I n d o м ι т a в l e

(32)

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To be is to do. —Socrates
To do is to be. —Plato
Do-be-do-be-do. —Sinatra

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{Chapter: 32}

Unedited ✖

{ A S P E N M O N T G O M E R Y }

Athena had me tromping through the woods for a good fifteen minutes now, completely silent but the glare edged into my back didn't go unnoticed. Her temper had been unusually present and I wasn't going to push my luck by attempting more trouble - yet.

My dirty converse squished against the damp soil, shafts of sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves overhanging the dirt trail we were following. Athena seemed to know exactly where she was headed, pushing me form behind whenever I went to slow or didn't turn fast enough.

The forest was eerily silent, the birds not singing any of their melodious tunes, as if they knew the war that was brewing beneath their nesting spots up high in the trees.

I hadn't even heard a speck of growling or howling. Back at the clinic, I could catch the faint noises of snarling and fighting, the wolves outside keeping guard on their injured pack mates up until they disappeared and Athena made her appearance.

Now everything was too quiet and my hands shook, anticipating someone to jump out of the bushes and tear me limb from limb. Although Athena acts like I'm needed alive, something tells me she might not objectify to watching me get torn to shreds.

"Are you planning on letting me walk until I die? Is that your master plan?" I throw over my shoulder.

"Shut up and walk." Athena quips, her uninterested gaze drilling into my back.

"Bite me." I snap at her, swatting away a low-hanging branch.

I know I should be cautious, but my tongue has a mind of its own on occasion. Thankfully, Athena only gives me a warning shove instead of staking me from behind and just getting it over with.

After another five minutes of silence and trekking through the woods, I try to conjure up a plan of escape - or attack, it depends.

"I have to go to the bathroom." I blurt.

I here a disgruntled sigh from behind me, no doubt one of Athena's most articulate signs of frustration.

"Hold it." She grunts.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"But what if I cant?"

"Not my problem."

I scowl, displeased and on the verge of taking a second shot at her face.

"Not to be hateful - actually, you know what? I don't care. Your--" My sentence cuts off as I stumble into the sunlight.

My eyes take in the wide open space before me, the color draining from my face. I'd never seen so much blood and gore in my life, apart from the movies.

In my daze, I nearly trip over my own feet and land heavily in the dirt but manage to catch myself short, my eyes never leaving the scene.

Some werewolves never made it back to the medical building and lie, lifelessly, across the open area of torn up grass and broken tree limbs, the glade covered in bodies, blood and the stench of death hung nastily in the air.