Warnings (this chapter): POV switch, 1st person narrative, OC's
I: Lone Wolves
Of Outcasts and the Departure
He had been whipped that day. The most painful punishment was not only on his skin but in his heart. They wanted to teach him a lesson, a gift to him even as he was scorned, something Alfred thought perhaps now he understood.
His fingers traced the grooves high on his shoulders where wounds once left him gasping from shock. The scars were a reminder of his only redemption and he would have it the day his dreams came to life. It was because he had failed to fill his role and why his pack—even his family—had turned away from him with their eyes to the ground, sending him to live alone. He lingered on the outskirts of their territory, for he truly had nowhere else to go, and made his peace for the time being.
The river water was cold today. It chilled him as he poured it over his arms and washed the grime away. Alfred had wrestled a doe to the ground earlier that day during his hunt and the way she had struggled was admirable. It made his success both a proud and sad one. He would just have to make sure the doe went to good use and was not wasted. Alfred poured more water over his head and, as he ran his fingers through, noticed the leaves that were caught in his long hair. The blond strands stood out against the bold green of early summer, he thought, and took a moment to quietly take in the forest around him.
Trees soared high above him, spreading out amongst the sky in thick branches, and thousands of wide leaves filtered in sunlight as a honeyed glow. A light breeze drifted through from the canopy and the sound coupled with a bird's song somewhere nearby. He followed a fish's path downstream as it brushed past smooth river rocks of every color, along the muddy banks, and past him to distant places. It was a tranquil murmur behind his wandering thoughts until he heard a soft sound that was out of place.
It was the sound of footsteps; and with it, the smell of an Alpha.
May 4th
The tour has gotten off to an unremarkable start. Despite hours of careful planning the month prior, it seems whatever can go wrong will; all for the sake of making me look bad. Everyone involved was given an invitation to stay at Kirkland Manor—delivered by swiftest courier, I assure you—and were allotted three days to arrive. Obviously none could be bothered to make good time. I was told no soul possesses my ability to ready one's bags in an hour yet, this point was boldly made by the ladies of our entourage so, I will take that with a grain of salt.
Aunt Alomina might as well be a feral lioness baring her fangs for all the livid embarrassment she claims to have endured. She fears I might have upset them by the hasty pace of our preparation yet still carries on as if it suits her. Whatever her misgivings with me, she hides it well in front of our guests and for that I am thankful. It was with her backing that the other ladies were persuaded to accept my leadership and I still hear her reassurances when my back is turned. I feel her confidence in my reliability is sorely misplaced but perhaps she will begin to see the results of that mistake in time.
All of the ladies and crewmen are present if the headcount is to be believed. Imagine my luck should I leave even one behind; we would be better off galavanting with the children to public parks looking for faeries.
In light of better news, there have been no reports of delay on the railways out of Greater London and our first stop is a short ways off the coast. I thought it would be a pleasant introduction into what we can expect on the Continent by taking the ferry in Southampton to the Primitive habitat reserve on the Isle of Wight. We won't be but a few days since none of us save the crew are seasoned travelers.
Speaking of which, I have been writing to respected scholars including my former professors and they recommend an expert who has interacted heavily with the Primitives in the Royal Territories. I hope he favors our expedition and decides to meet us. In the meantime, I imagine the ladies in the other car talk of inconsequential things and the crewmen around me play a game of suits. I, on the other hand, will try not to dream of success before it is due.
"So this is where you've been loafing around. My men have been out hunting and barely stick to task with your scent running rampant." Alfred held his place in the stream and looked to the west bank where a man of large build but short stature stood.
He had caramel skin and azure tattoos wrapped around his left arm, more marks trailing from his neck down his midsection. Feathers adorned his short braids and he wore a necklace made of leather. The man's manner of dress was similar to Alfred's: a loincloth, a few leather straps to hold his spear and knife, and a light fur across the shoulders. His scent was strong even being upwind from him and it was the same Alfred had smelled at a mile's distance. He was a high ranking Alpha, his stance was relaxed and even a bit hesitant, both hints that Alfred didn't have anything to worry about for now.
"Ehlis," Alfred lowered his head in submission. The display wasn't necessary, but challenging a single Alpha without any comrades behind him was just as dangerous. He kept his speech casual. "I didn't know you all hunted this far out. I've been a little out of touch with the pack-"
"Yeah, I know. Your hearing must be failing you having to hunt on your own." Ehlis kept his eyes on the banks as if he was talking to the weeds but Alfred knew that part of him would be ready to strike should Alfred make any sudden moves. "There's been less game around here since the cooler weather is further north and west of us. We've had to be more vigilant."
"I've noticed. The doe I caught just now must've gotten lost; she didn't follow any herd." The mention of a kill caught Ehlis's attention and his eyes shot straight to Alfred's before looking away again with a scowl.
"Of course an 'unseeable' would get to it first. Living off the border margin scraps." Alfred's hands curled into fists under the water's current but he made no move to challenge him. Ellis seethed in silence for a moment before turning back to the trail he'd followed to the river. He stopped before the trees were thickest and looked up at the branches. "How big was she? The doe."
Alfred watched him stand still, his posture stiff and tense. Ehlis was listening but expecting the worst for his hunting party. Alfred let himself enjoy the humid heat as he pondered. It would've been easy enough to lie in or out of his favor but there wouldn't be a point. Ehlis would have to look for his own kill either way.
"She looked enough to feed on for two moons on my own. Enough for three until the sun sets." Ehlis scoffed but didn't say anything else as he stalked back into the forest, spear at the ready.
Alfred let himself relax after he could no longer smell his scent in the air and then chuckled to himself. Ehlis might've been out on the borders of the pack's territory hunting but what was he doing following the scent of an Omega?
May 11th
Our stay was truly an eye-opener. There is so much I have yet to understand about the Primitives even as simple as they appear to be. I spent so much time observing them that I didn't think to take record of it. How embarrassing. I would do better to remember such important things or I will have nothing to show for it when I make my proposal to the expert I mentioned.
I'm told that we will receive the post when our party arrives back in Southampton. I already arranged for it to be forwarded there and will send it onwards into the Royal Territories once we reach Falmouth. Perhaps I will hear more from my colleagues then. I'll just try to recount my experiences on Wight as best I can while we ride to the coast.
Before I forget, the ladies have taken it upon themselves to adorn each primitive they've met with a nickname based on their appearance. They have a lovely time of crafting stories based on the bat of an eyelash. I don't know how many times I've heard a story about a saucy brunette and stern ginger having an affair unbeknownst to the raven-haired Primitive. I'm quite certain they are all men despite only one of them possessing long hair. Perhaps I should keep away from such talk and save myself the migraine.
May 15th
I haven't had time for much since we boarded the train. Aunt Alomina tasked me with entertaining the ladies instead of "sitting around with my head in the clouds". It's becoming obvious that they would have nothing to do with me aside from being a tour guide but, I'm afraid they'd be sorely mistaken to count on that particular skill. I've come up with anything that ventures into my head to cure their boredom but, to both them and myself, it is hard to appreciate the journey when the destination seems out of reach. They keep me a breath's distance from my temper at times yet indeed I have not had this much prolonged exposure to social types in quite a while. Perhaps it will be good practice.
Our journey takes us out of Port Pendennis, around England's westernmost tip, and across the English Channel to Boston Harbor. I suppose by then it'll be quite early in the morning when we disembark and find lodgings so, I'd best get sleep while I can.
Night descended over the forest in a lazy fashion, the warmth still carrying on as the moon rose and the stars appeared. Alfred waited until the night concealed him and slinked through the underbrush towards the scent of burning wood. It wasn't too long before he was deep in his pack's territory and through the trees the campfires were bright spheres amongst the darkness. He chose a spot where a few bushes grew close together at the bottom of a hill—his scent wouldn't carry unless someone came close—and watched the silhouettes of his brethren move about.
Much of the pack was settled around the fires, telling stories and sharing the kill their hunting parties had brought back. Alfred figured he could name each shadow, short or tall, he knew the little ones and the scents of their parents. The children scampered through the groups of adults playing their own games, the sounds of their laughter melded in with soft music playing among them.
Alfred sighed. The feeling of loneliness lessened as he watched them grow in health and strength but the longing was always there. It was an underlying notion that he could leave this place and only worry about himself yet he was unable. The bond; that force which connects each member to their pack, a "lone-wolf" to their mate, a son to his family. Yes, that's what it is. Alfred felt it tug on his heart when the moon was high, when the deer ran, or when he heard the cry of an animal in the night. He craved that certain type of warmth with many names but which came from one place. Even as he was certain he would have it back someday, the cold was like a fog which hid the way.
The last of the fires died out as everyone crawled into their dens to sleep and Alfred rose to his feet, sore from sitting so long on the ground. He spared the small mounds one more glance for the night and saw one standing in the grass where he was sure there had been none. The figure turned its face to the moon, still for a moment, then drew a breath. A howl sang from its lungs in a sad and lonesome melody.
The sound told of searching for someone—missing them and reaching for them in the darkness—a delicate rhythm Alfred thought sounded familiar. When the figure turned its body to face his spot in the trees, he ran away from that lonely presence as fast as he could, leaving his heart far behind him.
A/N: Long time no see. I had some trouble with this chapter as you might've noticed but I think it was a wall I had to bust through, no matter the headache. On top of that there was a continuity issue between the first chapter and this one that I had to fix as well. Next chapter should be longer if I can get it to flow easier. OTL
I would like to thank my co-worker, who will not be named, and also Ahr0 for their continued support. They're such good sports when I get ridiculous. Thank you also for the favorites, follows, and reviews! I am so excited this many people like what I've written because I think all my wit was spent trying to win you over last chapter, lol.
I'm sure you're all wondering why the English Channel connects to Boston Harbor. I decided on a AU world and reinvented a little of what we already know of geography. *shrugs* Might be an intellectual choice or a cop-out way of displaying my love for USxUK—no one will know. I posted an AU map with a legend in my profile for any who are interested, it also marks Arthur's journey thus far. Have at it while I work on churning out another chapter.
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