Chapter 69

• It never used to make me think or dwell, but now that I have red eyes and a strangely rare gift, I wonder what I knew about my mother. Memories are mostly her in human form, and on the few occasions I glimpsed her as a wolf, I don’t recall ever seeing her eyes. There isn’t much need for a pup to see their parents in wolf form when you live on a peaceful, settled farm, growing vegetables and raising cattle. Turning used to be a personal thing when there was no need. Like recreational time for yourself, activity among the peaceful dwellers who didn’t have to fight, defend, or lord over anyone. The Whyte pack leader was equally stable and calm, and I never saw him turn at all when I knew him.
• My father never mentioned it; no one did, so I doubt they were red. I mean, she was a snow-white wolf, which was mentioned enough over the years as though it was a bad thing. I knew it meant she was different. I’m sure her eyes would have been a talking point too, if they had been like mine.
• They said her fur was white because she lacked a pigment, like a flaw in her genetic makeup, and I wonder if it’s why my eyes are red ... like a person with albinism. Although my wolf is half gray, I’m sure people with albinism have pink eyes, not blood red. It’s all so confusing, and I wish Meadow had told me more about the legends or that the Shaman had taken time to talk to me. It feels like they should have some relevance or that my gift should. Maybe all it means is what Juan said is true. I’m a diluted, impure bloodline and ultimately flawed.