Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - 1. Chapter 1 Mutt- 1.1

Mutt: Grey in pure white

I suddenly sat up in bed, struggling to catch my breath. I threw aside the soaked blanket and stared at the sweat stains on the sheets below me. Everything was sticky--the pillow, the mattress, and all the fur on my body.

I sighed, glanced around the room, and then focused my senses to feel the vibrations beneath the world's surface.

The other wolves in the dormitory emitted steady, rhythmic pulses, a sign of deep sleep. A few had sharp, jagged spikes mixed in, probably having nightmares. But everyone was still asleep.

After confirming this, I carefully got out of bed, changed the sheets, grabbed clean clothes, and headed to the shower room.

Due to the various strange things that always seem to happen to me, I developed many nearly obsessive habits to cope. I always go to bed after everyone else is asleep and wake up before anyone else does. Any slight noise can wake me up.

Frequent vivid dreams are the least of my worries, even though I forget most of them shortly after waking. The feeling, however, always lingers. It's as if there's a hollow spot in my chest, something that should be there but isn't, and the emptiness never goes away.

But today's scenario seemed new. I'm not entirely sure, as I'll probably forget it soon enough. I never understand how my subconscious forms these images I've never seen before. Other times, the dreams that wake me up are the most real--entangled memories from the past.

"...This is your responsibility! Grey will not tolerate this insult!" a voice roared, the anger in the words making the air vibrate.

"Snow isn't a faction where you can dump whatever you want," another voice replied impatiently, as if explaining a simple concept with great effort, causing a low growl from the other.

"He is 'white,' I think that explains everything! Not to mention your filthy..."

"Watch your words, or they'll be your last," I could hear the gritting of teeth. "That bitch..."

"You've got some nerve..." growls and the sound of a scuffle.

"Enough," an older voice said, stopping the argument. "Snow will keep the pup, and that settles it." The voice was firm and unchallengeable. "No faction is to speak of this again."

Various murmurs of agreement buzzed, forming a chorus of low whispers. One word was repeated many times, spat out like something dirty.

I sighed, pulling myself from the memory.

When I began to speak, the first word I understood was " mutt ". Everyone always gave me a disdainful sideways glance, muttering the word just loud enough for me to hear. Occasionally, they would say it to my face, depending on their mood.

It never bothered me much; loneliness is just a state one gets used to. At least, that's what I told myself.

Even though the sun wasn't up yet, I perked my ears and sniffed the air, confirming the shower room was empty--no scents, no sounds, no traces, just some vibrations from a small insect on the wall.

After a quick shower, I gathered the remaining water on my fur into my hands, forming a stream that flowed from my fingertips into the drain. I've always been able to do this, like some instinctual way to dry off. Over the years, I've become more proficient, making the process faster.

I decided early on not to mention these abilities to anyone--the pack doesn't favor those who stand out too much. Even without these near-supernatural skills, I was already different enough.

Using the communal dryers would attract unwanted attention with their noisy motors, something I definitely didn't need more of.

After changing into clean clothes, I washed my sweat-soaked sheets and other items in the sink, wrung them out, shook them to avoid wrinkles, and then went to the balcony. I pulled out the drying rack I had found earlier, letting the morning sun dry the still-damp fabric.

I've tried, but I can't control external liquids like I can with the water on my fur, not even those on my clothes. Maybe it needs more practice, or maybe there's a specific rule? Until I figure it out, hand-washing and sun-drying my clothes has become a daily routine--the washing machine could never just simply wash my clothes.

Enjoying the warm morning sunlight, I jumped up and grabbed a metal rod extending from the wall. I smiled, swinging my body and tail to adjust my position, gripping the rod tightly to avoid falling.

A few years ago, I couldn't reach it. Back then, I could only jump and hope to grow tall enough to grab it. They say it's an effective way to grow taller, something about gravity.

I wasn't sure I believed it, but it's good to have hope. Being the shortest among my peers, even though my growth spurt isn't over, feels a bit off. Mostly, it's a way to entertain myself, especially when no other wolves want to play with me. Learning how to play alone becomes an important skill.

When my arms ached unbearably and began to tremble, I let go and dropped back to the ground. Shaking out my hands to restore blood flow, I looked at my calloused paws, thinking it might make gripping easier.

Glancing at the sun's position, I checked the time and then took down the mostly dry clothes and sheets, hiding the drying rack in its inconspicuous spot. I returned to the room and put everything away.

I moved quietly, and by the time I closed the bedroom door behind me, no one had noticed.

So far, so good.

Leaning against the cold wall, I took a deep breath, listening carefully and planning my route to the cafeteria for breakfast. I heard footsteps; a few early risers were already awake. I sighed inwardly, accepting the start of another challenging day.