The other problem is that my big kill made the herd believe I’m worthy enough to lead in Colin’s absence. When I told ColinI didn’t want leadership, he respected it and let Jeff Spears take credit for the kill that rescued Alaina.
Jeff is a rogue who is more than willing to be a leader. People were better off following him.
If I had led them, I would’ve disappointed the entire herd. They want to believe I’m a soldier proud of their kill. I merely did what I had to do. If it made Colin proud of me, then that was a nice bonus. But his praise didn’t outweigh the moral dilemma I wrestled on a daily basis.
I always told myself I was better than the monsters in my story, that I was nothing like them. I only ever killed becausetheymade me. And I swore never to take another life again.
Not even for Colin.
Telling myself it was justified doesn’t stop me from thinking about the alpha’s injured leg. And that is where I doubt myself. Maybe I could’ve gone another route? I go back and forth on whether my kill was warranted. Yet the outcome was achieved. Jeff was alive. It’s a rollercoaster of the same distorted cycle of thinking.
I’m justified.
No, I’m not.
I’m a monster.
No, I’m not.
But one consistent fact brings me down: I still did it. No one else made me. Which means there’s no one else to blame.
Before my so-called greatest achievement, I probably would have said yes to taking over for Colin. Even though Jeff knows I don’t want to lead, he still seeks my advice on how. Just like now.
“Should I take us North or South?” Jeff asks.
I bite into an apple from Jeff’s hidden stash. The juice squirts onto my face. Like the lady I am, I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth.
I’m civilized like that.
I take another bite, and with my mouth full, I answer, “North. If you go South, you’ll run into Bloodhound’s territory.” Something I could never let myself forget.
We were several miles from the pack’s territory, and it still wasn’t enough to ease my mind. I’d like to move us, but this location is the best. Our herd is in a hidden valley beside a river that runs for miles. The valley is self-sustaining, requiring little to no attention from us. It’s also protected by the high mountain walls covered in lush evergreen trees and steep rolling hills. The dew and mist create a perfect fog to conceal us from predators.
Despite fertile soil, tall trees, and towering mountain walls block sunlight for most of the day, making crops hard to grow. My herd hunted what’s in the valley, so they have to leave our campsite for food. I call it a campsite because we never know how long it’ll be before a pack finds us and forces us out. Then we’re faced with either fighting back to stake our claim or flee. There’s no way a pack would agree to coexist peacefully. No one wants outcasts as their neighbors.
Jeff scratches his head as he studies the map I created to outline all the territories in the realm. It crinkles. “Tell me again why I don’t want to take over Bloodhound?”
I look over at the sparkling river. I’ve got a book in my lap. One leg is bent at the knee and tucked into my inner thigh. The other is draped over the edge of the hammock, rocking gently with its movement. “Because they’ve had months to recoup since our last visit.” As I reread the passage, Jeff spouted several questions.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”
I ignore him and turn the page. The pages with only a small paragraph before the next chapter are my favorite. I appreciate the immediate gratification I get from finishing, so I can quickly consume more. Pretty details on the chapter page feel like a reward. This one has a Victorian font with intricate dots andswirls surrounding it. They are more beige than cream, and the book is bound in brown leather and gold lining on the spine and front cover.
It’s a philosophy book. It’s not my preference. I love a good, fantastical romance, but at our last pack raid, I judged this book by its cover and grabbed it instantly. Unused and unloved, it was collecting dust, unfulfilled in its purpose. Utilitarianism would justify stealing because it brings me joy, and the clan’s untouched library suggests no harm was done. Pierre-Joseph Proudhon would argue all ownership is achieved by dominance. If it’s not being used, then am I not justified in my effort to give it purpose?
You could say I’m starting to jump on the philosophy train. Some parts make me feel better, turning dabbling into indulgence. Maybe I crave pain because I follow existentialism. I decide what’s moral, set my values, and ensure they serve me and my ego.
Ugh, that sounds so narcissistic. And it is in a sense. But my intent is different. I didn’t choose to read philosophers to justify future behavior. I simply use it to help me find peace in the old. Consider it survival.
“Aren’t they struggling? It’d be so easy to just take over. We saw what they’re like. They don’t have the skills to defend themselves.”
This was true. They were no match for us then, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t now. And I don’t want to be that kind of person. Stealing an unused book and food to survive was one thing, but pushing people out of their homes is another. I want to be better than that.
Wait.
I am a better person. I recall the self-affirming language I read in a self-help book.
I was never a bad person. I’ve just received a new perspective, and they have shaped my behavior. I have evolved, but I was never deformed.
