Collar the Wild

Chapter 12 - Family

"I never liked them." Ember explains, the other wolves unable to eat as they sit and listen. "The kids were sent away into the woods with some of the mothers whenever they brought in a new human to convert. They'd be stripped, caged, bullied and forced to eat raw meat to try and draw out the wildness of their ancestry. I don't know if you know how easy it is to turn a human," he says without looking up from his meal, "all you've gotta do is get some of our blood in your veins, but my family made a huge ordeal out of it." He fiddles with his food, chasing a bit of carrot around the plate while making no attempt to spear it. "When they were deemed ready, their chest would be deeply scratched and smeared with the blood of the strongest. Then there would be a ritual of hate to curse the humans while the Newkin is left to change. First transforms for an adult human are very painful." Cal nods and looks down, as he knows first hand. Ember wets his lips and moves the story on, not wishing to dwell on the nature of his tribespeople.

"I would get away as often as I could and see a guy in the city. He was my lover for a while, but I couldn't let him see me at night. I could resist the change of course, but if it started happening while I was asleep in his bed ..." Ember trails off and sighs, gently laying the fork down on the edge of the dish. "So instead, I'd just slink away to a bit of shelter I'd claimed as my own under a bridge. I didn't know how to work a real job, I just knew how to hunt and fish, so when scrounging for food in the city turned up nothing, I had to go home. Whenever I went back to my tribe I was made to feel like a deserter; chastised, called names, sometimes beaten by my brother, but my mother would always fight them back to let me stay. My family was cruel and barbaric, but they were all I had to turn to when I needed it."

"A little over a year ago," he continues, taking a sip of his rum and cola. "I was away again for a couple of days, seeing that friend I'd meet up with to have a little fun. When I'd run out of scraps to eat and decided to return to the camp, I found it ... empty. Some firmaments were still standing, smouldering. Tattered fragments of clothes lay scattered on bloodied grass, and there was an awful smell of death everywhere I turned. A lingering fog of charred meat and wood burned at my nose. Realising what had finally happened, I ran, as far away and as fast as I could. I didn't even say goodbye to the only friend I had."

Ember sits in silence a moment, clutching the glass and feeling it sap the heat from his trembling hand as he recounts his trauma. The other wolves and the master let him be, allowing him the freedom to recover in peace. He sniffs and drags the glass to his lips to sup a bigger gulp, then continues.

"I read about it, the day after. 'Terrorist Werewolves Slain'." He air quotes with one hand, before setting the drink down and slumping his elbows on the table. "I was devastated and also so relieved I wasn't there. I hated those people, but they were still family. And then they were dead." He chokes the last word and forces a dry gulp to try and compose himself. Cal puts a hand on his shoulder which triggers a reflex of emotions he doesn't want to feel and turns away. "I'm alright," he sniffs again and wipes his eyes. "I'm alright." Cal removes his hand, taking the hint, and stays silent.

"I moved on, found an abandoned cabin in a wood several miles away and fixed it up a little so it didn't leak anymore. After that, I just sort of ... existed. I had no money, no real identity, no skills, and an utter contempt for humans. All I ever saw in them at that point was killers, because I knew that's all they'd ever seen me as. But that didn't get food on the table or any other amenities for that matter. As much as it pained me to be around them, I needed a daytime job. I found a sandwich shop that paid cash, worked at a register for most of the next year and made enough to make the cabin liveable. Sometimes they'd pull me into the kitchen when one of the cooks was away and was able to learn some basic cooking skill. But when I was working, and except for the odd random hookup when the loneliness got bad enough, I spent my time in my own company." He fiddles with the glass, swilling it and watching the bubbles. "I'd still hunt for meat since I was good at that, but sometimes I'd come across a human late at night. In my hungry, bloodlust state, I'd hunt them as well.