Marro's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he darted through the underbrush, scratches painting his arms and legs like war marks.
The midday sun filtered through the canopy above, warm and golden, but it offered no comfort. Not to him. Not to a boy who had no home, no family, and no future left to run to.
He stumbled over a root, caught himself, and kept running.
He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to keep moving.
If he stopped, the memories would catch up. And they would drown him.
He had seen his entire family dead.
He regretted the fact that he would never have a normal family again.
It was all his fault.
Alpha Hunter had come like a shadow with fangs.
A monster dressed as a wolf. He'd torn through their home, through their pack, through everything.
And Marro, just eleven, had understood what it meant.
Now that he had lost everything he understood better.
Now he was just a ghost in the trees.
Alone.
Hungry.
Terrified.
But still moving.
