Snow Wolf

I'm standing on a patch of snow, lit by the moonlight. Flakes fall lazily around me, making my nose ache with the scent of frozen trees, rivers, and grass. I am wearing winter clothes, my hat gently covers my ears and forehead and my red and purple striped gloves protect my fingers. My blond hair is in ringlets cascading over my shoulders as I do a three-sixty looking for someone, anyone who can tell me where I am. My frozen breath follows my every move, haunting me with my loneliness. Then there's a low howl and I turn back to face the moon, half-full and glowing. Ahead of me is the white wolf with its piercing green eyes. It's muzzle is nearly silver and its nose is a salmon pink. I reach out to touch him and--

"Hey sleepy head," Davis throws a pillow at me and I open my eyes slowly, adjusting to the daylight. "You've got a visitor." 

"Back off Davis," I grumble into the pillow under my head, "it's Saturday."

"Tell that to your visitor."

I hear my bedroom door shut and close my eyes for a few seconds before getting out of bed. My memory foam mattress is perfect for all the kinks I get from shifting, so it makes it that much harder to get up. I feel the cool wood floor of my bedroom under my feet and I walk over to the window to see who's parked in our driveway. Mom and dad are all ready gone for work, so my car, Davis's car and a stranger's sporty Mitsubishi are the only ones in the long, winding driveway. 

I pass my hands through my blond hair before going to my bathroom. Whoever my visitor is, they're just going to have to wait until I'm dressed and ready for them. Hot water escapes from the tap as I turn on the shower, the steam rising up almost immediately. I check my cell phone and find that Jason has sent me one text and that my cousin, Patricia from the city, has sent me one as well. Which is odd, since we haven't spoken in months since she moved out of Diente. 

Putting my phone down, I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror quickly before it fogs up, taking in the bags under my pale blue eyes and the small beauty mark over my top lip. My small face shows how perturbed I am by my dream and I quickly pull away from my reflection, catching my breath. What's going on with me? 

I slip out of my P.J.s and go into the shower, instantly feeling the heat of the water warming me up. If a stranger saw me they wouldn't dare to think that such a small girl like me, five foot three (at least), has to deal with so many issues. But being a seventeen year-old werewolf has its severe consequences and nightmares are one of them. Matt once dreamt that the dad of one of his old friends was being attacked by a fellow werewolf, and several days later his body was found mauled. 

I roll my neck, hearing my bones crack comfortably back into place. I just don't understand why this white wolf has me feeling so uncomfortable, and it isn't that it sets off any warning bells, I trust the wolf, it's just what it brings with it. Disasters. Dangers. Destruction. 

At least, that's what mom always foretold in her stories. 

Leaning my head against the cool marble wall of my shower, the image of the white wolf in the snow burns in my mind. It's sense of grace and power was overwhelming, yet I'd wanted to touch it, to know it--but why?


I grab my phone before heading downstairs. If Jason isn't downstairs waiting for me (I didn't see his Toyota anywhere outside) then up here is the only place where I can read his message. 

Meeting at Four in the Afternoon. Be careful-- Jason.

I reread it a few times, wondering why Jason wanted to meet when I am interrupted by someone knocking on my bedroom door. I quickly close my phone and put it on my desk. I check my hair and feel that it is still wet from my shower.

"MC?" Sean's voice seeps through the door. What is Sean doing here?

"Come in," I say in a tight voice.

"Hey," he says looking around. I nearly blush when I see how messy my room is. "I was just thinking about you, so I came over and thought that we could go out for some breakfast or something."

I study him, trying to read his intentions. I still can't shake how weird it is that he is here, in my room. How does he know where I live?

"I love this book," Sean says without noticing my accusing stare. He picks up The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. "Holden Caulfield, classic character."

"It's one of my favourites," I comment before adding, "so you want to go to breakfast?"

Sean puts the slightly worn book back on my desk and smiles warmly at me. "Yeah, it should be fun."

"Okay," I say, putting down my barriers. "Let's go."

The End

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