Dawn-Wolf





Everyone tells the story of the werewolf from a human’s perspective, but have you ever wondered how the werewolf feels?

It’s the winter of 1985. Sarah loves life in Jasper National Park. However, vivid and confusing dreams threaten to disturb more than her sleep. To add to her confusion the older members of her pack refuse to divulge why and where they go at the beginning of every other new moon, or why her happy-go-lucky cousins, Callum and Kiba return changed after their first new moon hunt.

Before long, she learns the mystery behind the new moon Long Hunt. It hides a startling revelation, which threatens to turn her world upside-down and has her questioning everything she has ever known. Sarah struggles to recall her true identity and discovers that fate may forever separate her from the person she loves the most. She must also defeat unknown enemies from the past who are closer than she realizes.



Read a short sample below



Teaming rain hammered down from a cloud-filled sky, as the last notes of the Sing reverberated and drifted off on the wind. It conveyed the sombre mood of the mourners. The only non-human witness to this sad event, a keen-eyed crow, sat in a nearby tree and looked down at the assembled crowd.

A girl in her late teens turned towards a tall, black-haired, and smartly dressed woman standing beside her. She spoke in a low voice, “That crow’s here again.”

“Ignore it. It’s not doing any harm,” the woman whispered.

Shuddering, the girl spoke again, “He didn’t have to come, or her.” She motioned her head towards a sour-faced boy of a similar age, He stood next to his mother, a short and painfully thin woman, with long, frizzy curled hair. “There’s no sign of her husband.”

“He’s away. Hush,” The woman pressed a finger against her lips. The red lipstick she wore made a stark contrast to her long, dark hair.

Once the funeral service concluded, the mourners gathered at the home of the deceased. Again, they gave their condolences to the man, as the short, thin woman passed around a plate of sandwiches. The smartly dressed woman handed mismatched Corelle mugs of hot tea to the mourners. Apart from the low hum of conversation and the clinking of tea mugs, all was quiet. The girl sat tucked away in a corner of the compact living room. She fixed her dark, brown-eyed gaze on the wall, her expression devoid of any emotion. With any attempt made to speak to her, she replied in monosyllables.

The short, thin woman stared at the mug handed to her and then sat down on a threadbare couch, between the man and the sour-faced boy. She turned her mug of tea around to the edge without a chip and took a sip. Turning to the boy, she brushed breadcrumbs from his dark grey sweatshirt. “Stop fussing Mom,” he snapped.

Iyódąga!” she hissed at him, between clenched teeth.

Ignoring his mother’s request to sit down, he stood up and marched over to the opposite side of the room. He caught sight of the girl in the corner and began to stare at her again, with a look filled with contempt.

The tall, black-haired woman held out a plate. It had one sandwich sitting in the middle. “Dear child, are you going to eat anything today, apart from chewing on your thumbnail? Are you feeling sick?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m fine Auntie. I’m not feeling hungry, that’s all.”

“You look pale to me. Well, pale for a native.”

Annoyed with the boy still staring at her, the girl scowled. With eyes burning with indignation, she leapt up from her seat and shouted, “Did you know about Mom’s problem? It made our life hell for years.” All those gathered in the room stopped talking and watched as the stoic girl, slowly fell apart before them.

“She had an affair… with whiskey and brandy! It took Dad and me a while to work out that the fruit in her juice breakfast was less fruit and more vodka…”

Kąǧí, please don’t,” begged her father.

He attempted to stand, but the boy’s mother pushed him back down and said, “She’s upset. Leave her for now.” She took his hand in hers and patted it. “The tribe is here for you, Nat.”

He withdrew his hand. “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

Kąǧí tried to stem the flow of tears by pushing the palms of her hands against her tear ducts. Noticing that the sleeves of her sweater had moved upwards, she quickly tugged them down. After hesitating for a moment, she spoke again, “Sorry Dad. They need…needed to know the truth.” She glowered at the boy.

Anger flashed in his eyes as he headed towards her and grabbed her upper arm. “Why don’t you just shut up? You caused trouble for me with that big mouth of yours.” The boy flinched and released her arm from his vice-like grasp. He shook his hand, his nostrils flaring as he spat out the words, “Dad’s right, there’s something not right about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Maria found out what a jerk you are and dumped you. That was your fault, not mine.” The girl narrowed her eyes. If looks could kill, he would have died on the spot. Kąǧí looked up at him and wrinkled her nose as the boy’s sickly-scented aftershave assaulted her senses. She set her teeth and said, “I have told you before.” Her voice lowered, “Don’t come near me…ever…”

Running from the room, she slammed the door behind her. After flinging open her bedroom door she sat down on the bed and pulled up the sleeves of the black sweater she wore. She rubbed her arm and looked at the large, purplish-brown bruises around both of her wrists. “Ever again,” she uttered, as she broke down weeping a flood of tears.

Paula M. Hunter ©2024

All rights reserved