The hope for a new family

She bolted like an arrow shot from the quiver, and Malachi's stomach leapt. For a moment he feared she would run from him completely, but she heeded his instruction and stopped just beyond the border. The young woman lowered herself again, and Malachi hesitated to move closer. But if he wanted any sort of conversation with the woman, he knew he could not remain where he was. So he inched toward her, cautious now in his motion, until he stood with her on neutral ground.

Malachi felt his stomach drop with every word the woman spoke. A part of him tried to justify his haste, reasoning she'd asked for his advance when she'd decided to cross into their land. But her words made a shame stir within his heart, and that he'd brought such fear to the woman frightened the youth. He let a pause pass after her pleas for mercy, partly because he did not know the words to speak, and partly due to the guilt that snagged at his throat. Finally his words came, but his voice rose quietly and his heart stirred with shame. "I'm not going to hurt you." This was a wolf who needed his help, and in his panic he'd nearly damaged her further. He could see now her state: weakened, no doubt, and hungry from the toll of living without a pack. Malachi did not take her need as a sign of weakness. Pack meant life, and he understood the difficulties that came with having no one to depend on but yourself. Not long ago, he had been a wanderer, too.

He eyed the woman with pity now, taking in her curled up form with a careful gaze. "What's your name?"