Apparently, he wouldn’t let me go easily. Not that walking half the night had been easy. I needed to talk to him, figure what he wanted, his expectations and the new rules – his rules - I needed to learn. My impotent frustration grew. Better to get it done now so I could figure out a way out of this mess.
“Gabby. Before you do anything else, I’d like two minutes of your time.” He eyed my mulish stance and added, “You need to hear what I have to say.”
My anger at Sam still lay in a dark dormant pool inside me. He should have told me their plans for this weekend before we came here. I didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say. Some of my anger and frustration collapsed in on itself as I acknowledged the truth. Sam’s dishonestly bothered me, but my brush with freedom, to have it so close and then ripped away in the last few seconds, hurt more.
Defeated, knowing if I didn’t hear him out that I’d wonder what he’d wanted to tell me, I agreed. “Fine, but please hurry.” I stayed standing next to my bed. I didn’t want to get it any dirtier than I’d already done.
Sam turned and walked away from the door to my little room heading back to his bed. I trailed after him.
“His name is Clay,” Sam said sitting on the lumpy mattress. “Clayton Michael Lawe.” He looked up at me when I moved closer, eyeing me from head to toe.
In the brighter light of the living area, I really did look like I’d been dragged, or at least rolled, in mud. How had I slept through someone carrying me for miles?
Sam continued, “He’s twenty five and completely alone. His mother died when he was young, shot accidentally by a hunter while she was in her fur. His dad took him to the woods.”
It meant he’d been raised more wolf than boy. Sam explained much of the recent pack history to me when we first start coming to the compound. They’d only maintained enough of the original building to keep up appearances. They used the 360 acres that came with it to live as wolves. Charlene’s arrival had brought about huge changes, mostly in the social aspect of the pack. Afterward, most pack members started acclimating to their skin. Only a few of the old school werewolves, like Clay’s father, still preferred their fur.
“His father died a few years back,” Sam continued, pulling me from my own thoughts. “Clay’s been on his own ever since, still choosing to live in is fur more than his skin. He’s quiet and has never been trouble. He comes when an Elder calls for him, but still claims no pack as his own. So, by pack law, he’s considered Forlorn.”
Forlorn. I closed my eyes tiredly, recalling my werewolf history.
Prior to Charlene, the decimated numbers had only supported one main pack in Canada and a few packs overseas. After nearly twenty years, the Canadian pack had grown to the point of branching.
Because of the still low numbers, and the dangers of discovery, joining a pack ensured an individual’s safety and continuity for the pack. Some, like Clay, stubbornly remained reclusive. The majority of those who stayed solitary did so because they disagreed with the changes Charlene helped establish. Many felt the superiority of the pack entitled them to an elitist isolation from humanity and the world.
By staying on his own, Clay had effectively stated his opinion on the pack’s reentry into human society. However, Sam’s comment about never being trouble meant Clay had not yet actually sided with the other opinionated Forlorn.
In addition to pack politics regarding humanity, the Elders had discovered some of the Forlorn could ignore a command from an Elder. Elders acted as the lawmakers and enforcers for all werewolves while the pack leader enforced the rules for the pack, settling disputes. Elders and pack leaders worked hand in hand to keep the pack healthy and growing.
According to Sam, a werewolf could not break their society laws. Once an Elder declared a law, it became an ingrained piece of the werewolf. Sam had compared it to a hypnotist. The werewolves heard the law, could contemplate it, have opinions about it, but followed the law regardless of their thoughts and feelings. Most laws made sense and werewolves didn’t try to fight them, but even when a werewolf disagreed with a law, they had no choice other than to obey it.
Pack leaders had a similar effect on their pack members. When they spoke, they forced submission through the pack’s mental connection, often painful to any attempting to resist.
Forlorn, not having a link to a pack, still had the link to the Elders. A link all werewolves shared. Though a pack leader did not control them, the base society rules laid down by the Elders still bound them. At least, no one had proven otherwise. However, I overheard Sam speaking with another Elder about several instances where a Forlorn had ignored certain aspects of their laws, which made the relationship between pack and Forlorn even more strained.
“He was here last night to help keep the peace. He didn’t come to be introduced to you.”