Oregon in the Fall - 3. Chapter Three: Strawberry

Six years ago. The Strawberry Mountains, Oregon. The Belcore Pack.

When a wolf turns 15, their place in the pack is determined by the Alpha. The age is completely arbitrary, and if you ask me, the determination part is also just a lie.

As Moon Heir—or Prime Pup as Sebastian called me—whatever happened today was pre-determined and nothing would’ve changed it. Unless I dropped dead, of course, which I didn’t. If you think being firstborn to the Alpha was all that nice, it wasn’t. My brother Sebastian hated me. My mom regretted me. And my dad… I think my father was constantly torn between pride and despair, so much so that he lashed out in confusion. It’s easy to abuse a child if their scars heal so fast.

My 15th birthday was on April 14, 2017. When I woke up that day, the first rays of dawn broke over the Strawberry Mountains, and the earthy aroma of pine—calm—endless and the lingering smokiness of last night’s bonfire filled the air. I lay there for a moment and listened to the forest’s gentle whispers through the open window. I liked the calm. I liked the solitude that the morning offered me, if only for a little while. The wilderness here was vast, and while wolves are not really a known figure in these parts, we thrived. We simply removed all the competition, and were on top of the world, so to speak. Elevation-wise, it wasn’t even far from the truth.

I did survive last night’s lashings, of course. I guess it made me stronger. Pain didn’t even register as something bad anymore. It just was. As I stared out at the fading stars, feeling the transition from night to day, a canvas of purples and blues was slowly giving way to the gentle colors of dawn. Was today different? It was my birthday, after all. We didn’t celebrate birthdays with fanfare. We did, however, celebrate mine because, you know, special and all that. Grey, the Moon Heir. I kinda liked Slate, the Moon Cake more.

Sitting up, I felt the stiffness in my muscles, a stark reminder of last night’s run under the waning moon. There had been a full moon just days ago, and I still felt it tingling on my skin. There’s something deeply primal about moving through the forest in the moonlight, but it always left me feeling more connected to my wolf side, and at the same time more distant from the human world. Slipping out of bed, I stepped onto the wooden floor of the cabin, its timbers worn smooth by generations of use. Our cabin was not too different from the others in our small settlement. They were a blend of human craftsmanship and natural simplicity, built to withstand the mountain’s harsh winters and blend seamlessly into the landscape. We kept to ourselves.

I stretched to ease the ache in my body and walked over to the small window. The sunrise spilled over the mountains, casting long shadows and bathing the forest in a golden glow. Our cabins, scattered amongst the trees, were bathed in this soft light, the heart of our pack’s home. Our cabins? I guess I thought like Moon Heir already.

On any other day, my focus would’ve been on the day’s duties—hunting, training, and the myriad of tasks that came with living in a pack. But today, there was a subtle sense of introspection, a curiosity about what lay beyond our territory, beyond the life I had always known. As the Moon Heir, my future within the pack had always seemed preordained, laid out by traditions and expectations that I had rarely questioned.

For now, this was my world—these cabins, these woods, these people who are both family and pack. They were cruel and unkind, but they were me. And I was to be their leader some day. Yet, as I gaze out at the sun climbing higher, lighting up the rugged landscape, a restless yearning stirred within me, a desire for something better than the path set before me.

So today, on my birthday, I was going to embrace my role, carry out my responsibilities, and affirm my place in this pack. The Strawberry Mountains, timeless and unyielding, stood as silent witnesses to my life’s journey.

My mother was waiting outside my door, a cup of tea in hand. She was a beautiful woman, looking very young for her age—I guess that was a wolf thing. Her face, usually so stern and dejected, softened a bit when she saw me.

“Happy Birthday, Grey. 15 today,” she said. Her smile seemed sad, and her eyes had a longing, distant look.

“Thank you, Mother,” I said, trying to put on a smile.

She handed me the cup and turned away, disappearing into her own room. She never really cared. It didn’t bother me. I knew that she couldn’t. Whenever I was with her, I felt wrong. She didn’t mean to make me feel this way, but it was hard not reading her emotions—dust—decay—blindness—towards me.

I walked towards the main square, where the pack had started to gather. They were chatting, drinking, laughing. Some of the pups were chasing each other. My brother was standing to the side with a stoic calm and smugness to him. I was used to that. He motioned towards me.

Sebastian Belcore was just a year younger than me. We both had the same black hair and hazel eyes, but the similarities ended there. He was shorter and less athletic than me, and I often caught him scowling at me from across the room, or muttering curses under his breath. Even as wolves, he would just linger, and trot along. He was truly upfront about his dislike of me, but it smelled so much like jealousy—something rancid and vile—that I never bothered trying to fix it.

He walked up to me and smiled.

“Moon Heir. Happy Birthday,” he said and bowed. His voice dripped with sarcasm. So did his movement.

“Thank you, Moon Prime. What do you want?” I said.

“Beatrice would like to speak to you.” He motioned towards the clearing a little further back.

Beatrice. The Shaman. She called herself that, but I never believed her—rotten—seething—burning. Her whole being exuded a dissonant tone, that if you truly listened, your brain was going to melt. This woman was trouble, but no one but me seemed to notice. According to dad, we needed her. When I asked him why, he beat me. That was the first time. I’m not… her biggest fan.

“Beatrice.”

She had her hood pulled up, shrouding her face in darkness. Beatrice was thin and tall, and her robes made her look like a walking stick. I could see her slender fingers peeking out from the folds of her sleeves, holding on to a gnarled staff.

“Happy Birthday, Moon Heir.” Her voice was always friendly and sweet, but she had a foul odor hung around her, like a seething sweetness created by rotten fruit left out too long in the sun.

“Thank you,” I replied. “Why did you call for me?”

“I had a vision. On this very day, 15 years ago, you were born.”

“That’s quite some vision,” I said.

“I’m sorry to do this on your birthday, but I don’t have much time. We never really connected, and I am sorry for that. I knew you couldn’t trust me.”

“You could say that.”

“I shielded you from it. You’re the only one who can see,” she said. Her voice tinged with a sadness that seemed to carry the weight of unshed tears.

I took a step back, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. ’It’? I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. The birds went quiet, or did they?

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Theodore…” She sounded frightened. She shakily pushed back her hood. I didn’t know she could be frightened. Her face was painted with regret. “Your pack was cursed. It all started here. When you were still a pup in your mother’s belly, I felt like you could be different. I shielded you from the curse. I severed the connection, but at the same time, I severed your bond with your parents. With your pack.”

What a fucking morning.

“What?” I said.

“Wolves are fine creatures. Your instinct, your senses. Yours is different, though, more refined. At times, I believed you could smell the past and the future, as well as the present.”

“What are you…” I paused. What was she saying? “What?”

Beatrice bowed her head. When she closed her eyes, a small tear emerged and ran down her face. “It’s not your fault that everything feels wrong to you. I did the best I could. I am so sorry. I have tried and tried to fix things for 15 years. Somehow, everything just got worse.”

“Who is Theodore? Why say this now? Why does everyone like you without question when you feel so wrong?” I wanted to know.

“Oh Grey. The burden I put on you… Please don’t blame your family.”

As Beatrice’s words hung in the air, heavy with revelation and regret, the world around us seemed to respond to the turmoil inside me. The gentle breeze that had been playfully tousling the leaves turned erratic, rustling through the trees with a restless energy. It was as if the very wind were echoing the chaos of my thoughts, swirling with questions and disbelief.

Birds that had been cheerfully chirping moments ago fell silent, their songs replaced by a tense quietude that blanketed the clearing. The small creatures of the forest, usually bustling about their morning routines, paused as if sensing the gravity of Beatrice’s confession. Even the sunlight, filtering through the canopy above, seemed to flicker and dim.

The air tightened and began to shimmer around her. She raised her staff slightly, and the space around her started to glow, radiating a soft, luminescent light that seemed to pulse with ancient magic. Her form was blurring at the edges, becoming one with the light. I heard a very low hum, like an electrical power station gone slightly off. Something that was truly foreign to a place like this, and that I only knew from our very rare trips to civilization. The leaves and grass were turning into shimmering jewels of green and gold.

I watched, awestruck and unable to move, as the light coalesced into a vertical beam, reaching upwards toward the heavens, a bridge between the earthly and the ethereal. Beatrice’s figure, now just a silhouette within the brilliance, appeared serene, almost otherworldly. For a brief moment, it felt as though time itself had paused, holding its breath in reverence of this ancient and mystical departure.

But then, without warning, the tranquility shattered. A sudden, malevolent force ripped through the clearing—a red, dark energy that seemed to tear through the very fabric of the air. As if a wound had been ripped open in ethereal space, bleeding and laughing—crimson—maelstrom—and surging towards Beatrice. Her serene departure was violently interrupted as she was wrenched from the beam of light. Her form was twisting and contorting in what looked like agony, and timeless fear.

The beam flickered and faltered, shifting between colors—all the colors—, the beautiful light struggling against the invasive darkness. The forest around us reacted in kind. The trees seemed to recoil. Inwards. The wind howled in protest, and the very ground beneath my feet trembled with the force of the struggle. I could feel the malevolence of this energy, a palpable sense of dread that filled the clearing, choking the air with its oppressive presence. The very ground beneath my feet felt warm, mirroring the colors of Beatrice’s ethereal vessel.

As quickly as it had appeared, the dark red energy vanished, taking Beatrice with it, leaving behind a charged silence that hung heavily in the air. The beam of light, now bereft of its passenger, slowly faded, its glow diminishing until all that was left was the natural light of the morning. I stood there, alone in the clearing, grappling with the shock of what I had just witnessed—a struggle between forces beyond my understanding, a glimpse into a world of power and danger.

I turned around when I noticed my mother approaching. “Are you coming? They are waiting for you,” she said.

“I’ll be… right there,” I said.

I exhaled, realizing I had held my breath for what felt like an hour. When I looked down at my hands, I could swear they were radiating a golden light, just as otherworldly as what I had just witnessed Beatrice turn into. I shook my head and closed my eyes. Nope, Grey. We’re not doing this right now.

When I opened them back up, the glow was gone. The air had changed. How much time had passed? I had just witnessed the most unbelievable thing, and it should’ve shaken me to the core. Except it didn’t. I felt relief—air—and I felt like things could be ok. It made no sense to me. My eyes began tearing up—sun—and I felt the radiating warmth of the forest. I looked towards my mother, moving back towards the crowd. I smiled. I closed my eyes once more, took in a deep breath, and felt—spring—the Strawberry Mountains and the trees and the earth. I felt bigger. I felt stronger.

Huh.