The Wolf Trials

Chapter Twenty Three

Thomas barely made it to practice on time. The uniform he had felt odd, even worse was the strange stick he held in his hand. Something the others called a lacrosse stick.

He was breathing heavily, hunched over as he resisted the urge to lie down. Was he always this unfit? He was great at running- or he was going to be. He was unsure.

Coach yelled. "Laps round the field! This team is no place for slackers! We will win this semester! I vow it. And if we don't you can say goodbye to a bad grade. And no you wouldn't be getting a good grade if you won Greenberg!"

Thomas almost laughed. Coach clearly hated Greenberg. Judging by how he had shouted at him five times in the past ten minutes.

Thomas stretches his legs and arms and started off on a jog. Scott showed up beside him, a grin on his face. "Hopefully we do well this semester. We should do. I've been practicing. What about you Thomas?" Thomas shrugged. "Think I'll be alright. Hey, do you think Lydia will be okay?" Scott's expression turned blank, taking a moment to consider his answer. "Yeah I'm sure she'll be fine. Probably just had a fever or something."

"Probably." Thomas wheezed. They were moving on to their second lap. He started jogging again, the ground seemed slippery beneath one of his trainers.

He glanced down, his shoe had become untied. In a split second he had gone from running to face planting in the dirt of the track. His shoe had almost fallen off.

The untied lace lay beside him, he spat out a mouthful of dirt. "Uh! This is harder than running from a griever, stupid shank shoes!" He muttered, scrambling to his feet to tie his shoe.

"I want to get out of here. Wherever here is! It's almost like a nightmare!" Thomas huffed. Scott appeared beside him. "What's a griever?" He spoke suddenly. Thomas jumped, spinning around so fast he fell over his feet.

"N-nothing. Just a creature in a game I've been playing." The answer was reasonable enough. Thomas hoped Scott believed him.

Scott rolled his eyes. "Since when do you play games? You're too busy listening to your radio scanner." He laughed, Thomas shrugged. "So what if I like to know where my dad's heading? I need to know he's going somewhere safe or he won't be hurt."

Scott laughed. "He's the Sheriff dude. He's going to get into dangerous situations. Not that much happens here." Scott broke off with a groan, clutching his side. He grimaced, clearly in pain.

Thomas moved to his side, trying to help him walk to the bleachers. "You okay? What's wrong?"

Scott slumped down on one of the bleachers, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His hands were gripping onto the metal bench with such force his knuckles were white. An unfamiliar sound came from Scott. It was a growl.

Thomas sharply stepped back as Scott's eyes flew open. They were yellow and deadly.