The whole thing has the look of a music festival—like Burning Man, only with less drugged-out influencers and more of a hippie vibe. Tents ranging in size from circus big top to glamping yurt have been erected as far as I can see, with flags and banners between them waving in the breeze. For the most part they blend in with the beigy, camel-toned environs, although some of them have been painted in mismatching, colorful patterns.
“It’s the size of a city,” I say from where I’ve stopped to take it in.
The sun is overhead and heat waves rise from the hot sand, making the sky extra pale and hazy, creating a miragelike effect. Rock formations sit to one side of the expansive encampment, and plant life springs up between the tents lining the paths—or really they’re more like roads—linking everything together. Gardens with colorful desert flowers have been planted at the base of the tents. Even from a distance it’s easy to tell how alive the sanctuary is: the silhouettes of kids running between tents flit like dragonflies, wolves go about their days, some in human form and others in their wolf form, smoke rises in a number of spots, and a distinctly savory and delicious smell is drifting toward us.
“Is that…barbecue?” I say, drooling.
“It’s pretty amazing isn’t it,” Omar says, turning back to join Jasper and me. “Bet you didn’t think it would be this big.”
“It’s so cool,” I say, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
“Oh yeah,” Omar says, then turns to Jasper, who is also staring at Rogue Sanctuary, although with less awe and more confusion. “What about you? What do you think?”
“It’s cute,” Jasper says, intentionally patronizingly.
The rest of the wolves have already gone on ahead.
“Come on, the council will be waiting.”
We make our way to the edge of the sanctuary and all I can think is how this is nothing like the ramshackle, abandoned warehouses of Rogue City in Pittsburgh. As we wander between tents and I’m overwhelmed by all the different scents: food, floral and sweet, wafting from yurts and fenced-off patio-type areas, nearly eclipsed by a cacophony of wolves—the scents of wolves from all across the country clashing, mingling, in this mind-tingling but thrilling way. I’ve only just been able to fully comprehend the scent of a wolf from somewhere in the southeast, Florida maybe, before another scent—is that Texas? Milwaukee?—emerges to overtake it.
I glance at Jasper to see what he thinks, and from his scrunched-up face and turned-up nose, I don’t think he’s having the same olfactory response as me. For someone so attuned to the scent of his own pack, maybe all these conflicting scents are hard to stomach.
Our escort leads us deeper yet as we catch stares from all around. Wolves lie in the shade cast by the tents that I assume are their homes, careless and unbothered about remaining in their animal form, their dark eyes watching us as they yawn or kick out a back leg.
“I’ve never seen so many wolves just existing like this,” I whisper to Jasper. “It’s like they aren’t worried one bit about humans. Can you imagine?”
“It’s wild,” Jasper says, only he sounds like he means it in a literal sense, like these are wild animals and not the civilized company he’s used to.
Finally, we reach a large tent at a spot where six or seven paths converge. Two flags stand proudly on either side of a shaded doorway, painted in bright colors with a mix of patterns and symbols clashing all over them, flapping ever so slightly.
Omar stands at the door with a host of the wolves who brought us here. “This is the tent of the rogue council. They oversee the sanctity and protection of our city.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a democratic society,” Jasper says snidely.
“We are. All rogues are eligible and the council members are elected by vote every leap year.”
“How big is the council?” I ask.
“There are five members, each one a representative of one of the five moon gods.”
A rotund wolf emerges slowly from the shadowy entrance of the tent. From here it looks like he’s missing an eye, but maybe he still has one eye closed from the nap he apparently just woke up from. Omar speaks to this wolf in a voice low enough that I can’t make out what’s being said and when he’s done he bounces upright, smiling. “They’d like to speak with you both.”
He gestures for us to follow and slips through the doorway.
In the shade of the tent the air is instantly cooler. We’re led through a narrow canvas-lined passage that finally opens out onto a large circular room. A small fire burns in a pit in the center of the room, the smoke escaping through a hole in the tent’s roof. The dirt floor is covered in mismatching rugs, rolled out in all different directions, and around the perimeter of the room large cushions are laid out for larger gatherings, or kumbaya circles I guess. Opposite us are five shadowy figures—all are seated on stools except one, who has shown up in their wolf form and is resting on a cushion one spot to the right of center.
“Come forward,” the central figure says. Her long, gray hair is tied back in two plaits, her face is weathered, with deep wrinkles cut into her dark-brown skin, and her eyes are round and thoughtful.
Omar gestures for us to approach the fire, and together Jasper and I edge forward hesitantly.
“My name is Malamar. You may call me Mal. I am the representative of Nannar, the oldest of the moon gods. Welcome to our sanctuary. This is Buck.” She gestures to the bulky white man sitting to her left. He looks to be in his forties, with cropped hair, a heavily muscled chest, and arms the size of logs sticking out of his sleeveless shirt. He salutes us with two fingers and a clenched jaw. “Buck sits as representative of Mani.”
I hazard an awkward wave but Buck doesn’t look like the type to return the gesture, or smile even.
“I believe you’ve met Tomas,” Mal continues, looking to the man sitting farthest from her on the left.
Their faces are lit only by the flickering firelight and I hadn’t realized until now that I do, in fact, recognize one of them. Tomas is the guy who sold Jasper all the crystals and things in town, with the ponytail, thin limbs, and round shoulders.
