Margarethe, unbothered, set everything down on a wooden table. “Come, eat while it’s warm,” she announced.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, finally, a man stepped forward, eyeing the dish with mild curiosity. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
Seraphina held her breath.
Then he nodded. “Not bad.”
Another wolf came forward, then another, until the tension slowly dissolved into casual conversation and the sounds of clinking plates.
Seraphina exhaled, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on her lips.
Maybe—just maybe—she could belong here.
The laughter of children echoed in the cool evening air as the last of the Spätzle disappeared from the wooden bowls.
It hadn’t been a feast—just a simple snack—but nearly half the pack had eaten, mostly the children, their eager hands reaching for more.
Margarethe stood beside Seraphina, watching with a satisfied smile. “They enjoyed it,” she said, glancing at the young woman beside her.
Seraphina didn’t respond. Instead, she turned sharply, the tray still in her grasp, her movements abrupt enough to catch Margarethe’s attention.
The older woman’s brows lifted. “What is it?”
Seraphina hesitated. She didn’t answer. She wouldn’t answer.
But Margarethe was perceptive. Her gaze flickered to the tray, then back to Seraphina’s face, and slowly, a knowing smile curved her lips.
“You’re keeping some for Adolphus, aren’t you?”
Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the tray. “I—” She stopped herself, looking away.
Margarethe chuckled softly. “You don’t have to say it, dear. Just make sure he eats when he returns.”
Seraphina swallowed, her chest tightening as she turned away, carrying the tray back inside.
She refused to acknowledge the warmth creeping up her neck, or the way her heart clenched at the thought of Adolphus finally coming home.
As Seraphina stepped away with the tray, a hushed murmur rippled through a small group of pack women gathered near the fire.
Their eyes followed her, darting between her and Margarethe with barely concealed curiosity.
“She’s still here…” one whispered, lips barely moving.
“And cooking for the pack,” another added, her voice tinged with something unreadable.
A third scoffed. “The girl’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.”
Margarethe turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over them with quiet authority.
It wasn’t an open warning—she didn’t need to raise her voice—but the weight of her stare was enough.
The women stiffened. A beat of silence.
Then, one by one, they scattered—some drifting back to their husbands, others disappearing into their homes as if they had never spoken at all.
Margarethe exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. Wolves could be vicious, but their gossiping wives? Even worse.
Seraphina was just about to shut her door when she caught sight of them—five small children, standing in the dim glow of the lanterns outside.
Their wide, hopeful eyes locked onto her, little hands clasped together as if in silent prayer.
She sighed, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist. With a small smile, she tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and crouched to their level. “What’s up?”
One of the boys, no older than six, shuffled forward. “We… we smelled the food.”
The girl beside him, barely taller than his shoulder, nodded eagerly. “It smelled really good.”
Seraphina bit her lip, glancing down at the last few pieces she had saved—originally for Adolphus. She hesitated, just for a second. Then, with a sigh of surrender, she carefully divided them among the children.
“Here,” she said, placing the warm pieces into their tiny hands.
Their faces lit up, eyes twinkling with pure joy. “Thank you, Miss Seraphina!” one of the younger ones chirped before stuffing a bite into his mouth.
She watched as they shared among themselves, giggling and grinning before running off into the night, their laughter fading into the rustling trees.
Seraphina exhaled softly, smiling to herself. Maybe Adolphus would understand.
Seraphina had never been one for children. They were noisy, unpredictable, and always seemed to be sticky. But tonight, watching them run off with their snacks, their laughter echoing in the crisp night air, she felt… different. Maybe they weren’t so bad. Maybe getting to know them would be easier than dealing with their bitter, gossiping mothers.
With that thought lingering, she stepped back inside, shutting the door behind her. The small cabin was quiet, the fire in the hearth burning low. She wandered toward the wooden shelf in the corner, her fingers skimming over the worn spines of books stacked haphazardly. She pulled one out—something about the town’s history—but barely made it past the first page before her interest fizzled. With a sigh, she dropped it back onto the shelf.
Restless, she turned and wandered toward a door at the far end of the room. She reached for the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t tried this door before. What was behind it?
She exhaled and let it go. Instead, her eyes landed on the dusty television sitting in the corner. It looked old, but… maybe it worked?
She picked up the remote, pressed a button, and nearly jumped when the screen flickered to life.
Her eyes widened.
It worked?
A slow grin crept onto her lips. Why had she never tried this before?