Our pace has been less than enthusiastic; exhausted lycans mixed with drained magic users made for a less-than-stellar departure from the woods. We exit the heavy tree cover to a greeting of harsh winds and snow flurries, the threat of an oncoming storm becomes a harsh reality as clouds loom over the horizon. 

I can't help but think to myself that the storm wasn't on the radar before we decided to tangle with the Solomonari at the river. My mind wanders to yet another person we allowed to live, loose on the world to wreak havoc on our lives. 

Hank's tattered clothes from the fire and Helen's injured paw, even my warlord seemed to be lagging with his limp from the prior landing.

Verando offers up his shoulder for Helen to lean on which she gratefully accepts, I accept that we need to get out of the elements. 

"I think we should make camp. We won't get back to the Dead City before nightfall. Didn't we say there was an abandoned city close by?" The group sighs in relief at my suggestion. 

I imagine they would collapse where they stand if it were feasible. Verando instructs them to collect branches for a fire to carry with us, and we trudge through the snow, following the horizon toward the looming buildings off in the distance. 

I cast a timid glance at the ever-present murmuring shadows looming just beyond the tree line and confirm my suspicion that we needed to rest for the night. We needed to get far away from these woods; I didn't want to lead any wraiths back to the city. 

It's interesting to me how the coat variety differs from wolf to wolf. 

Verando's own plush coat kept us plenty warm, and while his ears felt cool to the touch, his body surrounding my seat was quite comfortable. Even Helen appeared to have the same velvety overcoat.

I could see the shiver moving through the fledglings, their paws dragging instead of the agile step of hunters weaving through the snow. These were civilians, not warriors; none of them were fit enough for such an excursion. Their coats were offering them the level of protection that the pair did. 

 We near the city limits as the sun threatens to drop below the crest of the earth, and I hesitate as we enter the vacant streets. The city is genuinely abandoned, with massive holes taken out of most of the buildings as decay and rot set into the concrete structures. With a gentle exhale, I swallow my pride in the fact that this place must work for the night.

 We had slept in much worse conditions, and at the very least, with so much debris, it'd be difficult to find us. 

"Stay close together," Verando instructs them as we slowly maneuver our way through the vacant cars and the debris from collapsing buildings. I cast my hand out behind us, fluffing the snow to erase any trace of our footprints. "I'd like to say this place is safe, but we're going to have to be vigilant for the structures. Heavy snowfall could turn this place into a death trap." 

I tend to agree; I didn't much care for the idea of being buried alive in a city made of stone.

Picking a shorter building, which appears to be an old clothing store, we filed in and closed the door behind us. It's one of the only shops left with windows, and it seems to be unoccupied, though it's obviously been pillaged at some point. 

The multitude of eyes scans all around us, and I can feel their fear as they take in our situation. Nobody was laughing and joking anymore; the whimsical air had been yanked from their very being.

 "Who do you think cleaned this place out?" One of the young lycans inquires.

I shrug as I slide off Verando's back, my legs tremble from having to bear my own weight. At least I was no longer thinking about my back."It could be anyone; it's not uncommon for loners to frequent vacant locations such as this."

With a warning glance, he cuts me off. "Alright. That's enough of that. We're going to be fine here as long as we keep quiet and leave at first daylight. Let's take these old clothes racks and stack them against the windows. I don't want any wraiths looking in here." 

The group begins the process of moving the heavy racks. Verando has lived on the streets, he's used to making do with very little, I would say my upbringing was one of my greatest hindrances in that it made it very difficult to see past the shambles and the positive side of our predicament. 

I note that he's not helping, standing close to me in what could be seen as a daze, he's worn out from his minimalistic diet, and I curse myself all over again. 

There was a time when I was solely responsible for his eating habits; I couldn't help but feel I was failing him. Using the summer selection and a few curtains, we make a sufficient barrier on the windows of curtain layers for the front door and windows coupled with the clothes racks to further dampen and block out the light. 

It reminds me of our time in the outpost when we were hiding from the infected. History does seem to repeat itself. I get to work on taking the dusty coats and shaking them out, offering the musty garments to anyone who wants more layers as I lay the unusable ones on the floor for padding. 

Towards the back of the store, we huddle amongst the clothes and book racks, trying to occupy as small of a space as possible to generate the most heat.

Helen limps over to flop down on a pile of towels, keeping her paw close to her body. 

"Helen, baby, please let me try to treat your paw again." Tyler sounds desperate, a plea to her humanity to end his own suffering by allowing him to continue to attempt to heal her. 

She shakes her head, guarding the foot. "You are drained enough, any more and you're going to be too far gone to be useful to anyone. Need I remind you you almost had the blood siphoned from your body?" She responds in an irritated tone. 

I almost laugh, but I manage to hold it in; she reminds me so much of Verando. Legardo sits beside her, looking reluctant to touch the wolf figure that is his daughter. Looking at the close quarters here, it would seem as though a fire would not be possible.

"I should have never let you come on this trip... what if you lose your hand?" He sounds concerned, and I can't say I blame him. 

Verando approaches, watching her cautiously as he sniffs the injury. Legardo grimaces in discomfort at being surrounded by the beasts, particularly the gray creature I was so fond of. His expression is not one of confidence, though he hides his concern well. 

"You are already poisoned; our saliva has healing properties; you might consider licking it and see if it will help."

"Lick poison?" Lergardo demands; Tyler seems to agree with him. I come to stand front and center, examining the paw that was threatening to fester.

Verando lowers his haunches to a sitting position. His body almost sags; exhaustion sets in, along with a slight favor of his previously damaged shoulder. 

"She will die if the poison is that lethal, regardless of if she ingests it. A wraith is not venomous; a wraith causes death wherever it goes. If she touched it, I would only assume her hand is merely going through the phases of death. Unfortunately, that will begin to spread."

"You imagine?!" Legardo shakes his head and tries to settle his nerves. "You sound certain for someone who has no idea what they're talking about! I don't know why I-" He stops himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Maybe one of these Mercer children could learn; it would seem Legardo was becoming a functional human being as he settled into an artificial calm. "Can someone else try and clean it?"

The gray wolf scoffs, laying a single ear back at such a ridiculous question. "And have them die as well? An Alpha takes the risk for her people; she already has the 'poison' in her. Ingesting it should, in theory, do her no harm."

Helen steals a glance, stretching the darkening paw out in front of her. "And.. if I do react." She trails off as Verando's mouth pulls down at the corners. 

"You'll die, I'd imagine. Perhaps next time you'll think twice about touching the wraith." His words are absolute, the tone is professional, and he lacks the panic-inducing attachment. 

I cross my arms and hug myself as I stand beside him, taking in our situation. Much to my surprise, Helen looks more annoyed than she is afraid. It is Legardo and Tyler who look as though their world is ending, and I can't say that I don't side with them. 

Verando had always looked death in the face as if it were a blessing or an inconvenience, it shouldn't surprise any of us that Helen adopted this trait, and I imagine if Legardo had been any use in battle, he would be the same with his ho-hum personality. 

"Would you both come off it?" He snaps suddenly, dragging me out of my musings. "It's her choice; a leader- An Alpha, must be the voice of reason even in dire circumstances. She's doing a fine job without you carrying on like a bunch of children. People die, sometimes for no damned good reason. You should be very proud of her; she's mature beyond her years." 

The group surrounds us, evidenced by the warmth I feel from a dozen local bodies huddling around. 

Sef purses her lips. "Maybe I could try..?" She attempts. 

"Have you been practicing moving your magic to your hands?" I ask her, knowing the answer; we have spoken about this already. 

With no practice, there would be no way to prevent the spread of the infection to her. While the training was good, wraith magic was toxic, and touching it would only cause it to spread. She shakes her head, sighing as she lowers into a sitting position. 

Slowly, the entirety of the group begins to fold in, and it's our family unit that remains upright. While sleep looms like a heavy cloud, there is no rest to be had in this dank shop's unreasonable amount of darkness. 

The smell of lack of use, wet dogs, and sweaty magic users didn't create the most relaxing spaces. 

"What would you do, Verando? I remember talk of Valhalla?" Helen asks, her voice struggling to remain even as she battles with the decision to end her life with the failure of the healing effectively. "I'm going to lose my arm. If I don't do this?"

I want to reassure her that it won't get that far. I want to tell her we will be out of here soon, yet the words won't come. 

"Helen, Valhalla is just pretend, made up. There are no gods; there is no glory in death." Legardo grumbles in frustration. "This whole thing is a made-up scam to allow magic users to use our bodies until there are none of us left. Look at us; we are merely pawns for those not strong enough to do what we can." 

The toxic nature of this man never ceases to astound me. His daughter is dying, and yet he must push his agenda. The flurry of emotions insights a response in me that one might have over their own children, something that I felt when my parents sent me to my death only to credit their good breeding when I returned. 

A lack of appreciation for her sacrifice, a complex wherein their eyes she would only be Helen. 

"Daddy, in all due respect, I wasn't asking you. It's a mutual trade, and I've seen it; I lived it for a while in their time, and I live it daily with Tyler. What you and Mama had... we don't believe that it's our fault that didn't work. 

Now, I want to hear what my advisor.. and Nic have to say on it." She was no longer 'Just Helen.' She was an Alpha in training, stronger than I ever gave her credit for. 

"If I'm going to lose my damn arm or die, I want to know about our history. I never got to hear it."

The glimmering eyes of the lycan horde peer at us in the darkness; I know it's not his favorite topic. He feels it's also a hoax, or at least he did before he realized he was part of that history. I place my hand on the warm shoulder, encouraging him in silence. 

With a sigh, he mulls it over. "Valhalla is what our community believed in when we fought for dominance against the Strigoi in my father's time. It was a losing battle; at the time, we were werewolves, so we were controlled by the moon's phases. 

It was a curse and a blessing; werewolves, as we were before, were bred by the black market for fighting. Our species was believed to be selected based on our belief in Valhalla. It is thought that you must die a warrior's death in battle to rise to the gates and forever be immortalized. 

You get to join all the other great warriors of the world to drink and fight for the rest of eternity." He shakes his head with a sigh, settling in to lie down with a yawn. I sit in the crook behind his shoulder, leaning on his ribcage as he curls around me. 

"But if you die of unjust means or if you were not worthy, you'd be damned to purgatory, to wait until the great decider either sent you on or allowed you to fall to hell's fires. Our lineage has fought in wars for a very long time, though it would appear that this... curse.. that you and I share skips a generation. 

My father wanted it, but he never obtained what I have, just as your father lacks certain-" He pines for the right word, and I can practically hear Legardo roll his eyes. 

"It's a bunch of bullshit is what it is." Legardo seethes. "It's turning innocent people into sacrificial lambs."

Verando almost chuckles, the best he can as a wolf. "I can't blame you for thinking that; sometimes I still do. But what Valhalla does give you, Helen, is hope. It's a rich culture that gives you strength in darkness and meaning when there is none. It's about family and loyalty, bravery, and humility. That is the true meaning of any religion." 

I smile at his insight; he had come so far from chasing that goal to now, appearing as though he was happy with his lot in life. 

"Is that the same for all of us?" One of the fledglings asks.

"If it allows you peace, then by all means. It gave us a lot to lean on when there was little to look forward to." Turning his attention to Helen, his body feels rigid beneath me, as if he's also struggling with her decision. 

"If you want someone to cut your arm off, I'm sure we could find someone to do it. You have more options than attempting to cure yourself or hoping you heal naturally."   

She takes a long, slow breath, faced with many decisions. "What would you do? "

I almost wanted to cover his muzzle because sometimes, what he would do wasn't the best option. He considers this for what feels like an eternity. "I'd do what I could live with; at the end of the day, it's your life. I wish someone would have let me decide, though I can't say I'm remorseful now that I was saved. If you're going to do something, I suggest you do it soon." 

Tyler wraps his arms around her neck, "Baby Girl, you don't have to do anything. We'll leave first thing in the mornin'. Maybe we can fashion you a sled so you don't have to walk on it? This isn't a decision a lady should make; we need doctors.. professionals.."

"Nobody knows her body and tolerance better than her, Tyler," Verando tells him, irritated.

Helen nuzzles him, "I don't think this will wait till morning,." 

It makes Tyler flinch, uncomfortable with the continued prying into their dynamic. I was glad it was finally grating on my warlord, too. I, frankly, couldn't stand it much longer. Eyeing her father, she turned her gaze back to Verando; she stifled a whine as she tried to be strong. I can see the fear etched on her face in the dim light and feel the accelerated heart rate.

 With a nervous laugh, I hear the near-silent quiver of her body trembling against the tile floor. "Hey, if I survive, I will have a hell of a story to tell." Her tail wags one time. 

Tyler squeezes her tighter, "Please don't say stuff like that."

Verando stands carefully, moving beside her and laying his head over her back to comfort her wolf. The pressing was very familiar to me as I'd seen it before; it was why it nearly killed him to be alone; they thrived off the connection of other wolves. 

I wedge myself back against him as the pack begins to surround us, wedging together in a heap of tightly packed lycan forms. "

It's okay to be afraid." He reassures her. 

Placing her head over his back, she squirms impossibly closer to him. "I'm not afraid. I'm angry." She tells him stubbornly with a shaky sigh. "Damn, wraiths. Alright, I've decided. I know what I want to do."