Even with the chilled wind, this place is warmer. It is refreshing, though - there hadn’t been much of a wind for us since we’d arrived.

Well, not us now… just me.

Keep your course true. Within a half-day you should reach the limits of a pack. This, Noah, will be your station. Master’s words echo in my head and I let them. If it’s possible I want to hang on to his voice, his tone, the way he said it.

Pray, young Noah, you must not fail. His very final words, I know I won’t forget them. He must have spoken those words right when I was a first born because they come back to me often. Now they are fresh and clear, like spring water straight out of Alaska.

Its simple though, what I’m not supposed to fail at. All I have to do is get successfully excepted into the pack, become a contributing member, and above all remain purely nordic - in other words… my self. They could have sent any pup really, the selection isn’t quite random but neither is it specific. We are all the same: sacrificial pups - meant to be given away as an enhancement to the wolf species. We were specially designed to be impeccable beings.

I try to speed up my travel to a trot. My paws still feel too big and they catch on stray twigs and knock against rocks until I stumble a few times. I remember to do my sky checks, in case any prey birds have picked out my shadowy form as good meat - I don’t think I would taste very good though, all the prey we eat is stringy and chewy… but it still has more fat then we northern wolves do. I would probably be chewier and dry. After a few glances upward, I am sceptical that any bird will cause a problem here. The forest blocks out most of the sky - though glimpses of grey appear here and there - and would be hard for any bird with a large wingspan to get down here.

I still check - because that’s a rule.

The forest is pleasant in a way - soon I can’t help but to enjoy the secretive feel it has. The shadows loom here and there to be threaded with shades of green and rich browns. The ground is soft and springy and a piece of cake for my tundra hardened pads.

I’m not even tired when I first smell the boundary. By the strength of the scent I guess its just ahead. I should have noticed it sooner - master would have disapproved of my performance. There is a small creek that runs beside the entry to the pack. For a while I walk parallel to the border, hoping to run into a patrolling wolf at some point. Every once and a while I have to heave my self over a log, or a rocky outcropping to avoid swaying my course - each obstacle is a challenge and soon its kind of like a game. Thats when I stop. I know my escort has continued on but I can’t help but cast a guilty look over my shoulder. Fooling around is unproductive and aimless. I settle myself with poise and wait. I will not howl for attention - that would be impatient and not poised. Despite my moment of lapsed maturity, I fall into the attitude easily and sit just at the edge of the running water, not a few bounds away it seems to dissipate.

Despite the forest, the wind still tugs angrily at my fur, like it knows I don’t belong here. I will soon enough though. If all goes well. Continuously, my shadowy fur is pulled this way and that, like wisps of smoke some puppy fur even floats away… Just like the translucent tendrils of water do in the creek. I lean over and stare into its shallow depths until my reflection is decoded in the waves. Dark dark dark. I haven’t grown any white fur like many of my pack mates have. In fact, the only break in my black/grey fur is the blue that leeks from my eyes. The difference doesn’t bother me much anymore. Mostly because it doesn’t matter now, I will not see my family again.