05 The Howling

As the month passed, the night of the Howling drew near and the forest seemed to hush in anticipation. Bigger Two-Paws and Little Two-Paws felt it in the air—a quiet electricity, a stirring that vibrated through leaves and bone alike. They had heard whispers of the sacred ritual, passed down from Greymuzzle and the other wolves: a ceremony beneath the full moon, where the pack gathered to honour their ancestors with a chorus of voices rising into the sky.

Until now, the boys had assumed it was not meant for them. The Howling belonged to the wolves, not to two human children who had stumbled from fire into fur. But as dusk fell, Greymuzzle approached them beneath the shadow of the great pines, his old eyes luminous with meaning.

“Tonight,” he said softly, “you will stand with the pack. Tonight, you will howl with us.”

The words settled over them like a blessing. It was no longer a question of belonging. The invitation was clear—they were no longer outsiders. They were wolves in spirit, and the pack was ready to claim them fully.

As the moon climbed to its zenith, pale and silver in a sea of stars, the wolves began to gather in the Moonshadow Circle. It was a sacred place, ringed by ancient stones that hummed with memory and time. The boys stood at the edge, wide-eyed and breathless, watching the pack take their places. Their hearts thundered in their chests. This was more than a ritual—it was a reckoning.

They hesitated, unsure if they were ready to join. But Greymuzzle was there again, standing between them and doubt. He lowered his head and said, “Tonight, you are one of us.”

Then the Alpha stepped forward. With his muzzle raised high, he broke the silence with a single, haunting note that pierced the night. It was deep and clear, a sound that echoed through the trees and beyond the forest itself.

One by one, the wolves answered, lifting their heads and joining in, their voices weaving together into a chorus that reached toward the stars. The sound was not just noise—it was history, unity, and hope carried on the wind.

The boys closed their eyes. And then, timid at first, they lifted their heads to the sky and added their own voices to the song. Theirs were not the howls of wolves, but the night accepted them all the same. It was a cry of belonging, of kinship, of finding something that could never again be taken away.

When the last echoes faded into silence, the pack lay down among the tall grasses. The earth was cool and steady beneath them. Bigger Two-Paws and Little Two-Paws followed their lead, sinking into the hush that followed the song. The stars above shimmered in quiet approval.

In that stillness, they felt it—not just the presence of the pack around them, but something older and greater. The forest itself seemed to draw breath. The boys were no longer lost children. They were now part of the great, breathing rhythm of the wild.

When the Alpha finally stood once more, he let out one last, piercing howl. It rang with finality and promise, a signal that the rite had ended. The wolves joined in one last time before turning, their shadows melting into the trees.

Bigger Two-Paws and Little Two-Paws rose as well, their hearts full and steady. Greymuzzle came to them, eyes soft and proud.

“You have done well,” he said. “The moon, the stars, and our ancestors have heard your call. You are one of us now.”

The boys exchanged a glance. They felt the truth of those words in every bone and breath. They had found their family, not in the ashes of the past, but in the moonlit wild. Whatever lay ahead, they would not face it alone.

As they followed the pack into the forest, the moonlight guiding their way between the trees, they felt the strength of a bond that would never break. The night might pass. The path might twist. But they walked it together, as brothers of the pack.