A soft breeze whispers through the forest and echoes in the valley. It ruffles my hair, blowing it into my eyes. I stand on a hill, looking out over the forest I called my home for twelve years. There are others in these woods. My family, the friends I learned life skills with. How to hunt, how to fish, how to survive. But tonight, I am leaving. Rumors of Pack Hunters, people who roam the woods, tracking my kind down and killing them, have spread through these woods and I am afraid. But I'm not just afraid of the hunters. If my pack finds out I'm leaving, before I leave, I'll likely be attacked. I put my hand in my pocket and my finger brushes against the folded polaroid photo that rests against my thigh.
Tonight, the night before my twelfth birthday, I leave my home at the urgency of my mother. I am to integrate myself into a family who can't bear a child, as if I have always been there. My mother has spent the past 6 months sneaking in every night to plant photos and evidence of a child always living there. I feel bad for lying, but my mother says it's essential for survival.
I look at the moon, fresh out of its full state, and take a deep breath. In the distance, I hear my mother's call. It hurts my heart to leave them, but I must. Letting the air out between pursed lips, I turn towards the woods and begin approaching the tree line. With one last look back, I step into the trees and begin heading towards the city, towards my new home.
