Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1)

by Shawn Underhill

  “No, Papa,” she shuddered. “It’s me. It’s me.”

  The white wolf opened his mouth wide in reply, issuing a hot and savage growl that roared like a revving engine. And again the clearest, loudest thought in Evie’s head screamed, “RUN!”

  It was a command, loud and clear. The clearer that fact became, the less Evie felt capable of doing anything other than following it. One moment her body felt frozen; the next, the mind-body connection clicked, she felt herself moving, and off she went.

  Over creaking boards she ran to the back stairway. In a bound she cleared the small steps and landed hard on the grass below, keeping herself from rolling with her outstretched arms. Across the back yard she sprinted with all her strength. With every breath a burning scream, bare feet cold with dew, out of old habit she made for the far corner of the yard, the dark opening of the trail beyond the apple trees.

  When she dared glance back over her shoulder, the pack of gray and black shadows were falling in behind the white leader in an arrowhead formation. Facing forward again, she ran for all she was worth. And always gaining, the pack closed on her with the sound of many feet thundering like a stampede, many great lungs breathing greedily, and many throats grumbling with the joy of the chase.

  “Run!” she heard the white wolf grumble from a few yards behind her. “Run!” he said again, closer still. But Evie’s legs could carry her no faster. Running cold just hours removed from a fever, her limit came and passed quickly. Three quarters of the way across the back yard, she hit the wall. She stumbled, staggered, moving forward feebly, and began gasping frantically for air.

  Within a second of slowing she felt hot breath on the back of her neck; her pony tail fluttered against the whiskered muzzle of a wolf. The next second she felt a jolt—a hard, jarring impact that robbed her of what little remaining breath she had. And then for a moment she felt nothing but cool air rushing by her weightless body.

  The great head of the white wolf had dropped and driven low into her back, striking forcefully square. Then, lifting her with an upward toss of his powerful neck, he’d given her flight; the gift of intense focus and single-minded desire—the power of mind in the face of absolute necessity.

  Helplessly Evie left the ground. In suspense she hung no more than a second or two. And when she felt solid earth once more, instead of the hard impact she’d expected, she felt smooth, controlled contact. Two feet struck the ground. Two feet gripped firmly with soft pads and wide-spreading toes. Momentum carried her forward. She felt the third foot strike. Then the fourth. And before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, she surged forward at a startling rate—like being in the front row of a rollercoaster on its downward plunge.

  The change had happened instantly, painlessly. And like a flash from the close-crowding pack shot forth their newest initiate—a young and sleek silver-white wolf streaking the dark woods as a meteor streaks the night sky.

  Much happened in the following seconds. The white wolf had knocked the wind out of her, and then there’d been a few seconds of limbo. But after her four feet touched the ground, even before comprehension set in on her, she felt bodily control returning.

  Evie’s first conscious act as the wolf was to breathe. In a single gulp she took in a mass of cool air that heaved her sides, and like breaking the surface after being too long underwater, she felt life anew rushing in and expanding within her—the explosion of vitality. It was like she’d never breathed before; she’d been suffocating all her life until now, in that single breath, she tasted fresh, energizing air for the first time. In that breath came to her a sense of old things passing away, new life breaking forth from the old in a flash, rushing forward as if fired from a cannon. Weakness was well behind her now, a thing of the past fading from significance along with the fluttering remains of her tattered clothing.

  As the comprehension of her new body settled in on her, she understood that she was running. Really running, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her four legs worked with steady, rhythmic ease, and her lungs worked comfortably after the initial deep breath, enlivened by great quantities of the crisp air. Into her keen new ears flooded a myriad of distinct night sounds, and above them, the louder and strangely reassuring sounds of the pack behind her, trotting, breathing, and grumbling. Her heart beat furiously in her deep chest, yet somehow at a rate that felt easily sustainable. And her vision was sharper; even at great speed she saw the shadowy woods passing by in a clearer tint of gray.

  Her mind began working clearly within a few seconds of the extreme shot of oxygen. She recalled talk of being wild, and running as the wolf, she now understood why. She did not simply feel wild, she knew it. Not as a mindless rage or a blind fury beyond conscience or control—though that potential existed in every drop of her burning blood. More it was the feeling of a great escape, the willful shattering of barriers, the defiant breaking free of restrictions that erupted into a swift and boundless energy. Her great heart pumped adrenalin-laced promise, and every fiber of every muscle, every nerve and tendon in her body answered that promise, harnessing that throbbing power, and driving it to the ground with sure-footed ease. She was still herself—but stronger, bolder, more capable. For the first time in her life, her body could keep up with her mind.

  Control was her next realization. Controlling this marvelous new form was a thrill ride—like being in the cockpit of a well-tuned machine. Only so much better. She was the machine, powerful yet nimble, sensitive to the smallest feedback—smells, sights, sounds, the mere feel of her soft-padded paws striking the earth—and instantly responsive to the slightest input of thought. Each breath produced in her a rush greater than a caffeine overdose, and each subsequent push of her springy paws propelled her faster. Faster than seemed possible. Faster than a dream.

  In the fervor of this first run, within twenty seconds Evie had pulled well ahead of the other wolves. At her back she soon heard a distinct change in their sounds. Alone they were not enough to stop her, but with those sounds, new thoughts began entering Evie’s mind, piquing her curiosity, demanding her attention. As when the white wolf had ordered her to run, so now the word-thought slow kept repeating in her head.

  In a heartbeat she made a decision; in the next she reacted. With a great leap she threw herself into the air, twirling her long frame in a graceful spin. And clawing the ground as she dropped, she scratched to a crouching stop, face-to-face with her pursuers. The word slow faded from her perception.

  The riotous mob slowed to a hasty walk. The white wolf stood back as the rest—numbering nearly twenty—closed around Evie in a wave of heavy bodies, yipping and whining, their hot breath meeting the cool air in plumes of fast-dissolving steam. Their noise was immense. Some bowed their heads before her with outstretched forelegs, respectfully and playfully. Others, the more excitable, nuzzled the young wolf with anxious muzzles, whining in and tickling her sensitive ears with prickly whiskers and ice-cold noses.

  It was a greeting, Evie realized; a happy, rowdy greeting. She relaxed her stance, though in such close quarters she found it difficult to move after the freedom of the run; she was being bumped and pushed from every side. Several times she reared up on her hind legs, as other wolves did in their own excitement. Other times she sprang on all fours in quick, jerky bounces when her excitement became too great to remain still. She wagged her tail and shook her head and her tingling scruff. And best of all, she found she could execute these small celebrations without a trace of self-consciousness. Like a child—an ecstatic child the size of a show pony.

  The pack’s noise increased. With each sound from the wolves, a new thought entered Evie’s mind. Fast and choppy, these thoughts were at first difficult to discern, even harder to follow amid the ruckus of so many at once. But as she listened, tuning her delicate new ears carefully, she began to perceive their meaning, and soon began recognizing their voices. One-by-one she linked their sounds with the word-thoughts forming in her mind and traced those voices ba
ck to the wolves that made them. In so doing she discovered the distinct relative within each shaggy body crowding her.

  With a tremor of elation Evie reached full understanding. Their noises were not noise at all. They were meaningful expressions—words of greeting and congratulation, admiration and unrestrained affection inexpressible by clumsy human languages. From every side compliments streamed into her ears. Words such as, “Lovely, beautiful, elegant, graceful,” poured from the females. And the males agreed, adding, “Sleek, speedy, agile, spirited, a natural.” If the realization of their beautifully simple language wasn’t enough to stagger Evie’s senses, the love they expressed with it surely was—it nearly broke her heart.

  Her response to their outpouring began as a feeling—a jumpy delight deep inside of her. While her body whirled back and forth, struggling to face so many other faces at once, in a matter of seconds the feeling swelled until it felt her chest would burst with emotion. From her chest it climbed to her throat, and almost before she knew what was happening, she was speaking a new language through a flurry of reciprocated whines and yelps. It was a wild, ancient language spilling from her muzzle—one lived rather than learned, basic yet proficient, flowing effortlessly as a softly-hummed song. No fumbling or searching for the right words obstructed her. As her feelings formed into precise thoughts, she simply willed which ones to set free. And out her messages flew.

  She could hardly believe it. Even talking as the wolf was better.

  By now the pack was a mass of writhing exuberance, excitable like puppies, only much, much larger. Evie’s quick understanding and subsequent responses had excited them further, and on all sides of her now she saw many splendidly-muscled bodies shaking themselves, beginning from the great heads and ending with fanning twists of their fluffy tails. These seemingly harmless tails lashed other wolves as well as nearby trees, sounding as dog tails knocking happily against walls or doors. Small, low-hanging branches stood no chance against the restless movements of their heavy bodies, while ferns and small underbrush beneath their feet were quickly trampled to nothingness. But though they shook and celebrated without restraint, still their crests bristled atop their backs with the tingle of excitement that they could not shake off. And their collective sounds took on a heightened pitch, rising in tone in harmony with their elevating mood.

  All but one, the greatest, took part in this play. All but one, the youngest at its center—the belle of the ball—understood that such play was only the preliminary welcoming. The night was still young, the prior singing had been simply calls of searching and gathering, and the short chase had been only at partial speed—mere encouragement for the youngest, a precursor to the actual race to come, the end of which would mark the beginning of the true celebration.

  Then all at once the noise dulled to a low grumbling of many breaths; their talk ceased. The white wolf had stepped forward, barking a loud command, and under his authority the pack had fallen into relative, momentary order. Then to Evie he said with a voice deep and clear, “Run, swift silver! Show us your speed. Your hour. Your night. Lead us, she-wolf. To Moon Rock!”

  In Evie’s mind there formed instantly a vision of smooth stone under the night sky—the place of sunsets, the peak of Oak Hill. Without pause, as the pack roared its approval and parted from her way, she swung her sleek silver-white frame to the north, dug her paws into the cool earth, and tore off full speed for Meeting Hill.

  -6-

  Late Sunday morning Evie woke on a couch in the great room. Consciousness settled in slowly and heavily, like she was coming back from a great distance away. Wrapped in her thick robe, she wore nothing besides. Her hair was matted and wild. Her throat was scratchy dry.

  “You’re up,” she heard her Papa Joe say, and Evie followed his voice to the far corner of the great room. He had stepped out of his study and stood now in the doorway.

  “Good morning,” she said thickly.

  Her grandfather laughed softly. “I was just coming out to check on you. It’s after ten.”

  “How’d I end up on the couch?”

  “Easy. You walked to its edge and sort of toppled over onto it.”

  Evie sat up rubbing her eyes. Her body felt strange, like something foreign and cumbersome. The room around her was clear, but the night before, in both dreams and actuality, was coming back to her in quick filmstrips. When she lowered her hands, she realized there was dirt under her nails. “After the visits or … the other thing?”

  “The run,” her grandfather said, nearer the couch now. “Your first pack meeting.”

  Memories of the night continued flashing before her mind’s eye. The excitement of the change. The joy of the run. The beauty of the clear night. And much later, the house all in darkness. Cold. Then warmth. Comfort. Sleep. And now, stiffness, hunger, thirst. “So that all actually happened,” she muttered.

  “It sure did.”

  After a moment Evie stood up stiffly. She was firmly planted in the morning again, and desperately in need of cold water. “Where’s Mom and Gram?” she asked.

  “Church. We decided to let you rest. Your breakfast is wrapped in foil on the counter.”

  Yet another wonderful thing about her northern home—there was always an abundance of food readily available, usually still warm.

  Before she could eat she needed water. She filled a tall glass from the kitchen tap and commenced to drink it down in a matter of gulps. All the while she could feel her grandfather watching her. For a man of great composure, his pride could not be convincingly masked. “Why didn’t you go to church?” she asked.

  “With all the excitement yesterday I had to cancel a meeting. Pushed it back until today. The young man I’m waiting for has just passed through the gate. I didn’t know whether to wake you before he arrived or let you be.”

  “A meeting … What for?” she asked between gulps of her second glass of water.

  “Nothing exciting. He began last winter by helping me with my computers. Lately he’s been acting as an assistant of sorts.”

  Evie was unwrapping her breakfast now. “I thought you hated computers,” she said, biting into a thick strip of bacon.

  “I do.”

  “Then why have them?”

  “They’ve become a necessary evil these days.”

  “For business or for your history book stuff?”

  “Both.”

  “You should let the cousins do that sort of work, Papa. Shouldn’t you be retired by now?”

  “Oh I’ll never fully retire,” he said gladly.

  “Why?” she asked with a full mouth. “And why don’t we eat as wolves? I’m starved.”

  “It’s cheaper this way,” he said, and just as he spoke, the doorbell rang. “And better for those around us,” he whispered, raising his finger to his lips. “No family talk.”

  Evie nodded, chewing a bite of muffin bread and watching as her grandfather let the computer guy in. Only after the door had opened did it occur to her that she was quite dirty, recently white-haired, wearing nothing but a robe, and presently eating like a hog. She shrugged and kept on eating, smiling weakly and saying only “Hi” (Hah) when her grandfather introduced him as Dale.

  “Evie as in Evelyn?” he asked from the entryway.

  “Yup.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Evelyn.”

  “Just Evie. And you too.”

  “Evie,” Dale corrected himself. “Evie from …”

  “Alabama.”

  “That explains the accent,” he said half to Evie and half to her grandfather.

  Joseph Ludlow cleared his throat. “Yeah, I could listen to her talk for hours and never tire of her.” He placed his strong hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Let’s get to work while the house is quiet.”

  “Of course,” Dale said, taking one last glance in Evie’s direction. The two men entered the study and closed the door.

  Not bad, Evie thought, for Geek Patrol (or whatever they’re called). He’s sure no athlet
e though.

  She finished her bread, bacon and potatoes, and headed upstairs to get cleaned up.

  The hot bath did wonders for her stiff muscles. After drying off, in her bedroom she emptied the contents of her two travel bags onto the bed to take inventory. Her mother had packed all the essentials, jeans, sweats, underwear, sneakers, dressy shoes, her laptop, even her cell phone—though she knew it wouldn’t work. Everyone up north used a smaller carrier, and even that was sketchy at times. “You are the awesomest mom, Mom,” Evie thought aloud.

  Dressed and presentable, Evie made it downstairs a little after noon. Papa Joe and Dale were still in the study. Her mother and Gram hadn’t returned from church. So after eating some more bacon, she took some carrots from the big industrial fridge and went out the front door to the driveway, crunching on one of the carrots as she walked. From there she went to the nearest barn, where the horses were kept. Only one horse was in the barn at present. He was being groomed by her older cousin, Eli.

  “Heck of a night, hey, Red?” he said when Evie popped into the barn.

  “Hey! I wish I could remember it all,” Evie said. “It was intense, what I can remember.”

  “Did you rest?”

  “Till after ten.”

  “Good,” he said with a nod. “While you’re new, you’ll need your rest. It’s a bit of a shock to the system.”

  “Just a bit?”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “But don’t sweat it. Once you get used to it, mind and body will be stronger than ever. Wolf or girl, it won’t matter.”

  “So it just becomes … normal?”

  “Better than normal, if you ask me. I have more energy on less sleep. The more time you spend as the wolf, the stronger you get.”

  Chappy the horse neighed low and blew excitedly, butting in on the conversation; he could smell the carrots. Evie took one from the bag and fed it to him, smiling as his wiggly-soft lips tickled her palm.