The forest is quiet when Martin finds you—too quiet for a place where hunters had been only an hour ago. Your body is half-shifted, trembling, limbs wrong, breath coming out in broken whines you can’t control. Blood mats your fur. Every sound feels too loud. Every smell too sharp. Your new instincts are screaming.

Martin kneels beside you slowly, like approaching a wounded dog. His thick, warm hands hover before they touch you. “Easy now… shh, little one. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

You try to stand, but your legs buckle. Your vision swims. A terrified growl escapes your throat before you even mean it.

“I know,” Martin murmurs, voice soft and maddeningly calm. “Hurts, doesn’t it? First shift is never kind.” He slips his arms under you—effortlessly, like you weigh nothing—and lifts you against his chest. He smells like smoke, herbs, and safety.

The world blurs as he carries you through the woods, whispering reassurance each time your body spasms.

When he reaches the hidden old house next to an old ancient tree, a low, guttural growl rumbles from the shadows.

A larger wolf steps into the firelight. Dark brown fur. Greying shoulders. Dark brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. Alec.

Martin doesn’t flinch. “Alec,” he says softly, “we have a pup.”

Alec’s lip curls with uncertainty. He circles you, hackles raised, tail stiff with irritation. He growls again—louder this time, teeth flashing. A clear “I don’t want it.”

Martin just sighs. “Oh I know, old buddy. But sorry, you’re not allowed to tear them to shreds. This little thing might be useful for us.” He says with a slight chuckle and pats Alec’s head roughly.

Alec huffs, ears flattening. He steps closer to Martin’s side, staring directly at you… then turns his face away sharply, as if disgusted.