He dug his bare toes into the dirt and grass and leaned his back against a tree. The sun was shining overhead.
He said, “In the wild,
wolves call to each other. It can be meant as a warning for others encroaching on a territory. It can be a rallying cry, to bring the pack together. It’s used in a hunt. To show location. And sometimes, they howl together. To show happiness. To make them seem like a bigger group than they are. It’s called group howls, and it’s a beautiful thing to hear.”
“And that’s why you do it?”
He closed his eyes and smiled. He was amused by me. I was enraptured by him. “I think we do it just because we like to hear the sounds of our own songs. Narcissistic creatures, we are.” The smile faded slightly. “Though sometimes, the songs are meant to sing a pack member home. It’s easy to get lost, Ox, because the world is a wide and scary place. And every now and then, you just have to be reminded of the way home.”
We didn’t speak for a long time after that.
I WASN’T a wolf.
I didn’t think I’d ever be. Not by choice.
But two members of my pack were lost.
I tilted my head back.
My eyes stung.
The stars blurred above me.
I said, “Ah god.”
It came out rough.
I cleared my throat as it tried to close.
I thought of my mother.
I thought of Thomas.
They were lost to me now.
I needed to sing them home.
And so I did.
It was a broken sound, cracked and splintered. It wasn’t very loud, and it grated against my ears. But I put everything I could into it even as I realized I maybe wasn’t quite the man I thought I was as my cheeks became wet, my breath hitching in my chest.
My howl died out quickly.
I took another breath.
Mark howled with me, his voice melodic and heartbroken.
Carter and Kelly harmonized along with us, mixing in with our song.
Elizabeth picked up the song as we breathed in, her howl high and long. The song changed because of her, because of what she’d lost, and the wolves took her song and made it their own, their voices inlaid with hers, octaves above and below.
I felt Gordo on the periphery. I felt his hesitation. His awe. His sadness. He didn’t howl, but his magic sang for him. It was in the earth below us. In the trees around us. He didn’t howl, but then he didn’t have to. We felt it, just the same.
Joe shifted next to me.
It was smoother than any shift I’d seen him do before.
One moment, he was a sad boy, lost and bloody, and then he was a wolf, bright white in the darkness. He was already bigger than he’d been before tonight, his paws maybe twice their original size. Where he’d come up to my waist before, he would now probably be up to my chest if I’d been standing. He wasn’t as thick as his father had been. He was bigger, yes, but still wiry. I thought that would change with time as he got older.