My name is Woulf. I will turn 21 tomorrow. In my pack this means I am an adult. It means it is time for me to contribute to the pack in some way. We are given eight years to find our niche in the pack. At the end of the eight years we are given a choice; take a place assigned to us by the elders or be exiled from the pack. Tomorrow I must choose, tonight is for contemplating the choices.
The elders will assign me a place where they think I can best contribute to the pack's welfare. Both my parents are hunters, the best hunter's in the pack. It stands to reason the Elders will think I will be good at it too. The main issue I have with that is I can't kill. Not won't, can't.
When I was a pup I thought I knew what my place would be in my pack. My parents were mighty hunters; I wanted to be like them. I would practice the skills of a hunter every day. One day I managed to pin a rabbit. It was broadcasting terror, the terror of a living thing that knew it was going to die. It filled my head, it was so strong. The rabbit’s terror surrounded me, sinking into my pores, I do not remember releasing the rabbit but I remember running as if my life depended upon being far from where I had been. When I came back to myself I had curled myself into a ball in the protection of a hawthorn bush.
That was when I first realized I was different. As I got older the affliction became worse and worse. So much so that by the time I reached the age of seven I was a barometer for everyone around me. My behavior changed every time a new person came within two feet of me. My play mates called me Ebony's child after our trickster god because my moods were so changeable. I could be the most helpful, nicest pup you ever met one minute and the devils incarnate the next.
There was a party one day; the whole pack was there to celebrate the Chief’s birthday. I did my best to stay on the outside of the crowd, away from all of those different emotions. Giddiness alternated with cynicism throughout the crowd. One moment would find me capering about, yelling and screaming like any other seven year old, the next I would have a sneer on my face or could be seen cursing an imaginary bug or something.
A local reporter there to do a write up for those that couldn’t make it, happen to notice. I guess he must have observed me for a long time before he decided to talk with my parents. He assumed they were aware of some sort of mental condition and felt he should let them know that I needed whatever medication I usually take.
As the day went along my behaviour got more and more erratic, a child only as so much control and eventually it fails. Several others spoke to my parents that day about what they had seen. My parents became so concerned they took me to the pack doctor. He spoke with me for about an hour about my parents’ concerns.
During the appointment I reflected his calm demeanor. At the end of the hour he told my parents he had not seen any strange behaviour. He commented that during the whole appointment he and I had been emotionally in sync and he was worried about my ability to process my own emotions. He prescribed Valerian for me, as it calms the mind and allows the taker to process information on a more unemotional level. Thus freeing my mind from some of the influence of the people around me and increasing my ability to process my own thoughts and emotions.
The Valerian helped me focus and gain some control of my affliction. In time this allowed me to have a much more normal life than I had been living. I called myself an emotion catcher. For though I gained some control strong emotions could have me acting out again. This happens if there is more than one person feeling the same emotion or if the emotion is powerful.
Take my friend Grayling, he is in love with Iceflower, the chief’s daughter, sadly she thinks she loves me. When we three are hanging out the love from both of them makes me act like a moon-struck cub. I have often tried to explain to her my feelings for her are purely platonic my affliction betrays me. She assumes that what she sees when she, Grayling and I are together is the truth.
It is also how I have come to the current impasse in my life. I will turn 21 tomorrow, in my pack at that age you are supposed to have found your niche in the pack. Grayling is a cook and has been since he turned thirteen. He is very good at it and has already added two new recipes to our pack cookbook. Iceflower is in training as a lore-master, her memorization skills are superior to any of the present lore-master and they say she will be our next head historian. Me, I've trained for eight different jobs where I thought I would fit from groomer to scribe and have not settled into any of them.
I tried groomer first because I have always been vain about my personal appearance. I am tall and my pelt is that blue-black which is so rare in out pack. I am always combed and clean, my muzzle fur is neat. My mane is silky smooth and decorated with silver which looks so good against my pelt. My clothing is clean and pressed and always perfectly accents my muscles. I keep my claws clean and my pads well protected. Needless to say I thought my great beauty would be an asset to the establishment plus my fingers are quick and talented when it came to the combing and shaping of the manes of the woulven I worked on. People are often cranky when they come to a groomer. Because of my affliction I soon got a reputation as a thoroughly miserable groomer to deal with. I did my year and was let go. By the end I was lucky to get one client a day, sometimes they preferred to wait an hour for another groomer rather than deal with me.
The second year I spent six months in class learning to be a vet’s assistant. Those six months went well so they placed me in an apprenticeship with one of the local vets. He has a dream dust addiction. For me this meant I spent a lot of time trying to shake the cloudiness he projected from my brain. It made me slow and clumsy. I got on well with the animals but their owners were worried I might hurt their pet. When my apprenticeship was over I was told that if I were not so slow I would have made a good vet but as things were there was no place for me there.
And so it went, each year a new apprenticeship, each year a failure because of some emotional baggage from the woulven I was working for or on. This brings me to tonight. Eight jobs, eight failures, there are only a few ways left for me to contribute. I am certain I do not want to work in sanitation and as I said earlier I cannot become a hunter, tonight I must re-write the rules and break tribal tradition. I have made my choice; I will not wait for the council’s decision.
I am packed, I have said my good-byes and now I am off to see if I can find my place out there away from my pack.
(1327 words)
