Huh. Guess I’m alone in that opinion.
“Good morning, Rawbonds!” the older man says, stepping forward. He’s wearing casual robes, a far cry from the tight-fitting, leather uniforms we wear.
“I am the former Alpha of Strategos, Aldrich Gnosis. You can refer to me as Leader Aldrich. I am to be the head of Rawbond training this season,” he says, stroking his beard. “I want to welcome you to this process. The turnout this year is wonderful, and it has been a promising start to your four months here.”
Fourmonths?
I glance at Izabel beside me in shock, but she sits facing forward, inadequately alarmed.
Four fucking months. There’s no way Saela can wait that long. Riding this nonsense out to reach the front isn’t an option, then.
“These following months will prove whether you are fit to be in a pack and call yourselves Bonded. Many will survive the process, but make no mistake, many will not,” he tells us. “Your training begins with the Forging, a two-month process with your own pack’s Rawbonds. This period is intended for you to get to know your future packmates and ensure you are able to work together. Does anyone know what Trials occur during the Forging period?”
Izabel’s hand shoots up instantaneously into the air, and she’s practically vibrating on the edge of her seat. Ah, she’s that kind of student, then. I’m not surprised, and it honestly endears her to me more—Saela’s like this, too.
“Yes, in the back,” says Leader Aldrich.
“In a month, we’ll have the Voice Trial,” Izabel recites as if from a book, “where we prove that we can communicate well with our direwolves.”
Good thing I’m getting out of here; I’d never pass something like that.
“Indeed. And at the end of Forging?”
“The Purge Trial,” Izabel says confidently. “Where the packs have a chance to cull their own numbers and remove any riders and direwolves that are not fit to join them.”
My stomach freefalls from beneath me. The packs are going tokilltheir own?! No one else seems to so much as blink at this.
“Followed by the Forging Ball, of course,” Izabel adds on quickly.
Sure, because who wouldn’t follow a brutal massacre with a fancy ball?
“Precisely. Then we move onto Proving period, where?—”
Izabel’s hand shoots back up into the air, and Leader Aldrich chuckles.
“Yes, Miss…?”
“Izabel Brooks, sir.”
“Oh, I know your father, Conrad Brooks! Great warrior. There was a moment in the Battle of Grunfall ten years ago, when he—ah, look at me, getting carried away with reminiscing.” Leader Aldrich beams out at the crowd of Rawbonds. “Before you know it, you’ll all be retired soldiers, too, thinking back on the thrilling days of war.”
Thrilling. Definitely. If we don’t die a vicious, painful death in training first.
“Anyway, carry on, Rawbond Brooks. Tell us what happens in the Proving period.”
Izabel straightens in her seat. “The Proving is a two-month period where packs learn to work together in coordination. There are no additional Trials during the period, but it culminates in the Unity Trial, a mock-battle between all the packs, and then graduation.”
Aldrich nods, clearly impressed. “Thank you, yes. The Unity Trial is the final culling to weed out the weak.”
My eyes catch on Stark again only to find him already staring at me.Rightat me. I tense in my seat, heart rate picking up speed. The back of my neck tingles and my hair rises. I resist the stupid instinct to turn and see if there’s someone behind me who he might be staring at. I’m in the back row.
Which means that glower is for me, then, with that slight curl of his upper lip and those narrowed eyes.
Disdain. That’s what it looks like. The words just spoken echo around the room’s perfect acoustics.
Culling. He doesn’t think I’ll survive.
But I have no intention of suffering through their meaningless Trials. This place isn’t for me, so he can sheathe his glower or point it at someone else more deserving. He’s wasting it on me, honestly.
