Archive of Our Own

last night the wind blew down

i called you up with no answer.

Fischl first meets the wolf pack in winter.

At the time, her flock had left her—and some of her other siblings, to stay with the local wolf pack while they did some weird grown-up stuff she couldn’t understand; far too many big words with no real meaning were said when she asked about it. Treaties, ugh! 

She had never met the wolf pack before then, but she knew very well about them. Her siblings often chatted about them, and her grandpa always told them stories about them. 

Long, long ago, before any of us were born, a wolf and a crow shared a meal. 

Fischl loves that story.

Thus, starting the age-old friendship of wolf, and corvid. 

She’s damn near memorized it by heart now.

She knows the local wolf pack are in close relations with her flock, but she and her siblings have never met them until now. “ Now you behave for Andrius and his pack, little chicks.” She remembers her mother saying, cupping their faces individually and kissing each of their foreheads. “ The pack has gone through a rough patch lately, and you little rascals causing trouble while they already have enough on their plate... just be polite, mom and dad will be back soon.”

Then, their mother and father had dropped them off in a weird smelling place, with weird looking people. People with pale skin and grey hair, with furry ears on their heads and canines sharper than Fischl's will ever be. 

Fischl's siblings were excited, immediately introducing themselves to the pack. She remembers watching them chat along with the wolves, stars in their eyes. Fischl though, well, she was a shy child. Instead, she hid in the background, wishing she were able to blend in with the snow. Alas, she could not. She’s spotted immediately by a big man, with broad shoulders and smile lines around his eyes. His hair is white, and he seems to be the leader of the pack.

He holds out a large, scarred hand, and gives her a smile. “ Why, hello there little crow.” He says. His voice is deep, rumbly, and comforting. “ Are you scared?”

She nods at the man, who towers over her, yet feels so welcoming. 

“ Come, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the pack then.” The man still smiles, waiting for something. “ I’ll even hold your hand the entire way through, you can huddle in my cloak if you’d like?” 

It was like he was experienced with small, scared, crow children. 

She takes his hand hesitantly. Before she stands up, and lets him lead her around the makeshift camp the pack had set up.

“ This is Razor.” The man says, introducing her to a boy around her age. He has red eyes, grey hair, and his ears are oversized on his head. He stares at her curiously, tilting his head. “ He’s shy, like you.”

And Fischl holds out her hand towards the boy, the boy hesitantly takes it. They shake it. 

“I’m Fischl.” She says, after what felt like forever keeping her mouth shut.

“...Razor.” Says the boy.

Fischl suddenly feels like staying with the pack won’t be so bad after all.

it's all a waste of time

i've wanted this since forever

It turns out, Fischl’s parents are going to be gone longer than expected. Leaving her and her siblings behind with the wolf pack for... a long time. 

Fischl and Razor become good friends in this time. Fischl is 7, her wings are only just starting to grow in. Razor is also 7, he has yet to have his first transformation.

They are both late bloomers. Crow-shifters often having their wings start growing in when they’re 6, and werewolves having their first transformations at the same age. Fischl's grandpa says it’s because of wolves and corvids' close ties that these events happen at the same age. Fischl likes to think it’s a happy coincidence.

In this time, Fischl starts to get closer to her brother: Oz. Oz isn’t as shy as her, but he isn’t as social as their other siblings. Oz is 5, and Fischl is 2 years older than him. Oz starts joining her in everything she does. From playing with Razor, to eating beside Andrius—who seems to have taken a shine to her since he introduced her to the rest of the wolf pack. 

Oz doesn’t remember their parents very well. But Fischl tells him all about them. She tells him about how nice their mom was, with her black hair and soft cheekbones. How she was scary when mad, but she didn’t get mad that often, so Oz had no need to worry. She tells him about their dad, with his blond hair and green eyes. Who’s quiet and reserved, but always finds the time for each and every one of his children. Their parents, with their big wings and kind words. 

She tells him that they’re going to come back very soon, they just left to do grown up stuff. Although, Fischl’s starting to doubt that. Grownup stuff surely doesn’t take two years, right?

“ We’ve lost contact with the flock...” She overhears one of the wolves saying, a dark night near the end of winter and on the edge of spring, where the snow is all but a moth-eaten blanket on the ground. She’s one of the older ones, one of Andrius’s daughters. Who went out to see the world on her own, but then came back from her adventures to help out the pack. “ What will we tell the children?”

“See if we can reestablish contact.” Adrius’s comforting voice responds, except he sounds tired. And worried. Something Fischl doesn’t think Andrius could ever be. “ I don’t want to assume the worst until absolutely necessary. Tell the children that their parents are simply taking longer than expected on their... grownup stuff.”

“Will do.” The wolf says. “ I really hope nothing’s happened, for the children's sake.”

“Me too, Hound.”

And then the conversation dies down, and Fischl goes back to wrestling with Razor. She didn’t understand much of what they said anyway, so surely it didn’t matter.

but I don’t know

it's not the way I thought

Fischl first sees him on the worst day of her life. 

It’s winter again, Fischl is 8 now. Her wings are now puffy with down feathers. Razor has recently had his first transformation, and Oz is starting to grow his own wings.

She hasn’t seen her parents in three years. She hasn’t seen her grandpa in three years. She hasn’t seen her aunt, or her uncle, or any of the adults in the flock in three years. She’s still short, she’s smaller than all of her siblings—except Oz and she’s smaller than Razor too. She’s scrawny, and the older pack members worry she’s not eating enough. 

Fischl thinks she’s eating perfectly fine, thank you! Andrius makes sure of it, he’d never let a member of his pack go hungry, and he’d never let his guests go hungry either.

She hasn’t seen her family in 3 years, she’s almost forgotten about them. Forgotten isn’t really the right word, but she makes do. More like she doesn’t really care. She’s gotten used to her life in the pack, and while she still tells stories to Oz, and whispers words at night; hoping that the winds will carry her message. She still thinks about her parents everyday, but she hasn’t seen them in 3 years. They weren’t there when her feathers grew in, they weren’t there when she broke her arm during her first summer here, they weren’t there when she made her first friend outside of the flock. They haven’t celebrated her birthday in two years.

She doesn’t mind, she knows there's reasons why they can’t make it, but it still makes her care less and less about them each year that goes by. 

Which is why, when she hears her brothers and sisters whispering about mother and father, and how they’re finally coming home, after years of waiting! She feels that spark ignite in her chest again. The spark she had when their parents left them behind in the wolf pack, promising they’d be back soon. The belief that their parents were coming home. 

Fischl is the third oldest of her siblings. She hasn’t seen the oldest in three years, the second oldest is 13 and doesn’t talk to her or her younger siblings much anymore. Which leaves Fischl to do everything the oldest siblings should do. Like telling stories, playing games, and everything else.

Then, on a night in winter, when she’s curled up in bed with Razor—who's drooling on her, but that’s okay, there's commotion outside the camp.

Then, Oz bursts into their tent, shaking her to her senses. “ They’re back! Mom and dad, they’re back! I saw them, Fisch, I saw them!”

Which in turn, causes Fischl to jump out of bed, waking Razor in the process. He stares at them confused, while Oz rants all about it. Telling them, they’re home! They’re home! Razor you can finally meet our parents!

Then, the three of them leave the tents. They leave the tent to a hoard of whispering and wolves. Fischl can spot the eldest of their siblings, standing to the side of it all. The grownups here all tower over her, and they’re all crowding around something. 

Fischl leads the way of her little group, containing her, Oz, and Razor. They pick up a few of her siblings along the way as she pushes past the crowd. Eventually, they make it through the front, six children of varying ages all peeking through the legs of the adult wolves, taking in the sight in front of them.

There, being carried by two wolves bearing the unmistakable grey of Andrius’s pack, is her mother. They’re both transformed, their jaws wrapped around her legs and hands respectively. Her eyes are closed, black hair looking misshapen and unkept. Yet, she looks peaceful. With her eyes closed and that empty look on her face.

There are black spots all over her body. 

Later, Fischl learns those are burns.

What happened, the wolves around them whisper. Where are the others? They murmur. What about the children? They all question.

Fischl watches the wolves carry her mother’s sleeping body past, disappearing into Adrius’s tent. Then, another wolf follows. She recognizes this wolf, it’s Hound. The eldest of Andrius’s children, with a nose like no other. The one with a big scar over her eye. In her human form, she has black hair, and piercing golden eyes.

Apparently, she takes after her mother, while most others in the pack take after Andrius.

Hound is carrying something. Or more like someone. Hound’s teeth gripping onto brown fur, a limp body, with fluffy ears and halfway closed eyes. Fischl can see it breathing. Its eyes are green like hers. It’s around the same size as Razor when he’s transformed, but a bit smaller. There’s a gash on its forehead, dripping blood into its eyes.

It’s a werewolf pup.

A werewolf pup that was not part of Andrius’s pack.

Fischl isn’t sure what to think, other than she wants to be there when her mom wakes up from her slumber.

i tried for you to see

but you’ll never know

Fischl is barely 8 when she watches Adrius strike the match and set fire to her mother's body, melting the snow around it.

She knows now, her mother was never sleeping. She knows now that she’ll be staying with the wolf pack for the foreseeable future. She knows now that she’ll never hear stories from her grandpa again. She knows now that she'll never see her aunt, or her uncle, or any of the adults from the flock who aren’t her eldest brother.

Fischl ends up being the one to comfort her siblings that day. Not her brother, who was 23, and should be doing it instead. Not her sister, who’s 13, and would be the second next best person to do it. Fischl, who was 8, whose feathers were still only down feathers. 

Fischl, who didn’t even know how to fly yet.

She doesn’t cry at the funeral, unlike everyone else. Even Razor, who never knew Fischl’s parents outside of her stories, cries. Everyone cries except her, she’s not sure why.

She just feels numb.

She just feels... empty. Like someone had drained her of everything that made her, her. 

Fischl doesn’t cry at the funeral. She doesn’t cry when the flames engulf her mother's skin. She doesn’t cry when Andrius gives his speech. She doesn’t cry when her older brother breaks down on his, and she doesn’t cry when her older sister doesn’t give one at all. She doesn’t cry when the rain starts, putting out the smoke, and she doesn’t cry when Hound gathers the ashes of what's left in a mason jar, dropping it into a tiny, drawstring bag.

She doesn’t cry, even hours after the whole ordeal when she’s trying to fall asleep in her and Razor’s tent. Everyone cried, except her.

The next day, Fischl wakes up, and it feels like the world has already moved on. If it weren’t for how everyone was walking on glass around... well, around everyone, she would’ve thought it was a normal day. 

The second eldest of Andrius’s children, one of the ones who came back to the pack instead of starting his own, cooked what was left of the pack’s latest hunt. Everyone gathered around the lit campfire, chatting and joking as if yesterday never happened at all. Even though this was the case, Fischl still noticed the dark rings under many pack members' eyes. She still noticed how quieter the chatter was than normal, and she still noticed how Andrius looked older than he ever did before.

She finds she’s not very hungry that day. Unlike Razor, who ate more than he usually did—which was a lot, because Razor’s stomach was a bottomless pit of no return, she didn’t eat much at all. She just nudges the meat around with her hands, a lump stuck in her throat. 

“ Fischl.” Andrius says after a while. “ Why aren’t you eating your food? You know the hunters worked hard to get it.”

“I don’t know.” Fischl says, and her voice feels tinier than ever.

Andrius leaves her alone after that. Maybe Andrius knows why her appetite is suddenly gone, and that’s why he leaves her alone.

Any other day, the old werewolf would bug her until there was nothing, not even a single crumb, left on her plate.

Then, something catches her eye. Off in the background, separated from the packs gathering, sits Hound. She’s tearing her food up into tiny pieces, Fischl isn’t sure why. Then, Fischl catches sight of him. 

It’s the pup from when they brought her mother's body in. Now that there’s no longer blood caking his fur, and the bodies of other wolves aren’t blocking her vision, she can see him fully. He’s thin and scrappy, scrappier than her. Fischl can count every one of his ribs, even from this distance. His eyes are the green of dead grass, not unlike hers. His fur is brown, but he has patches of white—mainly around his paws and ears.

There’s a bandage wrapping around his forehead and covering his right eye.

Hound says something to pup, nudging him. 

He bends down, snapping up the food in his jaws.

Fischl feels the first emotion she’s felt in a good week: anger. 

This pup—who's the same age as her and Razor—comes waltzing into her pack, her flock. He comes at the same time her mother’s body comes in, and he’s covered in blood. So, surely, he must be the reason why all this is happening? Right? He and her mom must be connected. So, it must be his fault she’s dead.

Fischl, despite having never talked to this pup, decides right then and there that she hates him.

oh it’ll never work

don’t you see

you gotta let it hurt x2

Fischl doesn’t see the pup around much after that. 

She’s very happy about this, mind you. The less of that kid's face she has to see, the less anger she has to feel, and the less she has to think about her mom, or her dad, or her grandpa, or anyone else from her flock for that matter.

The weeks since she finds out about her mother's death pass by quickly, and before she knows it, it’s spring. The snow has all melted, and the flowers are starting to bloom again. The pack is starting to pack up the camp and are preparing to move back to their camp for the summer—a journey that takes almost the entirety of spring. 

With the move comes Fischl's birthday. 

Oz’s birthday is the day after hers. Razor’s is in four months.

Spring brings many things. It brings her 9th birthday, along with her new feathers and the ability to fly. Andrius takes aside her brother, who is 24 and already knows how to fly and tells him to teach her. Because wolves don’t fly, and he’s not about to let her figure it out on her own.

Fischl learns how to fly on the go. She learns how to fly during the trek from the pack's winter camp to the summer camp. Her brother takes her away from Razor and Oz, and they climb a tree together. Then, her brother will walk her through the steps of flying. She learns how to glide, she learns how to conserve her energy, she learns about wind currents and how to pull off a safe landing.

She also learns how to transform.

She learns how to will her body into that of a crow, just like how Razor can will his into that of a wolf.

She finds a newfound joy in flying; her brother says it’s normal. Her brother says that flying is, and always will be, a crow's greatest joy in life.

Fischl likes to think she just enjoys flying, not that it’s in her blood.

When she’s not hanging out with Oz—who's now 7—and Razor, she’s flying. She’s jumping off the top of pine tree’s holding her arms out and letting her feathers catch the wind. She’s watching the pack from above; she feels like she can conquer the entire world when she’s up in the sky. Sometimes, her brother joins her.

She and her brother hang out a lot more nowadays. He shows her the surrounding wilderness, from the tallest redwood to the deepest lake. He tells her stories, and some of them are far better than any of her grandpas. The story of how the wolves and crows were first friendly to each other will always be her favourite, but she finds herself liking these new, exciting stories too. The Goose and the Wren, The Wind’s Lover, The Sleeping Earth. She loves them all. The friendship between the Goose and the Wren as they travel the world, the Wind’s sorrow over its yearning for its lover, the Earth deep in its slumber, dreaming about the Wind, and the Earth's dreams give birth to the first pine tree.

Her brother always seems a bit sad, however.

He spends a lot of time sleeping, often catching up to the pack hours later. He always has this sad look in his eyes, and when Fischl asks about it, he always says it doesn’t matter, at least not for a kid like you. And it makes Fischl want to scream, because her brother’s obviously not happy, and yet he thinks she’s too young to know about it!

She’s not too young. Her brother is wrong. Is it really her fault that she cares?

She tells this to Razor, who doesn’t really understand. “ Brother sad? Cheer him up.”

To which Fischl responds that she’s tried. And that there's no reason to be sad anymore, he’s with the pack and that should be enough to keep him happy, right? Surely, there’s something wrong. 

She gets her answers when she tells this to Andrius.

“ Sometimes, people are sad without reason.” He says, tending to the fire. “ And sometimes there's nothing you can do about it, other than be there for them.”

Near the start of summer, when the pack starts bringing out the tents and setting up the summer camp, Fischl starts seeing the pup a lot more.

He mostly trails after Hound, but occasionally he follows Andrius around too. Thankfully, he doesn’t do the latter often, but Fischl can’t help but dislike how fond Andrius seems to be with the pup. Fischl's pretty sure she’s never seen him outside of his wolf form, and he seems pretty shy—like her when she first arrived in the pack. His fur seems to be thriving in the heat, the sun seeming to make the brown even warmer than it was already.

Fischl’s first ever time interacting with him is when she’s observing. 

She’s broken off from the rest of the pack to do her own thing. She’s 9 now, and Andrius is starting to trust her to be on her own for longer periods of time. She spends a lot of her time sitting in the redwood trees, going as high as she can without getting into trouble. She often watches the pack, eyes scouring the surroundings. She’s not sure why, but it feels right.

Her brother says it’s a crow thing. When a crow bonds with a wolf pack, the crow will start to observe for any danger, and call if it sees anything amiss. Fischl likes to think she just enjoys being high up. Although, she wouldn’t mind protecting the pack in her own little way.

She’s sitting in one of the redwood trees, watching as Razor play fights with one of his older siblings. He’s not winning, but he’s not losing either. Both of them seem to be having fun. She’s so busy watching, that she doesn’t hear the scratching of claws on bark, until a familiar face is hanging upside down in front of her.

“ Hi.” Says the boy, who looks around the same age as her. Somehow, she knows it’s the pup she’s sworn hatred too. It’s the dead grass eyes that give it away.

She nearly falls off her tree in shock, but the boy manages to catch her before she does, a worried look on his face. He has a scar on his right, straight through the eye. His ears are snow-white, same with his hair. It contrasts with his dark skin. 

If Fischl didn’t hate him, she’d say he looked beautiful.

“Who are you?” The boy asks. “I’ve seen you around, but I’ve never gotten the courage to talk to anyone else besides Andrius and Hound... So, I decided to make a friend! Who are you?”

Fischl suddenly feels her world very clearly. From the feeling of bark on her palms, from the way the wind ruffles each individual feather of her wings. 

She holds her hand out. “Name’s Fischl. You?”

The boy smiles, his smile is so wide that she can feel her own cheeks hurt at the idea. He has a front tooth missing, and he seems like the type to whistle through it.

He takes her hands, shaking it. “I’m Bennett!”

“Nice to meet you.” Fischl says. 

Then, the boy lowers himself from the branch above her, proceeding to sit next to her. “Can’t wait for our wonderful friendship to commence, Madame Fischl!”

If anything, Fischl wants the exact opposite.

i think of ways to fly

we smoked away in the basement

Despite her efforts, Fischl cannot shake Bennett's determination to be her friend. 

Somehow, the boy weasels his way into being Razor’s friend, which makes her basically morally obligated to be nice to him. Along with that, he somehow manages to get Oz to like him, telling her younger brother stories that somehow beat hers. 

And Fischl? Fischl hates every single part of him.

She hates his stupid white hair. She hates his stupid dark skin, and she hates his stupid tail that wags whenever he talks to her. She hates how he’s always smiling and how he never seems to be sad. She hates how he never seems to care about the past, and only the future. She hates his stupid face that always has bandages on it, and she hates his equally stupid bad luck. She hates his brown fur, and she hates his dead grass eyes.

Fischl hates him. 

Bennett doesn’t seem to get the memo.

He seems to have gotten the idea that Fischl likes him. That Fischl enjoys his company.

And so, a year passes by. Fischl is now 10, Razor is 10 too. Oz is 8, and Bennett is 10 as well. 

Now that Fischl's 10, Andrius lets her do more stuff by herself. He lets her pick her own berries, sew her own clothes, and even join in on the hunts sometimes! Although, he never lets her join in, in the sense of the hunting and killing part. He lets her fly above and watches the thing go on below. 

Now that Razors 10 (and by extension, Bennett. She tries not to think of that though, because she hates him and she’d rather pretend he doesn’t exist), he gets taken on the hunts as well. Any wolf worth their money knows how to down an elk. She now finds herself awfully worried about him (and Bennett too, she supposes. It’s not because she’s warming up to him, or whatever. It’s just because he’s part of the pack and so that means Fischl can’t help but be a bit protective,) because hunts are dangerous. Even with the human side helping out, hunts don’t always end in success. More often than not, they don’t.

What if they accidentally receive a kick to the chest, breaking their ribs? Or what if they get trampled under the fleeing hooves of their prey? What if they down an elk that’s sick, and end up sick themselves? So many what-ifs.

Her brother says it’s only natural for her to be protective about those she cares about. 

She likes to think she’s just a good person, because she hates Bennett and definitely does not care about him.

(She can’t deny it though, she doesn’t know what she would do if he got hurt. Or if Razor got hurt, or even—Wind's forbid, Oz got hurt.)

(And so, Fischl's life falls into a routine.)

i kissed your lips slow and dry

we danced until we were wasted

Bennett’s been down lately, and Fischl doesn’t know why.

It’s been three years since he started going out on hunts with Razor, Andrius, and the rest of the pack. Fischl's 13 now, and now is Razor, and so is Bennett. Oz is 11, and now he joins her on her flights. She helped her brother teach Oz to fly. She doesn’t think she ever felt prouder than in that moment, watching her brother soar the wind currents for the first time.

More often than not, she finds herself spending less time with Oz, and more time with Razor and Bennett. She feels a bit bad, leaving her little brother out on things, but Oz has found some of his own friends in the pack and he can’t just follow her around all day. She can see him talking with her other siblings a lot of the time, along with some of Razor's brothers and sisters. The ones on the younger side.

Razor is the youngest in his family. Andrius hasn’t had any children since him, and Fischl thinks she knows why.  

Oz still hangs out with them, of course, but he’s being more social. He’s being part of the pack, just like Fischl is.

During the summer, she, Razor, and Bennett, will go down to the lake. They’ll wade in the water, letting the liquid cool them off in the hot summer heat. They’ll splash around, throw water at each other, effectively soaking each other's clothes. 

During the summer, Fischl's older sister leaves the pack. 

She says she’s 17 now and wants to forge her own life.

They throw a party when she leaves.

Fischl doesn’t find herself to care much, she and her sister were never close. Her older sister never connected with her younger siblings, and she didn’t connect with their older brother either. So, Fischl didn’t really care much when she left, and brought her friends with her. Because they were never close, they were never family.

Maybe when they were kids, maybe when Fischl was 5 and she was 8. Maybe, in another universe.

During the summer, two of Razor's siblings die. 

They die an honorable death. It happens during a hunt. The pack hadn’t had a successful one in a week or two, and everyone was hungry. So, Andrius decides they would go after a buck, instead of a doe or calf, to make up for the week spent in hunger. 

At first, the hunt went well. They separate the buck from its herd, and they’re damn near about to kill it too, before bam. It kicked two wolves who were on the rear end. 

Two bodies are burned a week later: Hound and Orion. 

During the summer, she watches her friend fall into a pit of sadness.

Although no one else notices it, she does. 

Bennett's quieter, he’s still loud, but he’s quieter enough that Fischl can sense it. He has bags under his eyes, and they always look a bit red. When she asks about it, he says it doesn’t matter. And the situation is far too familiar. It reminds her of her brother, who's 28 now. The one who taught her how to fly. How he would always stare into the distance, always frowning, always sleeping. Always sad.

The thing is, her brother ended up being alright in the end.

In the end, he started smiling. In the end, he was happy again.

She remembers Andrius’s words that day. 

Sometimes, people are sad without reason.

And sometimes there's nothing you can do about it other than be there for them.

Fischl decides she’ll be there for Bennett. She’ll be there for Razor too, and for Oz, and her younger siblings, and even her older sister who she doesn’t care much about.

People are allowed to be sad; people are going to be sad. 

But people shouldn’t be sad without people there to help them through it. Fischl's not going to let her friend be sad without someone there to help him through it. Fischl's going to be there for him, whether he likes it or not.

oh, it’s a dream i'm in

and all I need

is many ways to fly away

She watches him be sad for an entire year. He doesn’t seem to be getting better.

The winter of last year has gone by, and now fall has arrived. It’s getting colder, and the leaves are starting to fall from the deciduous trees, covering the ground in many reds and yellows and oranges. It reminds her of fire. 

She’s 14 now, so is Razor, and so is Bennett. Oz is 12, and joins her in her observations of the pack hunts. The seasons are passing, they’re growing older. More responsibilities are placed onto them. You’ve got to pull your weight. A useless wolf isn’t much of a wolf at all. Razor goes out on more dangerous hunts, and Bennett hangs out around Razor's sisters. Fischl sees him playing with their pups.

He only ever seems to be happy—truly happy, when he’s doing that, so Fischl decides she doesn’t care.

Fischl is given the task to scout out for danger, most of her time is spent in the trees. Razor and Bennett have learned how to climb them, just so they can hang out with her.

Bennett and Razor are her best friends.

She doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

Soon enough, fall fades into winter. They've set up the winter camp, in the same place they always do. They are now surrounded by pine trees instead of redwoods. Fischl now finds herself in her heavier clothes, the ones that trap in the heat. These ones have fur linings, to keep her warm. The rest of the pack does this too. 

Often, people are cuddling up for warmth.

This winter is colder than it should be. She overhears Andrius say one day. We should be prepared for losses.

Fischl doesn’t want to be prepared for losses. 

What if one of those losses is Razor? What if one of those losses is her brother, who's 29 now, what if what of those losses is Bennett? Or even Andrius himself? Or Oz. 

Fischl doesn’t want to have to prepare herself for that. 

With the winter, brings hunger. 

There’s less prey in the winter, which means less food to go around. Fischl’s used to it by now, she’s been living with the pack for nine years now, she’s used to the hunger that comes with winter. Every wolf must be ready for hunger. Ignoring how, she’s not a wolf. She’s a crow. Oz is a crow, her brother is a crow, her little siblings are crows. Her older sister, ultimately, is a crow.

Wolves and crows have always had a long-standing friendship.

Has a crow ever been raised by a wolf, though? 

What happens when a crow is raised by wolves? They don’t just become wolves, do they? 

They don’t. But they do come part of the pack, Fischl decides. You don’t magically become a wolf, but you do become a part of the pack. You are family now; you can’t do anything about that. Even if you wanted to.

With winter, comes disease.

Most winters bring your usual sickness: colds, the flu, and not much else. The wolf pack knows how to treat both of those illnesses, and the other ones they attract are similar enough that they know how to treat those too. In Fischl's stay with the pack, she never had to worry about sickness.

But then, on one of the hunts, they bring back a doe. She seems mostly okay, except for the fact she’s dead, but a wolf’s gotta eat, you know? 

They salvage enough of the doe to last a week when rationing, and then the hunters bring her body far, far away from the camp, and leave it there. It’s so the scavengers can have their share, and that they don’t attract any bears, or coyotes, or mountain cats for that matter into their camp. Razor’s sisters' kids are still pups, they’re still tiny, and they can still be swept away by a coyote if it found its way to their camp.

There must have been something wrong with that doe, because not soon after, the hunting party fell sick, and so did a lot of other people.

The pack is down on numbers. They’re struggling more than ever. 

We need to do something! She overhears one of Andrius’s daughters begging him. We need to get help; we need to suck it up and just ask for help from the humans.

Fischl's not sure what they’re talking about. 

No. Andrius says, firmly. Those creatures are untrustworthy, filthy liars. They are hypocrites, and I will not trust my pack in their furless paws. Only if worse comes to worst.

Then, his daughter—her name is Sharptooth, she’s Hound’s sister—breaks down. She can hear the sobs. But the worst has already come, hasn’t it, father?

But Andrius stands strong in his decision. 

The disease takes the pack like a surprise thunderstorm. 

Many fall sick to this strange illness, many are left quarantined in their nests. 

Fischl seems to be immune. 

Oz seems to be immune. So does her brother, and her younger siblings. 

Almost all of those who fall sick die. They’ve burned many bodies this winter, and Fischl doesn’t want to see them burn any more. She’s starting to hate fire. She’s starting to hate the warmth it brings; she’s starting to hate the family it’s brang together. She hates the colours, the smell, the heat. Everything about fire, she’s starting to despise. 

The pack is starving. She feels herself getting thinner, weaker. She gets winded after climbing trees she would have scaled effortlessly before. She’s always light-headed, always nauseous. She sleeps more, waking up in the later hours of the day.

Fischl is starving. The pack is starving. Oz is starving. Razor is starving.

Everyone is starving. There’s no one to hunt, everyone's too sick to hunt. There’s no food, except the berries that Fischl and her brother manage to pick from the bushes. Even then, berries aren’t enough to feed a wolf pack.

Fischl's started fainting lately. 

If she stands up too fast, darkness will overcome her, until she’s on the floor and dragging herself back up. If she stands for too long without sitting down, the darkness comes. If she walks for too long, darkness comes.

She knows this is an effect of hunger. 

Everyone's starving.

The worst has come to worst. 

There’s no food, people are sick, people are dying.

Andrius finally comes to his senses. It seems he’s finally realized that they can’t just avoid help forever. She overhears him and Sharptooth talking, one day. Go, go seek help. He says. We’re going to die like this if you don’t. The next day, Sharptooth leaves. Presumably, to find help.

The same day, Bennett starts coughing. 

It starts out small, when they’re hanging out in a tree together with him and Razor. He coughs into his sleeve a few times, and then that’s it. Maybe, it’s just a cold. Maybe, it’s just a cough. But then it gets worse. He doubles over coughing when they get back to the camp, and he just doesn’t stop. It goes on for minutes, everyone’s worried, but too afraid to get close.

The answer is obvious: he’s sick too. 

Fischl’s never felt such visceral fear before.

She might as well prepare the obituary already. Most wolves who catch the disease don’t survive. And knowing Bennett’s luck, he might as well be dead already.

She’s the only one allowed to see him in the tent, where all the other sick wolves are. She and her siblings, because they’re crows. They’re not wolves. The sickness doesn’t affect them. She stays there day and night; she becomes used to the smell of overheated bodies and the sound of never-ending coughing. 

Two more wolves die, Bennett lives. 

He’s barely hanging on, she knows this. She spends the nights listening to his breathing, never falling asleep in fear it might stop. She takes his hands and feels for his pulse when he’s sleeping, counting the beats and staying there until she’s sure he’s alive. She doesn’t spend much time outside the tent, she fears that if she leaves, then Bennett will be gone forever. That if she looks away, he’ll stop breathing. 

The pack has started scavenging instead of hunting. Andrius doesn’t like to do it, she’s overheard him the few times she’s left the sick tent. 

Those who are well enough are going out to look for leftovers from bears, or cougars, or even coyotes . They’re bringing back rabbits instead of elk, and they’re bringing back used meat instead of fresh meat.

Fischl's still starving. The pack’s still starving.

What they have is barely enough to keep them going.

Fischl just wants to survive.

it will never work

oh, don’t you see

you gotta let it hurt

Fischl meets a human for the first time when she’s 14. 

They come into the sick tent, and Fischl is terrified. They have dark skin—much like Bennett's, who’s still curled up on a spare mattress, overheated and barely even breathing. They have an eyepatch, and blue hair. They must dye it; she’s heard of the concept. Her grandpa used to tell her stories of humans who dyed their hair unnatural colours. 

It's so predators think they’re poisonous.

They have no claws to protect themselves, nor wings to fly them away. So, they make up for it with lies and deceit.

They come in with another human, with paler skin and brown hair. She reminds Fischl of her mom, someone she hasn’t thought about in... a while.

They’re followed by Andrius, who has bags under his eyes. He’s frowning, and Fischl knows that under the cloak his ribs are showing. Everyone's ribs are showing. 

“ This is bad.” The one with blue hair says. “ This is really, really bad Andrius.”

To which Andrius nods solemnly. “ I know.”

“They’ll only survive if we take them into the city. They won’t survive like this, out in the wilderness.” The one with brown hair says. Her voice is silky sweet.

They talk for a while, Fischl watches. She doesn’t understand most of it, most of it is far too confusing. Until they start approaching her. 

Immediately, she hisses at them. Andrius must be insane if he thinks she’s trusting these creatures when clearly, he doesn’t trust them himself. She glares at them, putting all her might into it. An attempt to scare them off. She feels her wings puff up, rising above her and making her appear bigger than she really is. 

The human doesn’t flinch. 

“ Hello,” The human says, holding out a hand. “ My name is Kaeya; may I ask for yours?”

She only glares harder.

Andrius comes up behind the blue-haired human, kneeling to reach her own height. His eyes soften just a little bit. “ Come on, little crow, he’s only here to help.”

If Andrius says so. He obviously doesn’t trust them, but Andrius isn’t a liar. In all her nine years of living with the pack. Andrius was never a liar. He spoke the truth, and nothing but the truth. Andrius loved his pack and would never lie to him. Perhaps, this is what causes Fischl to shake the human's hand. 

“My name is Fischl.”

The human hums. “ Meaning little fish in German. What a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

She never knew what her name meant. Fischl never knew what her name meant.  She simply knew it was her name, and she was born with it. She knew names had meanings—Sharptooth’s name is Sharptooth because she has the sharpest canines in the pack. Hound was named Hound, because of her sense of smell. Razor is named Razor because of his claws.

Little Fish. 

Fischl has seen the fish in the lake, at the summer camp. They always swim between her feet. Sometimes they would eat them—Fischl has always loved the taste of fish.

“And your friend's name?” The human asks, breaking her out of her thoughts. He’s gesturing towards Bennett, who she was instinctively holding a wing over. 

“His name is Bennett.” She tells him. “And he’s very sick. You can’t go near him unless you want to get sick too.”

The human frowns—he said his name was Kaeya. “Then why are you here with him? You could get sick too.”

“I’m not a wolf, I’m a crow.” She answers. “The sickness doesn’t affect us.”

“Well, me and my friend Lisa are going to help him get better.” Kaeya reassures her. “We’re going to take him to our own camp, we have medicine there that can help him. He’ll be good as new in no time.”

Fischl isn’t sure she believes him. He could be a liar.

But Andrius isn’t a liar. Andrius wouldn’t be fooled by a lie, so she reluctantly moves aside.

(For the first time since she was a kid, she finds herself praying her messages to the wind.)

it will never work

oh, don’t you see

you gotta let it hurt

Fischl doesn’t see Bennett for three weeks after that. In that time, the pack becomes stronger.

Now that those who were infected have left the camp, no more wolves are getting sick. Along with that, Kaeya and his friend Lisa come over every week to update them on how the sick wolves are doing, bringing food with them. They tell stories of their world, of the big, sprawling city. 

She and Razor listen to the stories together.

It has buildings taller than any tree.

Noise louder than any cicada. 

Smells stronger than any border marker.

Fischl... Fischl thinks it sounds fake. How could a building exist that’s taller than a tree? How could there be a noise bigger than the sounds of insects? How could there be smells stronger than their border markers? It all sounds impossible.

Deep down, though, she knows they aren’t lying. 

There has to be something more out there than the forest, after all. More than the grassy plains, more than the redwoods, more than the elk and the rabbits and the snow. Fischl finds that she likes her life as it is. She doesn’t think she could ever leave for a place like the city. She thinks she prefers the wilderness. She prefers the trees, and the fish, and the birds. Razor agrees with this sentiment. Oz does not. Oz says when he gets older, he’s going to leave and make a life in the city.

None of them knew of the city before Kaeya and Lisa started visiting the pack. 

She supposes it’s nice to know what’s out there, but she’d like to stay where she is.

Soon enough, near the end of winter, Bennett and the other sick people come back.

They aren’t sick anymore. 

Fischl cries for the first time in 6 years as she nearly knocks him over. 

“ Never scare me like that again.” She says; relief and joy flooding through her. “ Never, ever, ever.”

it will never work

oh, don’t you see

you gotta let it hurt

Soon enough, spring returns, and they pack up camp. 

There is less to carry now, ever since the sickness.

She is now 15, so is Razor, and so is Bennett. Oz is 13, and her brother has just turned 30. They don’t travel during the day, which has been plagued with rainstorms for the past week. Instead, they travel at night. During this time, Adrius teaches them the constellations. 

Every creature should know the stars.

The stars are a map. 

He points at the North Star; you will always find your way home as long as that star is in the sky. Then, he points towards other collections of stars. That’s Ursa Major, and that’s Ursa Minor. They are the spirits of bears from long ago . That’s Leo Minor, he says pointing at another one. It is a lion.

He mentions how those are only the constellations that humans acknowledge. He talks about how everything in this world, big or small, is born under a constellation. Adrius points towards Bennett, then traces out a shape in the sky. You are Rota Calamatis. Then, he points to Razor and does the same. You are Lupus Minor. Finally, he points to Fischl's constellation in the sky.

Corvus. 

Like corvid. It means crow, and raven. Corvidae. 

Fischl is a crow.

Her constellation is also a crow.

Fischl now knows the sky like the back of her hand. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor; Rota Calamatis and Lupus Minor.

Corvus.

The North Star.

Home. 

The stars are her. The stars are her family. The stars are the universe. The stars are the entirety of everything. 

oh

(you gotta let it hurt)

oh x2

Fischl confesses her love on a late summer evening. 

She’s 16 now, she’s been with the pack for 11 years now; she’s been friends with Bennett for 7. 

He’d just gotten home from a hunt, dragging in a dead elk calf with Sharptooth, Andrius’s oldest surviving daughter. There’s blood on his jaws, but he quickly washes them clean. After that, he goes to play with the kids, who are 11 now. They’re mom died during the sickness.

Her youngest sibling is now 8. Oz is now 14. Her brother is 31. 

A lot has changed since she first arrived. She finds that she doesn’t mind.

When he’s done playing with the pups, she pulls him aside. 

“ I want to show you something.” She says.

And then, they disappear into the wilderness. 

She leads the way, hand lightly gripping his. She leads them through the path she’s walked many a time, the path she could walk blindfolded with her hands tied around her back. Soon enough, the forest gives way to a lake. It’s not as big as the one they visit with Razor, but it’s beautiful. 

The setting sun reflects on it, bathing them in warm light. 

She takes his hands, leads him into the lake. 

“ I love you.” she says.

He freezes, surprised. Before he smiles and touches his forehead against hers.

“ I love you too.”