Feral Blood

WeedRoot

The inside of the cabin was humid; the air thick and moist against my skin and in my lungs.

There was a fire flickering in a pit on the adjacent wall, above it hung an open pot boiling and shooting turrets of steam into the air. The source of the heat was obviously; however, I doubted the contents of the pot were merely gallons of water.

A heady, unfamiliar scent hung in the air, causing me to wrinkle my noise at its pungent odour.

The woman seemed glide over to the pot, producing a wooden spoon from somewhere next to the fire and plunging it into the pot to give it a stir.

She muttered incoherently under her breath and whisked away to the kitchen, opening a cupboard and pulling out a jar of yellow powder.

She floated back over to the pot while unscrewing the jar's lid and tipped it so that some of the powder flowed into the pot.

She grabbed the spoon and stirred again, humming a satisfied note.

Her silver hair draped over her shoulder as she turned her head to me and beckoned me with a finger. Her eyes held a gleam of
mischief as her lips curled into a smirk.

I approached cautiously, not completely trusting her intentions. Had she taken me here just to poison me? Though she was peculiar, I didn't sense anything disingenuous about her.

I peered into the pot, staring into the green liquid. I had been right— definitely was not water.

"Do you know what I am brewing, child?" she asked, her pale, discoid eyes peering up at me above her grin. I felt my spine tremble under her gaze. Something about her eyes alarmed me.

"No." I answered shaking my head. The broth boiled and bumbled ominously in front of us.

Her grin widened, " 'Tis a brew for a wolf who was injured by a moose earlier in the season; his wounds have healed closer but are still inflamed. 'Tis a sign—"

"Of an unkept wound. He failed to properly clean the wound before it shut." I interrupted, lifting my sleeve to reveal a scar on my forearm.

It was ugly and marred, healed completely in some places and a pale pink in others. It stretched up from mid forearm to the elbow.

The elder hummed, "You reopened the wound to clean it. What caused the wound?" She grasped my arm and lifted it closer to her large eyes, examining the wound.

I felt my skin prickle at her touch and my hair rose like a chill had passed through me.

"Fought off a male wild; he didn't get the message that I was not interested." I shrugged, slowly reeling back my arm.

She nodded, her silver brows lifting as she chuckled, "Must have been a shock when you tore out his throat!"

I grinned, flushing from the startling assumption... even if it was accurate.

"He must've realized I was more than just a wild when my teeth sunk into his neck and the snow was stained with his life." I laughed, a smile pulling at my cheeks.

She grinned at me, her teeth faintly yellow from age, though all were still present, "I like you, Allegra." she sounded out my name, rolling her tongue.

She turned and began to stir the soup again, "Peculiar name..."

"Mother Wolf says it was the name of a woman she had met when she was young." I explained, "Mother Wolf said she was the most exotic being she had ever seen or met."

"Probably a wolf from the far south— it's warm and humid down there. The females all have their hair cut short, and their skin is dark like the hide of a moose." she peered at me, a quizzical expression making her purse her lips, "Strange that one of them would be as far north as your pack..."

I shrugged, rocking on my heels. I didn't pretend to know anything about my mother's youth. She hadn't told me much about life in a pack, or about the world of packs around us.

The woman raised her hands at me, ushering me to sit on the cushions that were placed around the table.

I sat, my back to the door as I observed her continuing to stir the broth.

"Fenrir hasn't told me much about you; besides the fact that you are feral-born and very uneducated in our ways.." She remained poised over her pot.

"What is your relationship with Fenrir?" I asked, my lips pursed. It was strange that she referenced the alpha as if they were close friends.

She chuckled, turning around to pin me with her moon-like eyes, "Fenrir is my kin—my grandson to be exact."

I sucked in a breath and gave her a narrowed look. Her eyes— their silver intensity, now looked familiar. However, they seemed duller and more muted in Fenrir. Less like the full moon; yet, perhaps, there was an inkling of its power hidden in their crater-y surface. That was the extend of their resemblance. Perhaps if she had been younger there would've been more...

Her head reared back and she laughed, "Fear not, child, I will not divulge your secrets to my kin."

I shot her an accusing look, "How can I take your word?"

She looked at me, her brows raising with her grin. "You can't."

I furrowed my brows in response.

"I am very old, child. Our ways are harsh in the mountains, and the northern territories are not welcoming to the weak. Nor are they welcoming to those who isolate themselves..." She explained in her rasping voice, eyes twinkling like the stars.

"I am of very old blood, some of the oldest in these mountain packs. My heritage is rife with the stench of alphas and powerful wolves. I am related to the North-Eastern pack's alpha, and I am a descendant of our pack's first alpha. My family has spread like the roots of a tree in soil. Only the strong of my bloodline survive... I have seen much death in my time; especially the death of those too weak to take root in our soil." she said, causing me to scowl.

"And if my roots are not compatible with the soil and they fail to plant themselves?" I ask.

"You'll surely wither and die." she grinned.

Sorry for the late update, I've been slowly working away at planning out the rest of the chapters and I've been editing the three chapters that I have already written.

Anyways throw her a vote and a comment and lemme know what you think! ♥️