Chapter 45 The Thunder Rolls

Chapter 45 The Thunder Rolls
Bram

The meeting house has been empty for hours, but Lyra’s commanding presence still echoes in my mind. Her words carried so much fire, but she doesn’t see it yet, not fully. I’ll let her believe her leadership here is temporary if that’s what she needs to think in order to continue making difficult decisions for Song Pack, but I don’t think it’ll be long before they ask her to lead them as Luna. 

She leans against the crumbling yellow house, studying the map of the pack territories. I watch in adoration as she plans our next move.

I step up next to her and touch her shoulder. “I’m going to shift and sweep the woods to make sure no enemy scent is close.”

Her eyes dart to mine, sharp with worry. “Alone?”

I give her a smile. “I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

She doesn’t return the smile. “Don’t take risks, Bram. Not now. Not when—” She breaks off, but I know what she means. 

“I won’t,” I promise. “I just want to make sure we don’t get ambushed while sixteen of us are on the road.” 

She exhales, then nods reluctantly. “All right, but come back soon, and please, take a pack with you. Water, clothes, jerky.” She looks up at the sky, “It doesn’t look like anything yet, but I smell a distant storm.” 

I kiss her temple then stuff a bag full of supplies. I strip off my clothes, shove them in the bag and shift.  A heartbeat later, I’m on four legs, Lyra strapping the pack to my back. 

I enter the forest, and my senses sharpen instantly. Every leaf carries a note of scent, every rustle sings with hidden movement. I lower my muzzle, testing the air. The familiar scent of Song Pack fills my snout, smoke from the fire pit, meat from the morning’s meal, the musk of warriors patrolling the edge of camp.

But I catch a stranger’s scent beyond, faint and fading. 

I move at once, my muscles stretching beneath my fur as I lope deeper into the woods. The stranger’s trail winds north, curling up the ridge toward Blue Raven, and I follow.

I can tell the scent is male, but not of Song, and certainly not Jorin. My hackles rise as I wonder if it’s Kaelen hiding out here, fighting for his life in the wilderness alone. 

I push harder, chasing the trail through thickets and across narrow streams. Birds scatter into the air as I burst past, but the further I go, the quieter the forest becomes, and then the wind shifts.

The stranger’s scent vanishes, torn away by the sudden bite of damp air. I skid to a halt, nose twitching furiously, trying to catch it again. Nothing. Only the electric tang of an oncoming tempest.

The direction of the wind switches again, and a  growl rumbles in my chest as I scent his nearness. Whoever he is, I  know he’s close.

I circle, searching, but then I hear a low grumble above the treetops. The sky darkens, clouds rolling in heavy and fast. The first drops of rain spatter the leaves, icy against my fur.

I keep moving, but the rain comes harder, sheets of water pouring down. My own scent is swallowed instantly, drowned in the rain. The trail home is gone. Completely gone. I stop, panting, water dripping from my muzzle.

Damn it.

I lift my head, trying to orient myself. I notice the trees are different here, too. They’re taller, older, moss clinging to their bark. I’ve never been in this part of the woods before. I don’t even know if it belongs to Song.

I take a step, then another, but every direction looks the same. The squall has scrubbed the air clean, leaving me blind, even to the path back to Lyra. A shiver runs through my hide, but not from cold. From the knowledge that I don’t know how to get back.

Lightning splits the sky, white-hot, and thunder follows so close it shakes the ground. I flatten my ears, instincts screaming to seek cover.

I run until I find a hollow beneath the roots of a massive oak, gnarled and ancient, and squeeze inside as the storm rages above.

The rain pelts down in sheets, the forest groaning beneath the powerful wind. I close my eyes, forcing my breath to steady, but unease gnaws at me.

Lyra will be pacing by now, wondering where I am. She’ll think I broke my promise to come right back, and I suppose I did. I should’ve brought someone with me or waited until the bad weather  passed, but all I wanted was to keep her safe and to keep her pack safe.

Instead, I’m trapped.

Hours pass, and the deluge shows no sign of easing. Water trickles down into the hollow, soaking into my fur, cold seeping into my bones. 

I press my muzzle to my paws, my ears twitching to every sound in the onslaught. If Kaelen’s out here… or worse, Blue Raven scouts, I won’t hear them until they’re on top of me.

I hate this. I hate being helpless and blind in a storm. The thunder crashes again, rolling endlessly across the forest. I swallow a growl, forcing myself to stay still. 

The thunderstorm drowns the forest in chaos, every crack of thunder rattling through my ribs. Water seeps deeper into the hollow, pooling cold against my belly, and I force myself not to bolt into the darkness. Wolves survive by patience as much as by brute strength, and running into this downpour would be reckless. I remind myself of that, even as my instincts scream to run back and find my mate. 

Somewhere out there, the stranger is still moving. Maybe circling… waiting…. I bare my teeth in the shadow of the giant oak, promising myself  that if an enemy draws near, he’ll find me ready.

When the skies clear, I’ll find my way back. No matter whose land I’ve stumbled onto, no matter who waits in these woods, I will return to Lyra.