The chapters get longer. This is part 1 of the "Wolf" series. SG-1 comes in around chap. 5. Part 2 of the series will be from SG-1's pov.
Wolf Part 1: Chattel
I was always the kid who took hide-and-seek too seriously. I'd get decked out in black, tie back my long hair, and put on my quietest shoes. A green cap and some dirt hid my red hair and white skin. The other kids would scatter into the woods, plowing through the pine needles to get as far away as they could. I'd take my time, crouching down, looking for the perfect spot. The little dip behind bushes that looked too thin to provide enough cover, and yet, when I crouched down, balanced on the ball of my feet, I was invisible. The other team would pass me several times, each time dismissing the dark, still shadow behind the scraggily bush. At last, a few feet from my position, they'd give up. They had a heart attack every time I popped up beside them. I'd tell them how I did it, but, even then, I used a shallow ditch to hide, laying flat with a few pine needles thrown over me and they would have stepped on me had I not cried out.
Rarely was I picked for the team that searched. I sent the others ahead of me, weeding out the obvious. When they returned, still a few short, I left them to wait while I searched. It took no tracking skills to follow the trails of torn-up dirt, nor, with my silent steps, to hear the raspy gasp and scraping feet that signaled a tree-borne hider. I'd look up and laugh, the child barely able to keep his grip. The ones that cheated, moved, were almost as easy. Most of the time I could simply stop and wait. Their own scrabbling through the undergrowth gave them away.
I never considered it a profession; indeed, no one remembered my skills as we outgrew the childish game. I was destined to become a teacher. Not that I had children-skills, or even people-skills, but that was what my mother was, so that was what I was to be. I was good at everything, well, nearly everything. Math posed some problems, but it was overcome. Science was my passion. I loved how things worked, how the body changed, fought back, healed. How you could throw a ball and know exactly where it would land. Forces. Of course, as a woman, I was not expected to educate myself any further than necessary, and to be frank, I was grateful. The schools took the fun out of science. I read and learned what interested me. Philosophy was a bore, psychology obvious, and chemistry incomprehensible. History, biology, physics that was what interested me. Even the stars caught me, though not the constellations or the movements, but the theories of what was out there. There were old stories, lost in my societies' myths and altered histories, of visitors who brought us from the stars. Although how they traveled was a mystery. Something about a gate.
I was a teacher's aid, about to get my own class, when they came. I had stayed after school that day, cleaning the board, when I heard the screams. Eyes wide, I crept towards the door.
The armored suits, birds of prey, tore through my small village, weapons spitting fire at everyone who moved. A terrible silence filled the town. I held my breath. The birdmen searched every house. As they drew closer, occasionally dragging an unconscious person from their home, I backed slowly from the door. Mind clicking furiously, I sought escape. The coal vent. Behind the old stove, unused since winter, the black shadow of coal outlined the vent.
I struggled with the heavy stove, finally shoving it out of the way. I ripped the vent open, choking in the dust. I could see daylight. The door slammed open. I turned, gasping as two of the birdmen entered.
"Kree!" one shouted, pointing his weapon at me. I froze. The other man pressed on the side of the bird mask. It slid down to reveal his face. The hard blue eyes of the man behind the mask were no different from his mask. He said something to the other man. The weapon wavered.
I bolted down the hole, my skirts in a death grip as I sprinted, covered in coal dust, into the forest.
My breath rasped in my throat. I knew I had to find a place to hide; I'd never be able to outrun them. I crouched as I ran, eyes flitting furiously. Finally, I spotted it-- a low branch on a tree almost weeping with summer foliage. I leapt, the smooth soles of my boots scrabbling against the rough bark. I pulled myself onto the branch, climbing as high as I could. At last, I perched on a branch barely able to support my light weight. I froze.
I could hear them. Their heavy armor made them loud, crashing through the brush. I was not a cove dove. I would not be frightened off my perch. I held my breath as one of the birdmen walked beneath me, searching. He passed. I released my breath in relief and shifted on my branch. That was my fatal mistake.
Shouting, the man returned. Others soon followed. I made no move, hoping he was only guessing. It was too late. The men pointed their weapons at me, screaming at me in their foul language. The branch beside me burst, and I screamed, covering my face with my hands. They laughed. Again, they commanded me. I did not move. One of the weapons pointed at me and opened.