Trevor laughed, choked, fought not to start crying there in Arlo’s truck cab. One sob escaped anyway; then he got hold of himself and was quiet again.
“Aw, pup.”
Arlo reached out and gripped Trevor’s arm, and the strength of that grip did the opposite of what Trevor needed it to do. He didn’t gain distance, didn’t begin absorbing and stiffening his defenses. Instead his defenses began crashing inside him. His body bowed over.
“I need you to talk to me, Trevor. It’s affecting everything? Strength, speed, sense of smell?”
“And hearing,” Trevor whispered. “And my voice.”
“Your voice?” Arlo’s words pitched with alarm.
“It’s gone, Arlo. I can’t anymore.”
“You’re not able to vocalize as a wolf?”
“Not for about a year now.”
“Not at all?”
“No. It’s gone, my voice is gone.”
Arlo slid to the middle of the seat. He drew Trevor up from his caved-in position. “Hang tough now. We need to test this. Come on.”
He got out of the truck, and Trevor followed. Arlo led him down the road, making more distance from Aaron’s place and the rest of the pack. At last he stood still on the gravel shoulder and made a broad gesture to encompass their surroundings.
“Tell me what you smell.”
Memories punched him hard—excursions into the woods with Dad and Patrick and Arlo and the other newest pups. Tests of their senses, reflexes, strength. His excitement at how fast he could run, how he seemed incapable of tripping or running into a tree. Ezra’s joy in all of it, his sheer delight in being a wolf like Dad and Granddad.
Trevor shut his eyes and tuned his sense of smell the best he could. He took a long breath through his nose, lips slightly parted. “Green things. Soil. Exhaust from the truck, it’s dissipating but hasn’t quite yet. You and me, the wolf scent. And your scent specifically.”
Arlo was quiet a moment, then quietly, “Anything else?”
“No. That’s all I can get.”
“Nothing from the cookout—the pack’s odor, the mates and kids, the food?”
Trevor shook his head, kept his eyes closed. If he opened them he’d see Arlo’s disappointment.
“We’re only two miles from Aaron’s.”
“Well. That’s…that’s all I have left.”
“Can you hear them? Not clear words, but an echo? Laughter maybe, or the kids cheering?”
“No. I lost that a mile ago.”
“And your vocalizing—it’s not just harder for you. It’s lost to you.”
“Yeah. Lost.” A word to sum up his entire self. He pushed his thumb into his eye before a tear could fall.
Arlo’s strong old arms encircled him and pulled him in tight. “I’m sorry, Trevor. I knew something was wrong. I knew, and I should’ve told you, but I thought it wasn’t my place until…”
“Kelsey came home,” Trevor whispered.
“That’s right. Forgive me, pup. If I’d known how much you were losing, I never would’ve left you to fade.”
“That’s the word for it in my head too. Fading. I don’t know where I got the word from, but it’s been there ever since I realized what was happening to me.”
