Bits and Pieces (My Book of Short Stories)

The Ferals (diary entry)

Dear Diary,

The war is over. The enemy Wolves have retreated. The valiant, powerful warriors and archers of Feral Pack have beaten them back for now. The victory shouts and howls of the Ferals pierce the air, our battle cries echoing throughout the forest. But there is much work for us yet. There are not enough healers for the level of destruction the wolves have caused. We may have won, but the war against the Wolves has certainly left its mark, a dark scar in the fabric of our history. And I know that scar will affect us for years to come. This day will be remembered with both celebration and mourning. The remaining warriors have returned to our camp, battered and scarred but alive. My father is alive! Father, the leader of the west quadrant of archers, has come back. I can see in his eyes that he is a changed man, but I run to him, overjoyed that my father is alive. I try to speak to him but he insists that we can discuss the details later. I agree. For now I must tend to the wounded.

The healers have been told that they will never truly understand the panic and fire of the battlefield. How a split second's decision can change the entire course of battle, and how closely you must rely on your teammates. How selfless and trusting you must be in order to win for your side. I know that I will probably never truly experience the terror and speed of a direct battle. But as I hold bandages to a fallen warrior's wounds as I hopelessly watch the life drain from their eyes, I do understand. I have heard so many last words in the past year, whispered as the warrior's heartbeat slows and their body goes cold. My heart breaks for the families affected by this war. Both Wolves and Ferals. For I know that, although they are my enemies, they are fighting for their own cause. I know that both sides of the war have suffered greatly. Some might think it traitorous that I feel pain for the Wolves' losses, but a life is a life, whether it is a Wolf's life or a Feral's life. Death in any form is a tragedy.

I search the crowd of surviving warriors desperately, looking for a familiar face. One in particular. Erin is nowhere to be found. I am unwilling to leave the side of the warrior I am currently trying to heal, wrapping a bandage tightly around an open wound on her arm. But my mind is elsewhere, fear and hope combining in a heavy, anxious ball in my stomach. I whisper empty words of comfort as she gasps, squeezing her eyes closed from the pain. And then I see him. In the very back of the group, hanging his head in sorrow, my husband arrives home from the battle. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around his neck, just to confirm to myself that he is really there, alive and real. I shout his name and he looks up, his eyes empty and hollow. Beautiful hazel eyes that can light up the whole world with one smile. I can see that he had been through so much but his face still lights up just for me. I am reminded of how much I love him as he runs, limping to my side and catches me in a hug. I can feel my heart breaking and swelling with emotion as he whispers how glad he is to see that I am okay. I burst into tears, laughing and crying at the same time. They are tears of joy that my husband returned from the battle. But most aren't so lucky. Hundreds of warriors died on the battlefield and many more have died in the healer's chambers. But that is all the more reason to be grateful that war has not torn our family apart. I feel my baby move and kick in my womb, alive and healthy. With luck she will grow up without the threat of invasion and enslavement hanging over her head. I start to cry all over again. Fate has been so kind to us... Let's hope it continues this way.

With hope,

Ash

Erin's eyes flickered over his wife's messy handwriting, printed down on the paper so many years ago. Ash had been assigned the role of documenting the victories and losses, in hopes that they could use those diary entries to one day look back on the past and learn from it. She had certainly done her job. He felt a lump rise in his throat as he remembered the long series of wars leading Feral Pack to freedom. Endless sleepless nights just waiting for the enemy to make a move, going over countless battle plans in his mind. So many lives had been destroyed by the endless fight for freedom from the werewolves. He still remembered the Luna, Raina's last orders to him before she had been killed in battle. Will we die for freedom or live our lives as the Wolves' Omegas? We must take a stand for our kind or no one will. 

He flipped through the countless entries briskly, not really taking anything else in. Was his little girl really ready? He knew she was well aware of the werewolves and their hatred for the Ferals as they called themselves. Insults like "half-breeds", or "dogs".  But he was sure she had no idea the magnitude of their anger and determination to get the Ferals "back in check" as they put it. He subconsciously turned his gaze towards the window, staring out into the thicket of trees surrounding their base camp. The wolves were getting restless again. He always knew they would return, though why they waited for 15 years he wasn't sure. Their pack had gradually recovered over time through offspring, and even taking in rogues along with the occasional bite victim. Unlike werewolves, Ferals did not shift at full moon, or bite, unless they were in dog form and had no choice. This was seen as weakness in the Wolves' eyes, as well as the reason why there were so few of them. He still remembered the day Aster planned their escape from the tyranny of Blood Pack. He could remember it as if it were moments ago..

The Ferals lived in fear of the Wolves who had forced them down to serve as the Omegas of their pack. The Ferals were seen as weak and worthless to the wolves because instead of shifting into wild wolves when they came of age, they instead transformed into domestic dog breeds. Husky, terriers, shepherds, they were all deemed "half-breeds" and unfit to serve as anything more than the pack's slaves. Blood Pack was one of the largest packs in America, as well as the most powerful by brute force. The pack was made up of ruthless, merciless warriors and fighting was encouraged rather than regulated. Survival of the fittest was the only law. And of course the Omegas were shown no mercy. Ester was the only one with enough strength to stand up to the cruelty they were shown. She became the Feral Alpha, in a secret pack they chose to name "Feral Pack". They formed their own ranks with Erin as one of the lead warriors and Ash as a healer. He had already loved her with all of his heart and it hurt him to have to leave her but he knew it was for the best. 

"Erin!" His heart leapt at the loud shout and he whirled around, looking towards the dusty entrance of the attic. Ash's voice, slightly exasperated, rose through the hole in the floor. "Dinner time! Go get Kadie too, while you're up there." He set the documents back down into the small box, slipping it back in between the other books which were tightly packed into their row. She would find out soon enough. And even if she learned of the Ferals' bloodstained past from someone other than him, they would get through it together. They always did. He buried the box back under the mass of blankets he had found it under, and turned around. He stumbled his way through the small, crowded attic before climbing down the stairs and heading down the hallway to bring his daughter downstairs for dinner.

(( A/N: Okaaay... I wrote this forever ago and I recently went back through my drafts. I am actually legitimately proud of this chapter. I wanted to make a book out of it but I lost my mojo and it ended up here. If you didn't catch it, Ferals are basically werewolves that transform into dogs instead of wolves. Weredogs. Quick thing about them - they are not forced to transform during a full moon, and they do not have designated mates. 

And I think that's all I have to say. If you wanna maybe use this idea, comment and ask. I'll probably say yes. :) ))