Chapter Text
Nobody knows how the epidemic started.
There are theories, of course, that the Capitol released an infected mutt in the wilderness that somehow came in contact with a district dweller ages ago. The infection spread like wildfire before anyone could do a thing about it.
No one speaks of it openly.
It’s taboo to bring it up in conversation; but every lunar cycle, our bodies go through a painful shift, lending us a lupine form for the duration of the full moon.
The cycle begins tonight.
The pack follows the arch of the moon, crawling across the sky, full and bright. Our swift legs lead us up a well-known worn path until we reach the highest point of the hillside.
My father, being one of the elders, howls a sonorous, almost musical call that rest of the pack responds with yips, yelps and woofs.
Wolves come from all sides of the woods to merge in a circle, hopping, strutting and dancing under the moon that bathes everything as far as the eye can see in light. But the excitement only lasts a few minutes. We only have a handful of hours before sunrise and a whole district to feed.
In a matter of minutes we divide in groups and disperse back into the wilderness to hunt. The voracious hunger pressing in our bellies spurs us to find prey we can only hunt tonight, while we have the strength and drive of the wolf on our side.
This season we will comb and explore the eastern ridge of the hillside and the woods beyond, leaving the rest of the forest untouched. This is how we can guarantee the preservation and population size of our food sources.
As my father always says, “No sense running amok like we’re only instinctive, mindless beasts consuming every living creature in the woods. That’ll just kill our livelihood, then where would we be? As long as you respect other creatures‘ right to live, Mother Nature will provide for you, Katniss.”
This wisdom has helped us endure even the harshest times, when prey is scarce and food is down to slim pickings.
My father howls again, but this time the call is just for me. My name is Katniss Everdeen, I’m 13 years old, and I’m hunting down a rabbit for supper; but I’m still learning the ropes. Tracking, foraging, chasing, flushing out my marks have been all easy, what the elders call “the makings of a good hunter,” but my father doesn’t want me to be just “good.” He wants me to be “heck darn exceptional.”
So besides the basics of hunting, father wants me learn patience, respect and ‘foresight.’ I’m not completely sure what the last means, but I guess is important because he talks of it an awful lot when we hunt during the day… He’s also teaching me to hunt during daytime, with weapons and tools so we have fresh meat even when the moon isn’t full.
Everyone in the district has two jobs, one we do for the Capitol while the sun shines: mining coal, tending crops or cattle, making fabrics, or tinkering with machines, anything the Capitol people need to live, we work for; then there’s our other job, the one that truly matters for our survival. We do it during the full moon when our bodies stop being people bodies, and we walk on four legs and furry paws.
My job is to hunt, just like my father before me and his father before him. We all feel the same quickening of the blood, the euphoria that takes over our senses and all that matters is the chase and catch. The only word I can describe it as is exciting. But father wants me to keep my head when the animal takes over my body. He says that our minds are still ours whatever we look on the outside, so he’s teaching me and other youngsters to hunt in the right mindset.
That’s his job I guess, to make sure we are still ourselves in our heads while we are physically different.
My father grunts when I return. I’m anxiously pacing in front of him, because my bunny could be very well gone by now, but he commands me to sit for a moment, attempting to explain through snorts and growling yawns something about keeping my distance and sniff out the air for other predators, but I’m growing impatient.
We are the top of the food chain during the full moon, maybe this lesson applies during daylight hunting, but right now my rabbit hops from under the brush and I take off without heeding my father’s calls.
I’ve frighten the rabbit in my haste. I see it jump into a bush and makes a dash beyond what I assume to be its burrow, so I take a big leap after it.
As a hunter, I’m built with long, strong hind legs that end in elongated paws with short, flexible toes sort of like human feet, except I have retractable claws for toenails. I’m slim and nimble, and I can easily clear the bush obstructing my way in one jump, but the terrain on the other side is basically a crumbling slope. I can’t stop myself from sliding to the bottom of the hill.
When I’m sure footed on a grassy patch of earth, I shake myself of dust and twigs and other debris. I can hear my father at the top of the hill barking at me to get back up the hill. I scan the drop for a path up, and notice a bunch of openings on the side of the mountain on the far side. I’m not stupid. Father has told me to stay away from caves unless I’m with an adult, and a scout has given it a looksy first.
I plan to give it a wide berth. I’ve filled my quota of recklessness for the day. I’ll be a good, obedient girl for the rest of the night.
My father it’s getting impatient at the top of the hill. I think he’s started to look for a way down, and I see the heads of the rest of our hunting party pop one by one over the edge.
This is humiliating!
I start climbing up, but the dirt under my paws is loose and I slide back down. I try again with the same results, and then I fall on my bottom so hard that I have to sit and whimper for a moment.
But my foolish noise called attention to myself.
My party above began calling, howling and crying in order to warn me of the danger; as if I couldn’t smell the foul best myself! I’m just surprised at how fast everything happened.
One second I’m on my ass whimpering, the next there’s a gigantic, angry bear charging me. I’m bigger that the average wolf, but I’m still a juvenile lycanthrope, I couldn't fight a fully grown bear on my own, but I don’t have to! My first reaction is to cower by the rocky wall, close my eyes and wait to be mauled, but I hear the loud, heavy thud of a body landing in front of me.
I’m not quite sure who it is. I don’t recognize his smell, but it is pleasant even for a werewolf: cinnamon and dill over fur. I think if this is the last thing I smell before dying, it’s okay.
I crack one eye open, and see my savior fighting the bear. I’m completely shocked to see another juvenile, no larger than myself, but he’s vicious, strong and fast.
They go at each other, full body slams, teeth and fangs sinking on thick fur, sharp claws looking to tear chunks of skin and flesh. My young kin gains the upper paw suddenly, jumping over a boulder and throwing his full weight on the back of the bear. He takes a bite of the brutes hide, and shakes his head violently, causing the bear to growl in pain. Then the bear swings an arm backwards, and catches the wolf’s leg and throws him off with little effort.
The young wolf yelps in pain, smacking onto a jagged rock and the beast rushes to finish him off, but out of nowhere a second wolf jumps between them. This one I recognize immediately. It’s my father!
He bares his big, sharp teeth accompanied by the low rumbling of his growl. The bear stops for a moment, studies this new challenger, and charges with renewed fury. My father dodges the attack easily, and draws the fight away from me and the other wolf, who is still trying to find his footing on the ground.
I’m watching with horror frozen to my spot. My father is definitely larger than me and the other juvenile, but he’s a hunter, not a protector. His body is built for chasing and stalking, not for fighting off threats. The bear could still cause him major damage if he’s not careful, but father is smart and more agile than his agresor and soon he’s backed the beast a few feet away, back into the thick of the woods.
I seek our chance.
I approach my rescuer and nudge his side with my nose. He snaps a bite before realizing I’m friendly. He tries to follow me but after two steps he collapses heavily. He tries to stand up once more, but barks in pain and falls under his weight. His leg is badly hurt.
I go back to him, wiggle my body under his front legs and try to help him up, but I was wrong about us being roughly the same size. He’s bigger and heavier than I am. I can’t see him very well from this angle, so I’m not sure if he belongs with the group of hunters or not.
Every individual in the pack has a specialized job, and each of us belong to subgroup with a particular task. We have hunters, scouts, protectors, nannies and pups. Compared to common wolves, our ranks are very differently organized. We don’t have just one overall Alpha we have submit to, but a Council of Elders that decide together what’s best for the pack.
Maybe my benefactor was just a trainee patrolling the hunting grounds, though that seems unlikely. Neither protectors nor scouts send juveniles out to patrol on their own.
A more likely situation could be that he is a rover.
Sometimes when young wolves comes from human parents they don’t immediately know where they belong, neither what are their strengths or abilities, so they rotate around each group to test themselves until they find where they fit. Could this be the case with this guy? I’m not sure, all I know is that he did something for me tonight I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him for.
My rescuer and I take one tentative step forward, but I realize pretty quickly that this arrangement won’t work. My fellow wolf is too heavy for me. I let him hop off me, and I run to the foot of the hill. I whine at the ones up top, and to my surprise I see adults pacing the edge. One of them produces an aggravated bark that sends all the youngsters backwards.
A moment later, the same wolf descends down a narrow trail of rocks I hadn’t noticed before. He doesn’t acknowledge me, going straight to the hurt wolf. The bigger wolf head butts the younger one, until the latter stands, and then does something similar to what I did by getting under the other wolf’s chest, except he successfully lifts him up completely off the ground.
The younger one protests, but he’s so weak that his eyes aren’t even open. The newcomer snorts with annoyance and glares at me. He grunts ordering me to follow.
I try to lag behind. I haven’t seen or heard my father since pushing the fight deeper into the woods, but the wolf turns around and snaps at my tail, leaving me no choice but to pick up my pace.
Because of his impatient demeanor, I assume this is none other than Haymitch Abernathy.
Even as a man, Haymitch is a contrary one, but everyone puts up with his confrontational personality, because he’s really smart and practical.
He snaps at me again, I think he’s just sour about having to haul such a heavy burden up a hill. My father is a few human years older than Haymitch, but he’s undoubtedly in better physical shape than the snarky man.
I’m starting to get aggravated myself.
We trudge all the way up, and meet a whole group of protectors, ready to leap down and search for my father. But suddenly, one of the young hunters howls, jumps and chases his tail.
We all look below, and see my father trotting back with my stupid rabbit hanging from his mouth.
The rest of the wolves copy the first one, celebrating my father’s return, with a prize to boot, regardless of how scrawny the prey.
A scout crashes through the brush, and comes to a short stop just as Haymitch is setting the now unconscious young wolf on the ground. The scout seems agitated. He circles the youngster, and I discern similar scents from him. Looking closer at the scout, I can tell he’s only just a bit older than my rescuer. I reckon they must be siblings.
My father reaches the summit, and stops in front of me, dropping his kill at my feet. I look at him, but his big round lupine eyes are full of reproach, so I drop on my belly and coward away a little when his warm breath reaches my face. He makes a nagging noise before giving me a punishing nip at my ears.
Father steps away from me, and goes to the brothers.
The scout is nuzzling his snout into his brother’s neck, whining and purring.
The biggest wolf in the pack, a fellow named Thom, steps forward. They help position the unconscious wolf on his back, and in a blink of an eye, he’s gone, running towards the district. Father motions me to follow.
I’m not stupid enough to question him this time. I do as he says and jog after the other wolf with my head down and my tail tucked between my legs.
We are not supposed to be inside the district fence while in wolf form, but on the rare occasion there’s a medical emergency we sneak in, as stealthy as we can.
We encounter one of the few unfortunate peacekeepers on watch during the full moon. They usually hate it, but they still have to patrol the district for the humans left behind. Luckily it’s been ages since any of them has been harmed by one of us. We’ve learn to control our mind over our animalistic urges. For the most part we are friendly to humans, but our appearance is still very unnerving to behold.
Long pointy teeth, razor sharp claws, and some of us can be as big as buck. I’d be scared to death too if I encountered myself out roaming the street in the dark.
“Who goes there?” The Peacekeeper calls, he certainly doesn’t sound as shaky as our usual fare. “There’s a curfew in place! Go back to your house!” He says again.
The wolf carrying the sick one steps forward from under the cover of shadows we’ve been walking in. The adult growls lowly, showing cruel, long, slobber dripping fangs. I think he’s going for menacing.
The peacekeeper lifts his visor off, and arches a reddish eyebrow above a green, unimpressed eye.
I breathe easier. It’s just Darius.
“Thom, I know it’s you, so cut it out with the dramatics and get on to wherever you’re going. Just stop trying to sneak up on me, would ya? These shotguns aren’t harmless props, you know.” Darius chastises my companion patting his gun.
I can’t believe the blasted idiot starts wagging his tail at Darius all friendly like. I grunt at the older wolf, we’re supposed to be on a mission!
After settling back, we take off in the direction of my house. In a few minutes, we are at my porch. I climb the steps and start scratching at the door.
My mother comes forth with a heavy bottom frying pan held aloft. I stumble back startled, stepping on Thom’s foot, causing him to grunt in pain.
“Katniss?” My Mother whispers in surprise. “Are you hurt?” She steps out of the house throwing caution to the winds.
I deny it as best I can without spoken language, but she’s already noticed my companions. She steps aside and let’s us inside the house. She hurries to the small bed I share with my sister, and picks up the bundle I know to be a sleeping Prim she goes into her own room. She deposits my sister in her bed and draws the curtains closed.
Sure, a curtain isn’t even a credible defense in case of an attack, but it's easier to pull as a barrier, that climbing into the cellar with a sleeping child in her arms.
I sit in front of the curtain, facing the room, protecting my little sister. One can’t be too careful around hurt, unconscious wolves. There’s no telling what they’ll be like once they wake up in pain and disoriented.
“What’s wrong with him?” Mother asks when Thom places her newest patient on the kitchen table.
Thom makes a series of noises, but my mother waves him off curtly.
“Never mind. I’ll asses his injuries right now, and get the whole story in the morning.” She sighs. “If you’re needed back in the woods, I think we are all set here. Please let the elders know the patient is in my care, and Katniss will stay to help.”
My head shots up. I groan. I hate healing duties! I can’t stand people’s pain, let alone seeing their blood, or worse yet, watching my mother cleaning and dressing them up.
Mother gives me a pointed look that shuts me up right away. I’m a lycanthrope, but I still shiver at a stern glance from my human mommy.
Nobody knows how the affliction works. The gene seems to get passed down arbitrarily, regardless of gender or generation. My mother came from unaffected parents, that yielded two children, one with “the lupine illness,” as some people call it, and the other one, herself, unaffected.
To her parents chagrin, mother married father, a werewolf, and father gave her two children, me: a werewolf, and Primrose: a human.
The Capitol pretends to be unaware of the condition, yet they officially forbid discussing, or even mentioning the “illness.” Looking for cures is out of the question, though it is easier to count the unaffected than it is to put a number on our kind’s population. A few brave souls still try to figure out how to combat the gene, because wouldn’t it be something if we could stop the morphing from happening? If we didn’t pass down the curse to our younglings?
My mother sets to work just as Thom steals back into the darkness outside. I whine quietly, watching the door with longing, but my mother puts me to work right away. I have to fetch stuff for her all over the place, which isn’t that bad; at least I don’t have to see her poking the poor guy’s leg and mopping clean the gashes left by the bear’s claws on his thigh.
It looks painful and raw, the tiny bit I accidentally saw.
She sends me outside to get water from the well, and I’m grateful of the remarked differences between my kind and that of a regular wolf.
We can walk erected, on hind legs, if necessary. Our hind paws work like human feet, elongated and flat. Our front paws are more akin to the animal’s paws, rounded and with very sharp claws, but we actually do have nubs that work similarly to opposing thumbs. We can’t grab things, but we can manipulate things easier.
I bring the water quickly. The moon is already descending, soon the sun will start to crest, and the pack will return home carrying the bounty of the wilderness beyond the district fence. I huff. I wish I was there.
I walk back into the house, and my mother thanks me for the water.
After a few minutes I peek around her shoulder, and noticed a neat row of stitches, replacing the open wounds on the wolf’s leg and part of his side.
Mother notices. “He’s got a few broken fingers in the right hand. But I’ll have to wait until he’s back to human form to set them.”
I sneeze a disgusted snort.
Mother just shakes her head. “Go to sleep, Katniss. You may as well rest before your father comes back to deal with whatever you did.”
My eyes widen in surprise and I just stare at her.
“What? You didn’t think I’d figure out your father sent you home as a punishment?” She says with a smug knowing tone, then she chuckles.
“Sweetie, your father has been looking forward to teaching you everything he knows ever since your first turning. He wouldn’t have sent you home, unless you’ve done something very irresponsible or reckless.”
Her light blue eyes soften, “Katniss,” she combs back the hair of my head, “Your father does what he does, because he loves you, and wants you to be—“
“Heck darn exceptional…”
Of course, instead of words, what came out of my snout when I attempted to finish the sentence was just a long string of canine sounds, incomprehensible to any ear except mine, but mother nods, seemingly understanding my meaning.
“Off to rest. I’ll watch over the boy, until the rest of the pack returns.”
I could’ve hop on my bed and go to sleep there, but being in bed without Prim just feels weird. So I strut back to the curtain hiding my parents sleeping corner, circle around an old threadbare rug that sits right under my parents bed and drop on it like one of those donuts the baker sells some times.
Sleep must’ve taken me immediately, because I come to in my bed, fully human, to whispered voices. This really hasn’t happen to me in over a year. Children with the illness, turn to wolves around their tenth human birthday. They’re considered pups, and have to stay with nannies that watch them, feed them and calm them down if they come from non-wolf parents until they’re 12 and physically mature enough to venture into the woods with the pack.
After that, every wolf has to find their vocation. That’s how everyone finds their place in the pack.
Some people figure out what they are good at easier than others, our bodies adapt to our jobs, and develop accordingly, wherever our strengths and skills are needed.
Scouts have to be swift and extra perceptive, they tend to be smaller and lankier, but they have the sharpest eyesight and can hear and sense things before anyone else does. Protectors are bulkier and heavyset, with claws as sharp and strong as iron blades, their paws are bigger than any wolves, and their teeth can pierce through wood if necessary. A protector's skin is thickest of all of us. They're though and big. Nannies are usually female, with the warmest coats and no-nonsense attitudes. Pups are just small versions of a normal wolf. They’re cuddly and playful. And I’ve already talked about myself as a hunter.
My mother has always said that good manners set people apart from the animals… even if one turns into a wolf on occasion. So I debate staying in bed and pretend I’m asleep, or eavesdrop on the conversation, because I’m awake enough to know that my parents are talking about me.
“She did what?” My mother raises her voice, and father shushes her, pulling her out into the porch.
I only hear him say, “Calm down, I took care of it—“
“That boy got hurt because of h—“
The door clicks shut and my breathing picks up, while my heart rattles frantically in my chest.
“It ain’t your fault, you know. At least, I don’t blame you.” The voice speaking is soft and quiet. It comes from the kitchen table.
“You’re awake?” I ask stupidly.
‘Of course he’s awake! How else would he have told you he didn’t blame you?’ I yell at myself.
“Well… yeah. I know you’re awake too and you heard your folks talking about the bear last night.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He reiterates after a second of deep silence.
I roll my eyes, because he’s being naively kind.
“It too was my fault. I went after that stupid bunny and fell right into the bear’s territory. Some hunter I am.” I grouse.
“Well… when you put it that way…” he chuckles. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll come up with something.”
I crack a smile at the ceiling, laying on my back.
I guess this boy ain’t half bad.
Finally, I sit up on the bed, braiding my long, dark hair for the day.
“So, how you feeling?” I grimace, shoving my feet into my boots. I’m wearing a tattered nightgown older than time itself, but who cares? It’s not like I’m about to meet the love of my life or anything.
The boy answers with a yawn, “I’m a bit sore, but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before.”
He sounds so nonchalant, it tickles me.
“So you make it a habit of fighting wild bears then?” I laugh at my own joke, but I’m taken aback when his answer comes quietly, like it’s a secret. Or a confession rather.
“No… just my mother.”
I swear, every hair in my body prickles.
This whole time I’ve been facing the wall, while making myself presentable, but I turn to see the boy.
He’s laid on his back on the table, his clasped hands rest on his stomach, his face is placidly calm as he stares at the ceiling as well. If it wasn’t for his bare feet twiddling nervously, I would say he was relaxed and untroubled. I notice his mop of curly, blonde hair is damp, a couple of sweat droplets form on his forehead.
I may be wrong, but I think this boy belongs to the baker.
So, he does come from non-wolf parents.
“Mmm… I’m Katniss,” I say, meekly. Taking a tentative step towards him.
“I know.” He says in that same, nonchalant tone, that I peg for fake.
“Oh…” I don’t know what to say for a moment. “Mmm… and you?” I’m a foot away from the table now, I can see his chest heave and fall with every breath he takes.
“I’m Peeta.” He says quietly. “Peeta Mellark.”
He finally turns to face me, and when his incredibly blue eyes collide with mine, it’s like an explosion goes off.
The whole world spins. Time stops and all the colors in the universe turn gray, except for the blue of his eyes.
I vaguely remember how just a minute ago I was sure I wasn’t about to meet the love of my life. Well, joke’s on me! Though I have nothing to compare this feeling with, I’m pretty sure I just imprinted on Peeta Mellark.
Which means: I just met my mate for life, and I’m wearing a ratty sleep dress, older than time itself.