RAVEN POV
I buried myself in work.
It was the only thing that still made sense. The only thing I could control.
So for a whole week, I avoided Colton. No calls. No accidental run ins. No late night thinking about him when I should’ve been sleeping. I focused on the project instead. On the one part I’d been avoiding.
The pack.
I’d already taken photos of the mountains. The rivers. The forests that Northern Energy wanted to tear apart. I had shots of deer at sunrise and hawks mid-flight.
But Mara had been right.
This wasn’t just about trees.
It was about people.
About family. About tradition. About a life that would disappear if we lost this land.
And I hadn’t shown that yet.
So I started showing up to pack events with my camera.
The first one was a children’s shifting class.
Margaret Chen ran it every Saturday morning in the meadow behind the community center. I arrived early, the camera hanging from my neck, trying not to feel awkward.
“Raven!” Margaret called out the second she saw me. She waved like I was some celebrity guest. “Come here. The little ones are excited that someone important is watching today.”
I laughed nervously. “I’m not important.”
“You’re a famous photographer." She said with a wink. “That’s very important to six year olds. Just no flash. It distracts them.”
“Got it.”
About fifteen kids were stretching in the grass. They looked so small. So serious. Like this was the most important thing in the world.
Maybe it was.
Margaret knelt in front of them, her voice soft and steady. “Remember, shifting isn’t about turning into something else. You’re not becoming a wolf. You already are one. You’re just letting that part of you come out.”
The kids nodded like she’d just given them the meaning of life.
I started taking pictures. Little faces scrunched in concentration. Tiny fists clenching and unclenching. One boy had his tongue sticking out as he focused.
And then it happened.
A little girl with dark pigtails shimmered for a second and suddenly there was a small gray wolf pup standing where she’d been.
She yipped, startled at first… then excited. She ran in a circle like she couldn’t believe it worked.
The other kids gasped. Then cheered.
A few of them shifted too. Not perfect. A little wobbly. But they did it.
Within minutes, the meadow was full of wolf pups tumbling over each other, tripping on oversized paws, play fighting in the grass.
I kept shooting.
The joy on their faces. The pride in Margaret’s eyes as she watched them. The way the older pack members standing nearby looked like this, this right here, was everything.
“First shifts are always special.”
I turned.
Mara stood beside me, holding two coffee cups. She handed one to me like it was no big deal.
“Thanks.” I said, surprised.
She watched the pups with a soft smile. “I was seven when I first shifted. Broke my mom’s favorite lamp because I didn’t realize I was bigger than I used to be.” She huffed a quiet laugh. “She yelled at first. Then she realized what happened and just started crying. Happy tears.”
I smiled without meaning to. “How long did it take you to control it?”
“About a year. Some kids get it fast. Some don’t.” She tilted her head toward the edge of the field. “See that one? That’s Tommy. He’s been trying for months.”
I followed her gaze.
A little boy stood apart from the others. His body flickered, like the shift was right there under his skin… but it wouldn’t fully come out. He looked frustrated. Embarrassed.
Without thinking, I lowered my camera and walked over.
“Hey." I said gently, sitting down in the grass beside him. “I’m Raven.”
He looked up at me, eyes wide. “I know. You’re the photographer. The one who left.”
Kids don’t sugarcoat anything.
“Yeah.” I said quietly. “That’s me.”
He looked down at his hands. “I can feel my wolf. He’s there. But every time I try to let him out… I get scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That I’ll mess it up. That I’ll get stuck. That everyone will laugh.”
That hit harder than I expected.
I stared out at the meadow for a second before answering.
“You know what’s scarier than messing up?”
He shook his head.
“Never trying at all. Letting fear decide who you get to be.”
He went quiet.
Then he asked, “Is that why you left? Because you were scared?”
God.
I swallowed.
“Yeah.” I admitted. “I was scared. And I ran from something that mattered.” I looked at him. “You don’t have to do that.”
He studied me like he was trying to decide if I was lying.
“How do I not be scared?”
“Close your eyes."
 I said softly. “Feel your wolf. But instead of being afraid of him… try being excited. Think about how fast you’ll run. How loud you’ll howl. How you’ll chase everyone else around.”
He hesitated.
Then he closed his eyes.
He took a slow breath. Then another.
The air around him shimmered.
And this time—
It didn’t stop halfway.
It was smooth. Effortless.
One second, he was just a nervous eight year old boy with shaking hands.
The next, a small russet wolf stood in his place, bright eyes wide with shock… then pure excitement.
He yipped like he couldn’t believe it.
The other pups rushed him immediately, bouncing around him, knocking into him in celebration. Margaret clasped her hands together, her whole face glowing with pride.
And I caught it.
The exact second his fear disappeared.
The exact second joy took over.
It was perfect.
“That was good." Mara said when I walked back over to the sidelines.
“What was?”
“What you told him.”
“I just told him the truth.”
She tilted her head slightly. “The truth you needed to hear too?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you psychoanalyzing me right now?”
“A little." She admitted, not even embarrassed. “Occupational hazard. But I’m also noticing something.”
“Oh?”
“You’re not hiding behind your camera anymore. You’re actually part of what you’re photographing.”
I didn’t answer.
She wasn’t wrong.
“Is this where you tell me it’s good for my soul?” I muttered.
She smiled. “No. This is where I tell you those photos you just took? They might be the ones that save us.”
I blinked. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s true. You’re not just showing wolves. You’re showing family.” Her gaze drifted back to the meadow. “That’s what people need to see.”
And then she walked away like she hadn’t just dropped something heavy in my chest.
The next week, I didn’t stop.
Instead of keeping my distance, I stepped in.
I went to the Monday council meeting and photographed the elders sitting in a circle, arguing over territory lines and budget allocations. They disagreed loudly, waved their hands, interrupted each other.
But they listened too.
Every decision was voted on. Everyone had a voice.
I’d forgotten that part.
On Wednesday, I showed up to pack dinner.
I hadn’t been in years.
Long tables filled the community center. Food covered every inch casseroles, roasted meat, fresh bread, homemade desserts. Kids ran between chairs while adults talked over each other. Someone started singing halfway through the meal and half the room joined in.
It was loud. Messy. Warm.
I captured laughter frozen mid burst. A grandmother teaching a little girl an old song. Two teenagers arguing over the last slice of pie like it was life or death.
I photographed Robert during combat training. He barked orders like always, face hard as stone. But when one of the younger wolves finally nailed a move he’d been struggling with, Robert clapped him on the shoulder, pride clear as day.
I caught that too.
I stopped by the Chens’ bakery early one morning. Three generations working side by side. Flour dust floated in the air, catching sunlight like snow. The grandfather kneading dough. The mother pulling trays from the oven. The youngest daughter carefully piping frosting like it was art.
I hadn’t even known Skye taught gardening classes until I stumbled into one. She was explaining winter crop preservation like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The way she spoke about the land… like it was alive. Like it mattered.
And then there was Mom.
Back at the healer’s clinic.
She’d started volunteering again two months ago. I hadn’t paid much attention. I’d been too busy planning my next flight out of town.
But standing there, watching her set a broken bone with steady hands, seeing the quiet confidence in her face…
I realized she wasn’t just helping people.
She was reclaiming herself.
I took photos of that too.
Everywhere I went, I kept seeing the same thing.
Connection.
Belonging.
Community.
These people weren’t saints. They argued. They gossiped. They held onto grudges longer than they should.
But when someone needed help, they showed up.
No hesitation.
They built something together. Something real.
And I had traded all of it.
For hotel rooms.
For airport lounges.
For that quiet, glamorous kind of freedom that looks good in pictures but feels empty at three in the morning.
I thought I’d chosen independence.
Maybe I’d just chosen loneliness.