Turning Year

Chapter 3: Waking Up

Waking up was one of Stiles's least favorite things to do. He hated the sounds of the bells that rung every morning in the village and how the sunlight peaking through the window would always blind him when he opened up his eyes.

Waking today without any bells was pleasant, but everything else wasn't.

After many sleepless nights, he was sure that he had slept for almost an entire day, and would have continued, except that something wet, warm, and slimy was touching his face. When he snapped his eyes open to see what it was, he almost pissed himself.

There in front of him was no beagle or puppy, but a massive black wolf. That wet thing touching his face, that was a tongue. The wolf's tongue. The wolf was licking his face, as though he was a dead carcass, not to say that Stiles didn't feel like one in this moment, body sore and head pounding.

Stiles had heard about wolves before. About how they were beasts who would kill anything that looked like it could be edible. 

His father always had warned him to stay away from them if one ever happened to wander into the village. Too late now.

Stiles had also heard that if you didn't move, they might lose interest and walk away. He stayed completely still, but it was uncomfortable. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping on it wrong, and his back felt like a giant bruise after hitting it against the tree yesterday.

The wolf did not lose interest, in fact, it seemed more interested. The wolf walked closer and licked Stiles' face once more.

"Ew! Gross! Get away you mutt!" He yelled.

The wolf growled and snapped his teeth. That wasn't a good choice of words apparently. . .

The wolf nudged at Stiles' legs and pushed forward.

"What are you doing? Stop pushing me!" Stiles said. This was the most frustrating animal Stiles had met, and he had met a lot. Was this wolf someone a person of the village? If this was the case, why would he not transform?

The wolf growled again, but not as ferocious as before, this time it was more playful.

He kept nudging and pushing at Stiles, pestering him. Stiles stood, groaning at his sore body. There was no telling how long he slept in the same position.

"There. Now are you happy?"

The wolf sat and cocked his head, amused.

"Well I need to get back, so. . . see you later."

He turned on his heal and started to walk, though he had no clue what direction he came from.

The wolf whined, but he continued walking, refusing to look back at the mysterious black wolf. Didn't wolves travel in packs? They were never alone, unless this wolf was an omega.
He looked up at the sky to see what time it was, but saw no sun. Instead he saw clouds.

"Great." He said, just as the sky began to open up.

So now not only was he lost, but he was also cold and wet.

Stiles remembered when he went to school, the teacher had always said "If you're lost, always stand by a tree and wait. Someone will find you." What a fat lie that was. You would just stay there and starve if you didn't keep moving.

Stiles thought about trying to climb up a big hill he spotted, but there was no way, it was too steep, and there was no telling how long it would take to circle around it, so he decided to take a turn and hope to find the edge of the village.

(Hours Later)

Stiles had no idea how long it had been, but he was tired of walking. His legs ached as well as his stomach. He had never experienced true hunger, but he was thinking that it sucked.