writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia

"How ya been, old man," I drawled, tipping my hat low to keep the sun out of my eyes.

"Can't complain," Jacob replied, spitting at his feet. "'Cept I always do." He grinned then nodded at the sheep. "They're looking real good, Jesse. Earning yer keep nice and good." He looked up then, noticing something behind me and I turned to see Grey had come outside. He was standing there in the doorway, in my shirt and jeans, barefoot with his silver hair curling down around his neck and upper shoulders. His body was tensed though, poised as if ready to attack. to him, Jacob was a threat, one he wanted gone. He was keeping himself in check though, and I think it was only because of me.

I cleared my throat. "Ah, this here's a friend of mine," I said by way of introduction. I stepped a little closer to him, hoping my nearness would keep him calm.

Jacob tilted up his own hat, squinting up at Grey. "Yeah well I was jus' checkin' in to make sure you were still good on supplies." He pursed his lips and then addressed Grey, "So where ya from, boy?"

Grey glanced at me, but remained silent. He didn't understand Jacob, and he couldn't respond.

When Jacob scowled and added, "I asked you a question, boy," I had to step in. "Sorry boss," I interjected. "He don't speak so good. Best not to worry about tryin' to make conversation." It was the truth, and Jacob would likely write Grey off as being deaf, mute, maybe just plain simple. I didn't like the thought, but if it stayed Jacob's sometimes sharp tongue, then it would save the man's life. I doubt I could move fast enough to stop Grey from shifting and tearing out Jacob's throat if he so chose.

But Jacob just nodded and gave up addressing Grey. "Boy's got some strange hair. Ain't never seen it that color," he mused. He looked back at me then and offered, "So you all right then? Not be needin' anythin'?"

Before I could answer Grey nudged me, What are you both saying? in his eyes.

Trying to make him leave, I conveyed back and smiled at Jacob. "I'm fine here, Jacob. Don't need a thing."

Jacob nodded at the sheep again, spitting once more for good measure. With another curious glance at Grey Jacob tipped his hat and turned back to his truck. He wasn't needed there anymore.

The moon was waxing in the sky. Getting closer to full. Now I know people like to say the moon brings out the lunatic in people. Some think it's just some crazy talk. I think the people who go a little weird around a full moon are just a little more in touch with their animal side.

The full moon makes us more aggressive. That and the fact that for the three nights of the full, we have to be wolves. We've got no choice in the matter, even if it's an inconvenience sometimes. There's thing you can take, I've heard, to stop or at least delay the change. I've never wanted to. Not even when my own growing agrees ion could just get me in trouble. It'd be denying part of me.

So the full moon approached, and I grew belligerent. It was nothing compared to Grey. His dominance came through stronger than any alpha I'd ever seen, more than my own father. It was in the way he moved, stalked, glared. It was in the way he came up to me and nudged me aside, harder than necessary. It was in the challenge in his eyes.

Any other time of the month, I'd have backed down, given him his space. He was spoiling for a fight, and there was no one else to take out his aggression on. I was his beta. It was my duty. Not to mention the part of me that only ever got strong enough to challenge an alpha during the full moon wouldn't allow me to refuse.

I accepted his challenge and with a flash of teeth and fur, the fight began.

I was going to lose. I knew it before we even began. He was stronger, a better fighter and hunter, and was fully healed. My own skill would be enough to keep me from getting too badly hurt, but there was no way I could win. I fought him anyway.

The first growl Grey gave terrified the sheep and sent them running from us. I saw his lunge and twisted away. I was leaner, maybe a bit faster for my smaller size, and so I managed to get mostly out of the way of that first bite. He still caught my shoulder, but his fangs didn't tear as deeply as they could. I doubled around and bit him back. It was one of few hits I'd land.

His howl turned into a snarl mid-sound and he batted at me with what suddenly seemed like a massive paw. Then his teeth sunk in and he flung me off as though I were a pup. I couldn't help the yelp at the fangs sinking into flesh, and by the gleam I caught in his eyes, the sounds thrilled him. I could barely remember the last time I fought. It ad had been vicious, I remember, and I almost didn't survive. But then, that fight hadn't been for sport.

I lunged again, and caught him once more, but it was only seconds before that powerful muzzle latched on and flung me again. This time, before I could haul myself up, Grey was there, pinning me down. Do you yield? His eyes were intense, compelling.

I yield. There was no way to free myself to continue the fight. I had to yield. That answer seemed to satisfy Grey though, because he released me, triumph in his face, and most of his undirected aggression gone. He moved just enough to let me up, but didn't stray. Instead, he nosed at my wounds, and with the single-minded intensity of an alpha caring for his beta, he started to lick them clean.

I didn't move. The sting of the injuries were slowly melting away under his ministrations, and I just submitted, watching him intently.

You fight well. Grey's compliment was unexpected and I'm sure I showed my surprise.

Not as well as you, was all I could come back with. It was a simple truth, one Grey acknowledged with a huff of breath. But his words struck me. They'd never been said to me before.

He lay down next to me, both of us amused as the sheep slowly came to realize the snarling, growling wolves were not planning to attack. They returned to their grazing, and we rested where we were.

Until my ears picked up a low rumble of sound. It wasn't thunder. There was a truck coming up the hill, a truck I knew had to belong to Jacob. For the first time since I'd found Grey, we were about to have company, and I had no idea how to explain Grey to the owner of the ranch.

Together, we hunted.

He was incredible to watch. He was a stealthy thing, slipping soundlessly between the trees, disappearing in the dark. Patches of light fur should have caught the moonlight, and it was only because my eyes were trained on him, watching his every move, that I did not lose him to his skills in the night-hunt.

Every wolf knows how to hunt. Some are better at it than others. Grey must have easily been one of the best. He took down his prey with such ferocious speed, it made me wonder how a mere man with a gun managed to catch him enough to wound him. Either way, we were shortly to feast on a young deer. and that held my focus.

It was only after, when we came back sated that I posed Grey a question. You have no pack. I have no pack. We could be a pack of two. I wish I could say I don't know why I asked, maybe to add to the mystery, to make it a great story to tell, but I knew exactly why I did.

I was alone. Not just alone. Lonely. I was tired of being a lone wolf. My pack wouldn't have me as I am, and I doubted others would be welcoming either. I was the son of an alpha. Not just an alpha. The Alpha, the pack leader. I was meant to follow in his footsteps. Instead I was a beta by nature, and too gentle. Weak and womanly, they said. Some called me a bitch before I left.

And even so, I would have traded their company for the complete lack I had now.

I think Grey knew I wasn't making the offer lightly. Those eyes rested on me, watching as his head tilted. Strange one, Dark One. I hunt your prey, attack you. And you feed me, fix me, and offer pack? But there was perhaps a bit of longing in grey eyes, hope. Quickly replaced by a gleam of challenge and a short gruff sound. You would be Alpha?

You were wounded, hungry. I did not wish to fight. Jesse shook his head. Had you not been hurt, you could have killed me. The fight was unfair. That is not Alpha. That is Beta. With advantage. There was no shame in being Beta. Beta is not weak. Beta is merely not Alpha. It was a mantra. I'd said it often enough that I was starting to believe it.

He seemed satisfied with that response, and just like that, we were a pack of two. Oddly mismatched, unwanted by others, but now neither of us was alone.

The wound was filthy, unsurprisingly. The one on his arm at least. I checked there first, after washing my hands and going for a slim pair of metal tongs. The way I approached him made it clear I expected this process to hurt, and he should as well. He tensed, but didn't move away; he remained there, watching me with wary blue eyes.

Carefully as I could, I eased the wound open, sliding the tongs into to hold flesh apart. I was lucky, and managed to grab the bullet lodged in his arm in one quick motion, minimizing how long I had to be poking around. I felt him sigh in relief, but it was only partly over. I cleaned and bandaged the wound so it wouldn't get infected. It would heal soon. Our kind had accelerated healing, which was why it hadn't been terribly infected to start with. If the bullet hadn't still be in his arm, he'd likely have healed on his own fine.

But there was still the question of his other wound, the shot to his side. It didn't take much investigation to realize this wound was much worse. The bullet was lodged deeper, so deep I couldn't see it with my naked eye. I'd have to hold it open to even try to find it, and then attempt to remove it. My expression must have showed my thoughts, for the grey wolf suddenly asked, Will I die?

No, but this'll hurt so bad you might wish you had. I'm sorry. I waited a moment, and when he merely braced himself I went to work. I slid in the tongs, pressing aside skin and muscles, probing for the bullet's location. I found it, after a long tense minute, and pulled the tongs out. But the bullet wasn't in them. It was too deep for me to grab like that. There was no way to hold his flesh back and grab it at the same time, not with the entry wound so small.

There were whimpers curling in his throat, quiet and low as if he were trying to keep them back. I hated feeling like I was hurting him worse, but there wasn't much else in the way of options. I'm going to have to make it bigger, so I can reach. I gently petted his side and waited for him to brace himself once more.

This time I got out my knife, and with two quick cuts, widened the wound enough to go back in. Every sound he made made me want to comfort him like he was a pup, but all I could do was work as quickly as possible. It felt like it took forever - and I'm sure it felt longer to him - but I finally snagged the bullet and drew it out. It, the tongs, and now may hands were covered in his blood. I washed my hands once more, cleaned the wound and without delay sewed up the wound I'd made. It was only then I sat back, exhaled and said aloud, "Well yer all done."

He was still laying curled and tense, shaking slightly from the pain. He was incredibly strong. I would have been howling in pain, possibly passed out from it, but he bore it with near-silence, only a few whimpers of pain and a stoic attitude.

I gave in to my desire then and smoothed my hand down over his hair like I was petting his fur. It's all over. It won't hurt anymore. I paused and then asked, "You were shot. How did it happen?"

He watched me, a multitude of expressions in his eyes. Confusion, pain slight understanding, resignations. He glanced at the sheep. Hungry.

I was confused myself for a minute, till I realized he meant what I'd assumed on my own. He'd been shot going after someone's flock. Humans here don't like sharing their sheep with wolves. But I have food we can share. My eyes strayed back to his bandages, as if making sure they were fine. The one on his side was stained red from his bleeding, but it wasn't much. What are you called? I finally asked one of several questions I wanted to know.

He watched me again, another range of thoughts and emotions in those eyes, as if he were deciding his next course of action. Grey. You?

I said my name aloud. Jesse doesn't translate into wolf-speak.

Grey blinked at me in confusion, silver brows furrowing. His mouth worked to make a sound, but managed a rough grunt. Your name is wrong, he determined. Dark One. That he could manage just fine.

I smiled at that. I couldn't help myself. All right. You can call me Dark One. Describes me just fine. There was so much more I wanted to ask, wanted to know. But those blue eyes had grown tired. He needed sleep, and I needed to go watch the flock. We could answer more questions later.

[[Jesse]]

I could smell something on the air, not as strong as if I'd been changed, but it was still there. It wasn't enough to put me on guard, something that nearly turned into a big mistake.

I caught the flash of grey darting from the woods, and faster than I could think I ran towards it. I let the gun Jacob had given me inside the shed. I had no use for it. In mid-stride, I changed. It was a full-body shiver, the wolf coming out. arms and legs shortened and changed, my jaw lengthened, my teeth sharpened. In seconds I was a black wolf running faster than the grey, ready to keep him from my flock.

I'm no fighter. I've fought only to save my life. I'm no good at it, partly because of my lack of practice, but more so because of my lack of killer instinct. It was a deplorable thing, the son of an alpha to be so unequivocally a beta wolf. I was supposed to lead my pack, take over for my father. But the instinct wasn't there.

It was there now, only strong because of the need to protect what I'd come to consider mine. The grey wolf was larger, looked stronger, and as I lunged at him, I didn't expect I'd win, or live.

That prey is mine! The grey wolf's body langue was loud and clear. He issued a challenge, teeth bared, lips curled back.

These sheep are not prey. I accepted the challenge. I wasn't looked for a fight, but I'd protect the flock. It was my job.

MY prey! The grey wolf lunged, jaws snapping, and I dodged, the sudden scent of blood fresh in my nostrils.

These sheep belong to others, I tried again, snapping my own jaws, but refusing to fight yet.

The grey wolf had no qualms about attacking what he considered an interloper. Despite what I suddenly realized was an injury, the wolf charged, catching my shoulder, but the angle was wrong. his bite did little more than scrape at fur and flesh instead of puncturing and tearing as it should. I wanted to hold back. I wanted to fix his wounds. I didn't want to fight. But his aggression filled my nostrils, and I knew I'd have to best him to save my own life and the flock.

I hated doing it, but I fought dirty, knowing he was wounded. I twisted nimbly, getting a much better grip than he had and bit. I bit near where the smell of blood was strongest, near where I knew an injury lay beneath the fur. The wolf yelped and twisted away, clearly in pain. He snapped at me again, but instead I just threw myself at him, my full weight, into a take down. Injured as he was, he went down hard, and after too many futile attempts to get up to face me, he stopped. He bared his throat, resignation setting into his body.

He was waiting for the killing blow.

So I'm trying to get into the habit of posting things here again. The following is going to be a serial, possibly becoming a novel, but that's not my focus at the moment.This is just trying to keep myself and my writing going. This'll get a title somewhere down the line, I'm sure.

--

Crack!

The sound of gunfire broke the silence of the cold spring morning, a silence that until that moment had been peaceful, as though all of nature was still asleep. But in a moment it was gone, a high wounded howl filling the air. The sound was punctuated by the swift thumps of four legs hitting the ground at a limping run.

Not moments later, there was another loud crack, and another howl of pain, followed by a curse uttered from human lips, and the unmistakable sound of someone trying to reload a gun. The curses continued, heard but not understood by the wounded animal as it ran, disappeared into the woods, and hid to nurse its wounds.

The silence fell again, interrupted only by soft whimpering sounds as the injured grey wolf licked his wounds, curled his tail around him, and remained in his hiding place.