Connor and the Wolves - 4. The Chonos

Waking up with the sun was easy. Waking up before the sun was much more difficult.
Soren growled at the blaring alarm beside his bedding. When that failed to shut it up, he smacked the counter until he found his phone. Blessed silence filled the cabin at the jab of a button.
“Okay, Soren. Time to wake up.”
His fingers pressed blindly over the phone, turning on the torch. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Soren set his feet on the chilly floor. He stood up with a long yawn.
“Step one: light.”
His feet slid across the floor. Approaching the door, he flicked the switch beside it, flooding the room with bright light. Soren shut off his torch, checking the charge. There was enough for the day. A glance at his maps brought a scowl to his face.
“Should have downloaded them last night…”
Shrugging off the minor setback, he set his phone to download a map of the roads between the cabin and the school.
“Step two: Morning clothes.”
He grabbed an old outfit, pulling on the skin-tight clothes. His body bulged, hiding nothing, but it would work for what he had to do.
“Step three: Cleanup.”
Trudging through the cabin, Soren collected an older shirt from his closet, soaking it in water. He took a stool with him, heading into the morning chill.
The nest was silent in the predawn. Soren didn’t trust the silence, but he didn’t have any better plans. He set the stool under the nest and took a calming breath.
“This is going to hurt.”
Reaching up with the dripping shirt in hand, he hesitated. A primal fear tore through him. These insects could kill him. But if he let them remain, they’d destroy his home.
He wrapped the shirt carefully around the nest. Tugging the paper house free from the eave, Soren stepped off the stool. Every inch of his body was tuned to the nest buried in the wet fabric. Every nerve tensed, waiting for that first fateful sting.
Soren took a step toward the river. And then another step. The heavy nest sat in his hands, a time bomb that could explode at any second. He could almost imagine the wasps crawling around inside.
His courage shattered. Soren sprinted for the river, the shirt bouncing in his hands.
The buzzing started.
A sharp pain struck his hand halfway to the water. Soren only ran faster, bounding over rocks and roots in the dark.
He leapt into the river. The frigid water slapped him — if he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now. Shoving the nest under the water, Soren held it down, intent on drowning the insects that had so terrified him.

It didn’t take long to collect the remnants of the previous day’s fire. While outside, he stopped by the weir, tossing a few more worms into the trap. By the end of the day, there would be a fish or two for dinner. They might even feast on the nest he’d left in the trap.
The sky was starting to lighten, but dawn was still a couple of hours away. Still, he was running behind.
He left the ashes by the washer. That was Ordyal’s job; to craft laundry detergent and bar soap from the hardwood ash. For now, he still had bar soap from the previous year.
Peeling the soaked clothes off, Soren winced at the pulsing pain in his left hand. It would take a while for the sting to go down. Some basil would relieve the pain — he’d seen his father use the plant many times on inflammation. But he didn’t have time to spend rubbing his palm. He’d just deal with the pain for now.
“Step four: Personal cleanup.”
As he entered the bathroom, Soren wondered idly. How much trouble would he get in if he didn’t bother wearing clothes to school? It would save so much effort not having to make soap for the washer. It would be cold though.
He didn’t bother waiting for the shower to warm up. Jump in, soap up, rinse off, jump out. A bit of time was spent trying to decide between the last of the lavender soap or the mint soap. Minutes later, he was out of the bathroom and pulling on his day clothes, every motion punctuated by the scent of mint.
“Step five: Food.”
Food was a bit more time-consuming. Soren pulled out the last of the mashed potatoes from the previous evening and mixed the last of the previous year’s venison into the pot. Pouring a bit of sunflower oil into a saucepan, Soren set the heat on high before patting the potatoes into a ball shape. He glanced at the time — there was just long enough to cook one cake, and then he had to leave.
Flattening the ball, he slapped it into the hot pan. While it cooked, Soren gathered his supplies. He’d checked the available classes on his laptop the night before. First period was the WolfRoom, second was drawing, third period would be biology, fourth werewolf anatomy and physiology. Fifth, he wasn’t too sure about. Maybe he’d ignore fifth period this year in favour of working around the cabin.
He dropped his backpack on the table before flipping the pancake. Another ten minutes passed studying the schedule he’d written down. Then Soren scrubbed out the dishes before slinging his bag over his shoulder. Plucking a basil leaf from the sunroom, he grabbed his cake, shut off the heater, and left his den.

The mage jogged down a long, barren road, rolling the basil against his palm. He couldn’t tell if it was working, but the constant pain from touching the wound had numbed him to any lesser pain. Soren would take that as a win.
Bare feet slapped against the asphalt. He’d fallen into a comfortable stride three hours ago, a pace he knew he could keep up for days if necessary. Astara was only another hour away. But once he reached the city, he’d have to worry about trash blocking his path. Running over broken glass wasn’t fun, no matter how thick the bottoms of his feet were.
To the east, the sun rose steadily, shining brightly over the horizon. To the west, the Astar River churned, glimmering in the morning light. The world around him rose and fell in long, gentle slopes, and he could see farming equipment driving across fields in the distance.
He heard the car from a long way off. It almost seemed to echo the surrounding tractors. Soren continued running on the side of the road, coming to a stop only when a sky-blue truck pulled up beside him.
“Hey! Hey you! Where are you running to?!”
Two nekos sat in the bed of the truck. One had his sun-tanned nose buried in a book. The other leaned over the side of the bed, staring at Soren with yellow eyes that nearly blended with the golden-orange fur that covered his face.
“School,” Soren replied.
“You’re not wearing shoes. Doesn’t that hurt your feet? Why are you running? Doesn’t the bus come to your-”
“Chimeegüi, Altanaa.”
A calico head poked out of the truck’s window. Yellow eyes looked Soren over. Short, sleek fur covered their body, and Soren’s nose picked up the faint scent of horses.
“Elias Academy? Need a ride?”
He found himself nodding. Soren pulled open the low door, sliding into the cab of the truck. A musical instrument sat in front of him, and he spread his legs around it, trying not to step on the case.
The truck revved with a thunderous cough before lurching into motion. Soren watched the fields pass, almost certain he could run faster than they were driving.
“I’m Khurtschono, but you can call me Kurt if you want,” the neko said beside him. “Those are my brothers in the back. The loudmouth is Altanchono, the bookworm is John.”
Their voice was high somehow, as though becoming a teen hadn’t affected them. It seemed to suit them, even if it came as a surprise.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Soren glanced at Khurtschono, taking in the blue jumper and skinny jeans that covered most of the neko’s fur. “You live in the new farmhouse, right? A kilometre from the river, near the Pondwood, with all the horses.”
Kurt’s eyebrow raised, giving them an almost comical appearance.
“Yeah. Are you the wolf that visited?”
Soren nodded.
“I am. I wanted to see who was on my territory. It’s yours now.”
“Very kind of you.”
Soren shrugged, rolling the basil against his hand. The leaf was dry, but the motion soothed him anyway, calming his nerves, if not the wasp sting.
“Wait. Did you run all the way from the pond here?” Kurt asked. “Gods… that’s like… fifteen kilometres!”
“Yeah,” Soren said, pride filling him at Kurt’s astonished tone. “I do it every school day. Keeps me in shape.”
“You run forty kilometres a day, five days a week, just to stay in shape.” The neko glanced at him dubiously. “Well… if you ever want a ride instead of having to run barefoot along the motorway, feel free to stop by our place.”
The rumble of the truck’s engine took over the conversation. Soren kept glancing at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure exactly who the neko was, but getting a ride from them every day sounded like a great idea. He couldn’t be Kurt’s mate — that was only for real werewolves. But something about the neko called to him.
The truck crested the last hill. Ahead of them, several roads converged, with lines of cars creeping into the city.
“Novsh! There was never this much traffic in Khaany Khaalga!”
Soren remained silent. Any other day, he’d just run through the cars. But he doubted suggesting that would help Kurt’s mood.
Altanchono seemed to have other ideas.
The small neko rapped on the back window. “We should ride horses tomorrow!” he called. “And I’m telling Ma you cursed again!”
The truck rolled to a stop at the end of the line, waiting for the other cars to move. Almost immediately, Kurt’s leg began bouncing, drawing Soren’s attention.
“We can’t ride horses through the city!” Kurt yelled back at Altanchono. “That would be dangerous!”
“Are you okay?” Soren asked.
“Huh?” Kurt followed Soren’s eyes to their shaking knee. “Oh yeah. I’m fine.”
Behind them, John set his book aside, preparing to jump out of the bed. The calico paused, frowning as he looked around.
“Oh….”
Shrugging, he grabbed his book again, flipping through the pages until he found where he’d left off.
Soren bit back a chuckle.
“Your brothers are a bit hare-brained.”
Kurt snorted. “No protests here. I’m guessing you don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, I live alone.” Soren frowned at the question. Kurt was a werewolf — surely they could smell the lack of siblings. Maybe they were trying to be friendly. “I spend the summer in wolf form, and the rest of the time, I’m busy with school or chores around the cabin, so I don’t have time to be lonely.”
“You… spend the entire summer as a wolf?” Kurt glanced at him as the traffic began moving again. “That sounds so amazing.”
“It lets me eat for free.” Soren shrugged. “I enjoy it once I get back into the habit of remaining a wolf.”
“Eating raw animals….” Kurt shuddered. “I hope you don’t live like that all the time. Human food is great too.”
“It’s not that bad,” Soren said. “Uh… not to be rude… but what are you? I mean, you smell-”
“-like Altanchono?” Kurt chuckled quietly as Soren nodded. “Yeah, I would. I’m an eingar, a third-gender.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s more of a calico thing, and a Niwo thing.” Kurt explained, pulling at a bangle on her left wrist. “My pronouns change depending on my mood, but you can figure out pretty easily what kind of day it is.” Her eyes swept over Soren, searching for something. “You never mentioned your name.”
“Soren. And I’m definitely male.”
Kurt laughed.
“Good to know.”
The truck turned down a side street, pulling away from the traffic jam. They still crept along, but at least they were moving through the outskirts of the city. Kurt kept glancing at the phone beside her as her fingers tapped erratically against the steering wheel.
“Hey, do you mind telling me what street the school’s on?” she asked. “I haven’t been able to look around the city yet, and John decided not to help navigate for some reason.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s on Elias Street. The road bisects the campus,” Soren said. “I think most people use the lower car park by the football pitch. The upper car park is for the teachers.”
“Hm. Hey Altanaa, stay in class until John or I come to get you!”
“Why?”
“Because neko pancakes don’t taste very good!”
“Humans are tastier.” Soren’s face heated. Why had he said that? “The clothes are chewy, though.”
Kurt laughed, shaking her head. She didn’t seem to notice Soren’s mood shift, and the human did his best to cover his mistake.
“Upper campus has most of the math and science classes. Language and art classes are on the lower campus, along with sports. There isn’t a lot of traffic during the day. Most people prefer to walk to lunch if they go off campus. I think there’s a Galyn Muur nearby, but I’ve never eaten there.”
“Surprisingly, that’s not our style. I’ll probably end up taking Altanaa to Cece’s. John usually skips lunch to read in the library.”
Soren shrugged as they neared the school. Either way, his lunch waited in the Home Economics room, where the other orphans ate.