Scarlett's small feet crunched softly over the fallen leaves as she walked along the edge of the forest, the morning sun filtering through the golden canopy above. The air smelled of earth, of rain-soaked soil, and the crisp tang of autumn leaves. She loved this part of the estate—the quiet of the woods, where no one mocked her or questioned her place in the world. Here, she could breathe.
In her hands, she carried a simple wooden bow that her father had given her. It was lightweight, unpolished, but sturdy, and it had quickly become her favorite companion. She had been practicing for weeks, though the arrows often fell short or veered off in strange directions. Still, she persisted, ignoring the occasional ache in her arms or the sting of disappointment.
Scarlett had learned early that patience was a friend when the world offered few others. Her classmates, if they could even be called that, rarely treated her with kindness. Wolf-born children ran faster, leaped higher, and laughed freely while Scarlett trailed behind, her attempts at games met with sneers or cruel jokes. She had learned to retreat before she could be humiliated, seeking the sanctuary of the woods instead.
Her father often reminded her, "Strength is not always measured by speed or power. Some of the strongest are those who endure quietly and never give up." She clung to those words like a lifeline. Today, she would practice her aim, imagining herself striking targets with precision, even if the only target was the trunk of a tree.
Scarlett raised her bow, drawing the string back and holding her breath. The arrow thudded against the bark, slightly off-center. She sighed, adjusting her stance, and tried again. Thwack. Slightly closer. Another arrow, thwack, closer still. She was proud of her small improvement, and a smile lifted her lips.
The forest was alive around her, yet there was no one else in sight. She called softly to the birds, mimicking their calls as she moved between the trees, pretending that she was a part of this natural world where she belonged. For a brief moment, she forgot the loneliness, the whispers, the stares from the children who would never invite her to play.
But the memory came swiftly back. The teasing, the laughter, the pointed comments about her being "useless" or "powerless." Scarlett swallowed, her fingers tightening on the bow. She hated feeling weak. She hated feeling like she didn't belong. And yet… she didn't cry. Not here. Not in this place.
"Just you and me," she whispered to the trees, "and I'm not giving up."
A rustle nearby made her freeze. Her heart fluttered in sudden alarm. Slowly, she turned, squinting through the shafts of sunlight. Nothing. Just the trees, swaying gently in the breeze.
"Hello?" she called, her voice trembling slightly despite the brave tone she tried to force. "Who's there?"
No answer came. Only the soft murmur of the wind through the leaves. Scarlett's pulse raced. She knew she was alone. Or at least, she thought she was.
Still, she took a step closer to the sound, curiosity stronger than fear. "I… I'm not going to hurt you," she said, glancing around the underbrush. "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work."
A small shadow moved behind one of the trees. Scarlett squinted, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, a figure emerged. A girl about her age, with hair the color of chestnuts and eyes wide and innocent, stepping cautiously from behind the trunk.
Scarlett stiffened. "Who… are you?" she asked.
The girl smiled, small and uncertain. "I… I just wanted to meet you. My name is Misty."
Scarlett blinked, confused. Her instinct was to be wary—this was not like the other children. They mocked, they teased, they made her feel small. But something about Misty… Something in the way she looked at her, without fear or ridicule, softened Scarlett's tense shoulders.
"You… you're not going to laugh at me?" Scarlett asked, unsure if she could trust the words even if she heard them.
Misty shook her head. "No. I just want to be your friend."
Scarlett studied her. The sincerity in her eyes was plain, and she found herself believing it. After a long pause, she said quietly, "I… I don't really have friends."
"Then maybe we can start here," Misty said, stepping a little closer. "Just you and me. No one else."
Scarlett felt something warm bloom in her chest, a tiny spark she had never felt before. She nodded. "Okay. Just you and me."
The two girls walked together through the forest, talking quietly about small things—favorite flowers, the shapes of clouds, the funny noises their own footsteps made on fallen leaves. For the first time, Scarlett felt the weight of loneliness lift, if only slightly. She found herself laughing softly at Misty's little jokes, a sound that felt foreign and wonderful.
By the time they returned to the edge of the estate, the sun was climbing higher, casting long shadows over the courtyard. Scarlett realized she hadn't felt scared once, hadn't thought about the children who mocked her, hadn't worried about not being wolf-born. In that small span of hours, she had found a friend, someone who saw her not for what she lacked but for who she was.
Zeus watched from the balcony above, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. He had noticed the new girl shadowing Scarlett and the way his daughter's posture seemed lighter, freer. A quiet smile touched his lips. Perhaps, he thought, this was the beginning of a life that would teach her strength in ways even he could not.
That evening, Scarlett returned to her room with Misty trailing behind, chattering about small adventures they would have in the days to come. For the first time, Scarlett allowed herself to imagine a life beyond isolation, a life where friendship could exist even in a world that seemed designed to reject her.
But as night fell and the moon rose, casting silver light over the fortress, Scarlett curled up in her bed, hugging her blanket close. Her father's words echoed in her mind: "The most remarkable people are always a little lonely." She didn't yet know what remarkable truly meant, only that she had survived another day, that she had found a friend, and that perhaps, just perhaps, life could hold small joys even in the shadow of loss.
And somewhere, deep in the quiet of the forest, Misty's presence lingered like a promise. A bond had begun—a bond that would endure laughter, pain, and the trials of a world neither girl yet understood. Scarlett's life, ordinary as it seemed, had begun to shift ever so slightly. The days ahead would not be easy. The pack would not relent in its scrutiny. But for now, she had found a piece of belonging, and that was enough.
She closed her eyes, letting sleep wash over her, feeling the warmth of her new friend's loyalty and the constant, steady presence of her father. The world might be harsh, but she was learning to face it, step by careful step, and perhaps, just perhaps, she would one day find the place where she truly belonged.