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Minho was born on the cold fall night of a full moon in his family’s small ancestral home. His mother held him first, a small pink and shrieking bundle that wanted the world to know he had entered it. Then his grandfather held him next while his grandmother helped his mother settle, exhausted but overjoyed at the birth of her son.
His grandfather hummed lowly in his chest as Minho’s tiny hand wrapped around his finger, the baby having quieted down as he was rocked by experienced arms.
“He is a fine one,” his grandfather rumbled, his old silver wolf proudly agreeing.
His grandmother held him next, briefly so, as he was passed from her arms back to his mother, who held him tightly to her chest.
“Yes, he is,” his grandmother agreed.
Minho only knew of them through the stories his mother told. Of tales his mother regaled of her father’s gruff nature and her mother’s warmer voice. The pictures carefully kept in organized albums on a bookcase in the living room.
A tragic accident, people would say. His mother stood silent at the double funeral, six-month old Minho resting on her hip, sleepily clinging to her dress, head laid on her shoulder. Respects were paid, sympathies uttered, but she felt none of them, especially not through the pack bond. Their pack was one of the oldest ones, built on tradition and formalities that had strayed little as the world changed and grew. But with it had come a vein of bitterness that didn’t run through the old stories and history of the pack.
“Only two of the once great Lee family remain. Such a tragic ending to a family of warriors and great heroes.”
“You know how wild their daughter is. I wonder how she’ll handle having a baby all on her own.”
“Oh, shh, she’s looking our direction−“
Minho’s mother held her head steady, refusing to bow underneath the weight of it all. She had come early into this world, every breath a fight until she was a little older. Her entire life had been a fight and now, now she was fighting not only for herself, but for her son.
Their family may be nothing but relics of the past, but the Lee name still held value and importance, even if it was only among kinfolk.
Minho is small, but healthy and stubborn. He is loved, loved so deeply, and it shows, even when the other wolves whisper harsh things, cruel things, when no one except for Minhyuck helps his mother out when things get really, really tough.
“Oh, Minho…” His mother stands in the entrance to the kitchen, hands on her hips, Minho sitting on the floor in his wolf form amongst the kitchen items he had pulled out the cabinet to play with, looking like he doesn’t know any better.
And he doesn’t.
Minho is barely two years old when he figures out how to shift between forms. It’s earlier than most and most of the time he clings to his mom when he isn’t spending the time exploring every inch of the house he can reach, the world wildly different to the tiny wolf pup. He’s smaller than most, has more bite to his bark than others his age, and is fierce on all four paws.
His mom worries. She holds her tongue when their pack alpha visits and asks when they’ll be visiting the changing grounds again after he learns of Minho’s shifting, a place where her family has been cautiously welcomed the last several decades, ever since the current pack alpha had come into power.
If she could, she would leave.
But she can’t, so she stays.
“If anything happens and I’m not there to help you, go to Minhyuck,” his mother would whisper late at night, the two of them curled up on the bed, Minho snuggled close to her. He doesn’t understand, not until he’s much, much older, and even then he doesn’t understand it entirely, but him mom is the wisest person on the planet, so he trusts her words.
He grows up in an old car his mom loves to drive, where the winds aren’t cautious and careful, but rather carefree and full of promise.
“Let’s go for a drive, Minho,” she would say with her eyes sparkling as she strapped her son into his car seat.
Windows rolled down, an old rock radio station playing, his mother singing as loud as she could more often than not, Minho joining her and stumbling over the words in such ways that would make her laugh.
Their place and treatment within the pack is from what it should be, far from pleasant, but between the two of them, they’re capable of making their own little safe haven.
~~~
Minho’s first time at the changing grounds is exciting to the three-year-old. He wiggles and chatters the entire way, oblivious to the tension lining his mom’s shoulders, how her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. All Minho knows is that it’s a new thing, a new adventure, and he gets to do it on four paws instead of two feet for the first time.
The changing grounds are ancient, having been in their pack since it was first formed centuries ago. It’s a massive forest that starts at the base of the mountains and reaches up and up into the sky, so tall that Minho almost falls over backwards as he strains to see the top of the mountains. Covered in all matter of plants and overgrowth, flowers that bloom at night, it’s a place of whispered secrets and hidden paths, and, if you’re lucky enough to see one, the occasional mythical beast roaming the land like a silent ghost.
His enthusiasm dies down a little bit when he sees all the wolves and humans roaming around, the majority of their pack out for the full moon. It’s intimidating, not all wolves are kind to him, and he grabs his mother’s hands and sticks close as they walk through the parking lot to the campground. The itch to shift is just underneath his skin, but his mom had told him to wait until she had. Minho doesn’t understand why but he still listens because his mother is wise.
Minhyuk welcomes them at his campfire and after a brief opening ceremony from their pack alpha, the entire pack sets out to roam the forest and mountainside for the night, until the peak of the full moon where they’ll all gather at the highest point to celebrate.
“Now, Mom?” Minho’s bouncing on his feet, his outer winter coat cast aside because he’d gotten too hot between the fire and being held close to his mom. It’s just him and her at the campfire right now, Minhyuk having already shifted to go off with the others after being reassured multiple times that her and Minho would be okay on their own.
(Minhyuk’s packhouse has been growing of late, his attention being more easily redirected than before. Minho doesn’t see the worry flickering in his mother’s eyes or her hesitancy to speak her mind like she used to.)
Finally she laughs for the first time that night, carefully taking off her winter coat and folding it before she sets it down next to their bag.
“Yes, now.”
Then she shifts.
Minho’s mom is a massive grey and white wolf, a colouring that has run in the family since they were first part of the pack. Truly a fearsome sight, especially when she used to be a part of the pack hunts. The image of her wolf running wild and free across the valley is a remnant of a now bygone era, where warriors and protectors were needed to protect pack borders and keep the pack safe.
His mom nuzzles him and licks his face carefully, making him giggle, his small hand sinking into the fur around her face and head as he pets her. Minho had seen his mom’s wolf form often over the years and loves her soft fur, the feel of it like the coziest blanket in the world. It’s very good for taking long naps on, especially when he’s in his own wolf form, his mom curled up around him, keeping him safe from the outside world.
He then shifts, a tiny grey thing that touches noses with his mom before they trot off to go into the woods to run and roam. She goes at a slower pace so that Minho’s much shorter legs can keep up, still tripping a little here and there as he gets used to the new terrain that isn’t the living room carpet or the grassy backyard.
It’s a long night of learning and running, of clinging close to his mother, despite the other pack pups that are at the changing grounds that night. Minho hasn’t smelled so many new things in one go and it’s a little overwhelming. He’s sure if his nose twitches one more time it’s going to fall off, but he can’t stop.
Minho recognizes early on that his packmates don’t all like him. Some are more tolerable than others, but sometimes the whispered words of parents are heard by young ears are taken too deeply. Other times there is the blatant redirecting of their young away from Minho and his mother. It keeps happening throughout the night, sometimes his own mother redirecting them away from different wolves before they see them.
But for now, Minho ignores it in favour of exploring the world around him, of running and tumbling through the forest’s undergrowth. He feels free and wild and it’s something he wants to feel again and again.
The pack howl when the full moon rises is nothing like Minho has ever heard before in his short life. It sets some alight in his chest, a deep longing and call to join, like the call of a horn from over the hill to come home. Even though he’s small, he still raises his head and howls with the others, a tiny, squeaky tone, but just as strong as the others. His ears are filled with the sound of a pack, of wolves being one.
He's half-asleep when his mom straps him into the car seat, bundled up warmly as they drive back home. It’s been the most exciting night of his life and it shows with the way he can’t stop talking and babbling despite his tiredness, until he falls asleep mid-sentence, head drooping until it rests against the side of his car seat.
His mom smiles, exhaustion lining her face more heavily than usual as she checks on him periodically in the rearview mirror. She’s no less worried than she was when Minho was a tiny newborn or six months old, but it’s slowly settling into the nature of a mother protective over her pup, the sharp edge of fury smoldering underneath her calm demeanor and cold façade that breaks only for Minho.
She will protect her son at all costs.
~~~
Going to the pack school lasts three months before she pulls him out. He’s six, covered in scrapes and bruises and a black eye that’s starting to bloom. There’s a handprint, too large to be a child’s, that’s wrapped around Minho’s arm in bright red, bruising around the imprints of the fingers. She wishes that there was only one name that could be attached to the hand, but she knows too many, too many who see Minho as a burden to the pack and not a joy along with the other pups. And while that disturbs her, disturbs her that one of the wolves responsible for the wellbeing of all pups, it disturbs her more that Minho is crying when he comes into the house, barely able to see through his tears as he barrels into her waiting arms.
Minho rarely, if ever, cries. Whatever had had happened that had caused the injuries had frightened him so badly to the point of tears and disturbs her more than anything.
She cleans Minho up, holds him close until he falls asleep, then leaves him with Minhyuk the next morning and goes to the school administration with sharps words on her tongue, a threat bleeding from her lips.
In a way, she had suspected this would happen. Hoped it wouldn’t, hoped that maybe, just maybe things would be okay for Minho and that he would be able to be with his packmates and grow up as normal as possibly while under the mantle of the Lee name, but it appeared he wasn’t going to be able to.
The principal protests. She tries to pass it off as boys roughhousing, even when she is shown the pictures Minho’s mother took when Minho was asleep, so he wouldn’t be subjected to knowing the feeling of a camera being in his face for evidence of a crime.
Minho’s mother knows the system too well. She knows what exactly the pack is capable of, which wolves still stand by the old rules and ways of raising pups in a pack. Knows that some consider rough hands to be the right way to raise a pup but she doesn’t believe in it, not one bit.
She walks out of the school with Minho’s file in one hand, his schoolbooks in the other. On the way back to Minhyuk’s house, she keeps the windows rolled up and the jazz playing loud, mouth set in a thin line as she drives through the streets that should have been kinder, doors that should be more open, hearts that should be more gentle.
~~~
Minho tugs on his mom’s cardigan. “Mom, can we get those snacks?”
He points at the brightly coloured package that has a cartoon cat on it, showing off a miniature version of the bag of chips it’s advertising, the chips shaped into little cat faces.
“Not this time,” his mom says gently. “We still have to finish the other bag, remember?”
“Okay.” Minho nods very sensibly, hand gripping tighter when a family walks past them and gives them the side-eye as they go past.
They continue quickly through the grocery store to the checkout, the cashier a teen that’s a few years older than Minho and chewing bubble gum like her life depends on it.
She eyes Minho with a look he’s not sure about before she asks, “Would you like a sticker?”
Eyes wide in surprise, Minho looks up at his mom for permission, who is just as surprised as he is, but hides it better. She nods and Minho says yes, shyly extending his hand for the sticker, a bright thing with a red border and a little smiling tiger on it.
He happily sticks it to his shirt, missing his mom thanking the cashier with a touch more gratefulness that would be strictly necessary, his own tiny “thank you” following as they leave the store with their groceries in hand.
Minho is ten. He learns at home and does well with every subject he does. On full moons, his mom, and sometimes Minhyuk, teaches him about the forest and the plants that inhabit it, about his wolf, and he learns to howl as loudly as he can at the peak of the full moon with the rest of the pack. He knows he’s the fastest runner of all his age-mates and it’s another item on the extensive list of reasons why they don’t like him, a petty and stupid item if you ask him. The Wolf Guard is very cool to the young wolf and he thinks maybe he might want to be a part of it. He’s content and happy as he can be under the circumstances.
“The Lee family has always been different.”
“Those two are going to go feral one day, just watch. Some of their ancestors did, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ran in the family.”
His mother hears it all and still keeps her head steady.
Minho is old enough to start hearing and understanding things. He asks questions and his mother explains as best she can without embedding bitterness in his young heart. She doesn’t want that for Minho, doesn’t want him to grow cold and angry over something that isn’t his fault.
Instead, she teaches him how to be kind and how to care. She instructs him on how to be strong in the face of adversity. But most importantly, she shows him what it’s like to be loved and to love back.
~~~
Minho stands at the edge of the park, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed as he watches the other teenagers playing in the field. It’s an early morning summer, school is out, and Minho is off from the job he had just recently gotten since he recently found out he can’t join the Wolf Guard until the fall. He’s not sure if he wants to try and join the informal soccer game, since the others around his age have never been very receptive of his presence, so for now he’s okay with just watching.
“Are you going to join in?”
Minho whips his head around to see Ryujin standing next to him, pulling up her hair into a ponytail. She’s dressed in shorts and t-shirt, looking determined to join in with the others, ready to play a serious game of soccer.
She’s what Minho would call a friendly face but she’s younger than him by enough that she still holds a little bit of the naivety that will fade away with time. Anyone in the pack knows where Minho and his mother stand, Ryujin included. But her family had been amongst the few that weren’t completely against Minho and his mother, people that were in short supply, a supply dwindling rapidly as Minho got older and more was expected of him as he grew into being a full-fledged pack member.
So friendly face, but not someone Minho trusted entirely.
“No,” Minho says.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!”
Minho pushes himself up from off the tree. “I’ll see you later, Ryujin. Don’t get hurt.”
Ryujin doesn’t need to be associated with him anymore than she is already. He doesn’t want that for her, even if it means he’s forcibly putting distance between them.
It’s fine.
It has to be.
The walk home is long, but he doesn’t mind. He stops by the lone gas station and grabs an ice cream to eat the rest of the distance. His packhouse is up on the side of the hill, having long stood there since almost the beginning of when his pack had first settled in the valley the small town is nestled in. It’s odd, he thinks, that his family was once a proud part of the community, an integral part of the pack, and now he’s the last of the line of once great warriors and pack alphas.
It's clear the house once housed many wolves and their mates and pups, especially from the angle of the road. His mom had shown him old photos of when his grandparents were kids, the packhouse having rambled down the sides of the mountain it was perched on in a variety of add-ons in what had been much needed space back then. As the number of wolves that had been living there had dwindled down and the need for space shrunk, the structures were removed until just the original house had been left standing by the time his mom was Minho’s age.
Sometimes, if he focused hard enough, he could feel and see and smell of what had once been, almost if ghosts of wolves past were running past him, dancing in the sunlight and green grass.
Minho loves his home. He loves how warm and cozy it is, how many memories have been made there with his mom. A small part of him hopes that he’ll never have to leave it.
~~~
He sits in the car in the garage after the funeral, keys sitting on his lap, his forehead resting on the steering wheel as he leans forward. It seemed like it was just yesterday his mom was sitting in the passenger seat, trying to teach him how to drive. Now it’s empty, the car is quiet, no music is playing, no laughter to be heard.
A hot tear runs down his face, then another, and another, and soon he’s sobbing uncontrollably.
It’s the first time he’s cried since she died. He’s kept a stoic face through it all, through the bitter whispers of relief that another Lee is gone from the world, through the grief raging through his tattered sails like an inconsolable storm, through the lack of sympathetic echoes in the pack bond. Even Minhyuk had grown distant in recent years, focused on those under his own roof, the family he had slowly been building. He had sent an apology text to Minho when he heard the news, stating he wouldn’t be able to make it to the funeral due to negotiations with another pack were delaying him, but that Minho held his sympathies.
Her death had been sudden and swift, the illness that had overtaken her unknown and incurable. One moment, her and Minho were discussing the possibilities of leaving the pack and striking out on their own, the next Minho was calling an ambulance because she was unconscious on the floor, head bleeding from where it had hit the kitchen counter when she fell down, Minho unable to reach out and catch her in time.
Two months.
Minho had gone from the belief that he would have his mom alongside him for the rest of her natural life to only two months left with her.
It hadn’t been enough.
At one point the doctors had said she was taking a turn for the better, whatever cancerous disease she was fighting relinquishing its hold. Hope had blossomed and his mom had been released into out-patient care.
It had lasted for a whole week.
It had come back with such a bitter, bitter vengeance.
And now?
Now she was gone.
~~~
The pack mark on the back of his neck is still sore, even after all these weeks, and Minho can feel the pack bond buzzing in the back of his mind. It’s a weird feeling, one he’s slowly getting used to. He’s just glad that no one can clearly hear any of his thoughts and vice versa. Now that would be awkward.
In the last year or so, Minho had risen to prominence within the Wolf Guard. It had let to something of a rising in status, just the littlest bit, but no matter where he turned he was still met with opposition. He remained strong though, proving himself over and over again in spite of it all.
Tonight is one such night.
It’s the week of the harvest moon, a week of major hunts to kick off the autumn season in all its proper glory. The first major hunt is lead by the pack alpha and the top members of the Wolf Guard. Minho is one of the eight that are to hunt with the pack alpha. It’s a huge honor, a show of the hard work of everyone who is at the head of the pack with their skills and talents.
But not all is well amongst the eight wolves.
Minho has always been the odd one out. The one shoved and pushed to the side when they ran. Once, he had been accused of stealing a kill from another wolf, but he had fought tooth and nail to prove his innocence and had won that fight. When it was announced that Minho was amongst the eight that had been chosen to be a part of the hunt, Ryujin among the number as the youngest to be a part of the Wolf Guard and the Harvest Moon hunt, many were outraged. Some claimed he had stolen the spot of other, more accomplished wolves. That the honor should belong to someone else, not to a low-life on the edge of the pack.
But Minho had ignored it all, kept his head held high, and moved forward. His mom had taught him well. Taught him how to shoulder the burden that came with being on the outskirts of the pack.
But tonight?
Tonight was not a good night.
They were moving across the moonlit plains, heading into the forest, tracking a deer. Minho was low to the ground, watching carefully as he moved forward alongside one of his packmates. It was a very wolfish night, a night where everyone leaned more into their wolf side more than usual, Minho especially. He had always been a bit more in touch with his wolf, a bit more wild. He had heard the whispers, heard the rumours that others thought he would go feral. But he didn’t fear it, not one bit.
Everything was going fine. Until it wasn’t.
Minho wasn’t sure what happened. One minute they were right on the deer, closing in on it just inside the tree line, about to take it down, the next minute, there’s a screaming howl of pain and wolves were colliding into each other, someone snapping at Minho’s hind legs in surprise, and everything went up in smoke.
What had once been a hunt turned into a disaster, as the deer startled and ran off, and one of the wolves writhed in the hidden trap none of them had seen.
Minho shifted instantly once he had the space to and runs over to the trap, stomach dropping when he sees that it’s Ryujin stuck in the metal contraption. Her front left paw is bloody and mangled, bent at the wrong angle, and it looks excruciating. The younger wolf writhes in pain and Minho knows he’ll forever remember the pain-ridden sound curling out of Ryujin’s muzzle.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he kneels down and carefully rubs Ryujin’s head and ears gently, trying to calm her down. “I need to stay still so I can release the trap, okay? No, no, don’t shift, that’ll only make it worse.”
Ryujin quiets down to whimpers and whines after a long while and Minho ignores the yelling and howling going on behind him from the rest of the pack as he carefully reaches for the trap to release it. None of them have made a move to help, the pack alpha caught in the ruckus of trying to control the rest of those on the hunt, unheeding of the cries of the young wolf caught in the trap.
The younger wolf panics and it’s another several minutes of calming her down before Minho is able to release the trap.
Ryujin instantly shifts and finally screams as she holds her arm close to her, blood pouring out of the wound, bone peeking through the skin. Her screams die down into cries and with a hasty apology for the pain he’s about to cause, Minho sweeps her up in a bridal carry and takes off running.
~~~
It’s a long morning but by the time Ryujin is set up in the hospital, she’s asleep, wrist and arm wrapped in a cast. Minho’s sitting in a chair inside the room, watching her sleep, his mind elsewhere. Abruptly, he stands up and exits the hospital room, and ends up coming to a halt in the hallway when he sees the pack alpha walking down the hall towards the room, Ryujin’s parents right behind him.
He sees the looks on Ryujin’s parents faces, sees the stony look on the pack alpha’s face.
Minho doesn’t need to hear words to know what is going on, what is going to happen when the pack alpha stops in front of him.
“Thank you for the opportunity to be a part of the Wolf Guard,” Minho said neutrally before anything can be said, staring his pack alpha straight in the eyes, instead of bowing his head respectfully, like a good wolf would do. Minho was a good wolf. But the respect he had had for his pack alpha was wearing thin. Had worn thin. “But if I cannot trust my packmates in situations requiring teamwork and safety, especially on hunts, then I do not want to be putting myself and others in danger.”
“You’ll be giving up everything if you do this,” his pack alpha warned, voice low. “Honor, respect, a place within the pack.” His words were all show, a thinly veiled threat, his eyes flashing with a warning that Minho heard, but decided to continue. He knew what it would mean to stay with the Wolf Guard, he knew that now. The forest should have been checked entirely for traps before the hunt, the pack alpha should have been there for Ryujin, should have been able to control his pack.
“I already have nothing,” Minho said curtly. No thanks to you. “I appreciate the concern, but I am relinquishing my position within the Wolf Guard and will return to my packhouse. My best wishes for Ryujin’s recovery,” he finishes with a nod to Ryujin’s parents before he sweeps past and walks out of the hospital.
The pack bond hums tensely, like a rubber band pulled too tight, as Minho walks away. He had always known that there was a chance he would follow in his mother’s footsteps, in having to fight every step of the way through life. As he had gotten older, a small part of him had hoped that things would change, things would get better.
But as he walked away, the eyes of the wolves that were supposed to protect his back, the pack alpha that was supposed to protect them all, he realizes that for as long as he lives, he will never be part of the pack, no matter how hard he tries, no matter how honorable of a position he earns within the pack.
Minho is a lone wolf underneath the wide, cold world.