EMOTIONS

There is just a light dusting of snow remaining on the frozen ground from the previous day. Not that I am using them, but the bare, leafless trees still make for good hiding spots.

The frozen carpet of dead leaves and the hard dirt make my claws click against the forest floor. Hot breath heaves from my mouth, warming the clothes between my jaws, and my heart pounding in my chest to a frantic rhythm.

I can hear him from almost a mile away. Along with his labored breathing, he occasionally makes stuttering, lethargic steps as his claws scratch the ground. And sometimes, I can not help but believe that the wind coming from behind me smells like his broken, bloodied fingers.

This is a game I remember from our childhood. The Alpha's son used to be a bastard, but I still remember our games of hide-and-seek. Due to my superior knowledge of the terrain—I knew every tree and bush by memory, having grown up there—I was always better at it. He rarely left the village, but I made an effort to avoid it.

But even so, he persisted. He is not going to give up now. in particular not right now. Not with his father giving him a command.

My run eventually slows to a walk, then a jog, and finally I stop and throw the clothes behind a heap of piled brush. I take a few minutes to sit behind the barrier of sticks and fallen limbs and catch my breath.

I curse the sky for not having snowed the night before as I take in the deep and light browns of the ground and the surrounding trees and brush. My cream colored fur is just a white flag, waving surrender, against this backdrop.

Biting my lip, I endured the agony of my body changing, fur for skin.

Before the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I nearly button my dark jeans and pull down my shirt.

He is close.

I shallow my breathing by taking a sharp breath. However, it is useless.

A hand grabs my shirt collar as an arm emerges from around the brush pile. I am jerked sideways and pulled face to face with that piece of egotistical shit, and a gasp rips from my throat.

I try to crush his wrist by wrapping my hand around it.

"Stop.. RUNNING!" He breathes heavily and manages. I snap my free arm around out of instinct and savagely run my clawed fingers across his face.

Should it be his throat instead.

He speaks his pain, and that is when I break away and run back into the woods.

He may succumb to the bleeding before us if we continue in this manner.

Having left my boots at the start of the chase, the frozen mud feels as though it is biting at my feet. It hurts, undoubtedly because the skin is slowly being scraped off the bottoms.

I turn and run a few more yards, then pick a tree and climb frantically. It is unlikely that you can hide. That is something I am aware of. However, the number of options in my folder is steadily decreasing.

I am not even aware of how much fire is burning in my lungs or how unsteady my hands are until I drag myself up one last limb and lean my back against the trunk. Breath after breath, I inhale, trying to reduce the heat in my chest.

Something red catches my eye from the corner when I look down. Evan's t-shirt is brilliant white, but there are two drops of blood on my collarbone. One is the size of a thumb, and the other is slightly smaller.