that he barely caught the edge of the last ledge before he was falling. The distance from the obstacle to the net had seemed a lot further, but he hit the ropes in what felt like less than a second. His heart thundered in his chest as he fought to catch his breath. He rolled to the edge of the net and reached the ground. The students in wolf form around him bumped his shoulder and grinned good-naturedly. They had all attempted the course and failed.
Colleen smiled at them. “I didn’t say it would be easy,” she said with a wink. “Perhaps you’ll get further tomorrow.”
With that, she released the class to phase back to human form and return to the school.
“At least you’ll have a good appetite for lunch,” she called after them.
“That’s for sure,” Trent replied when he was in human form again. He jogged to catch up to Pack Jericho. “I’m starving.”
“I could eat a whole cow,” Pip exclaimed at the werewolf’s side.
“Stupid course,” Torin muttered. “Who ever heard of a wolf climbing ropes? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Alex couldn’t help himself. “You did look pretty stupid up there,” he replied.
Amos gave a deep laugh behind Alex. “Torin look stupid,” the big werewolf huffed.
Torin grabbed Alex by the front of his shirt and pinned him to a tree. “What did you say, Stray?” the Alpha demanded.
Alex forced an innocent expression on his face; it was harder than he thought it would be. “I said the ropes were pretty stupid up there.”
“Let him go, Torin,” Jericho said.
Torin lifted his teeth in a snarl. “Watch yourself, Stray,” the Termer said with enough zest to leave spit on Alex’s cheek.
Alex wiped it away. “Oh, I will,” he reassured the Alpha.
Torin let him go and stormed away, leaving the rest of his pack to catch up.
“What was that?” Jericho asked.
Alex shrugged. “Guess I should think before I speak,” he replied noncommittally.
“Guess you should,” Jericho replied, unconvinced.
Chapter Six
“I’M REALLY NOT SURE why werewolves have to take poetry,” Boris grumbled from the back of Professor Grace’s classroom.
Grace smiled, her sightless blue eyes creasing at the corners. “I’m glad you asked, Boris. Poetry is a form of art.”
“Like with colors and stuff?” Parker, Boris’ Second, asked dryly.
“Exactly,” Grace replied.
Alex knew the professor good enough to know that she heard Parker’s sarcasm. She felt for the edge of her desk and took a seat on the wooden chair.
“The cadence of the velvet paws
Thrummed softly in my ears.
My heart’s staccato rhythm
Chased away my tears.
I lost myself beneath the trees,
Their shelter overhead.
I found myself a quiet place,
Soft pine needles my bed.
I closed my eyes and shut it out,
The pain and fears were gone.
I heard it then, the quiet whisper,
Of a wolven song.
The howls rose all around me,
Tremors starting in my chest.
The forest sounds all died away,
As more howls joined the rest.
I was swept away by song,
It touched my heart and soul.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep,
As exhaustion took its toll.
When I awoke, the day had lightened,
The forest was no more.
My room was filled with silence,
And the wolves were just from lore.
Yet there upon my pillow,
Sat a single silver hair;
It matched the autumn forest,
And the wolves I had seen there.
I held it and I smiled,
As one tiny tear broke free;
I would never be alone,
For the wolves watched over me.”
Boris broke the silence that followed Grace’s recitation. “What was that?”
“A poem,” Grace replied simply. “I’ll teach you how to write them.”
“Too many words,” Amos said.
Grace nodded. “Not all poems need to have many words. You don’t even need to rhyme. A poem comes from your heart and gives you the means to express yourself. I’ll help you, Amos.”
“I learn poems,” Amos replied with a proud
Learning to Kill: Stories