The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Moody Blue

"I always thought it sounded like weakness."

"Maybe..." Anna shrugged. "But weaknesses are good. They remind us that we're human too." 

Elijah said nothing at this. Anna wasn't sure if he disagreed or if he just didn't have anything else to say. As much as Elijah hated to admit it, he was human with his own limitations and shortcomings like anyone else. 

They sat in silence for a while longer. Anna wasn't sure if she was still wanted, but Elijah hadn't asked her to go, so she assumed she wasn't bothering him. He was hard to read, even with his eyes betraying his inner emotions. His eyes were sad, but was it wistful? Longing? Grief? Anna felt like she was playing a guessing game. Like she was playing trivia and she'd sacrificed her points in exchange for a hint that ended up being completely useless. 

She shifted slightly, and Elijah reached out his hand like he was going to stop her from going. It wasn't necessary, she had no plans of moving away from him anyway. Elijah hand shook slightly extended and feeble in the air, he retracted it into his lap and look down at both of his hands in something akin to shame. 

"I wish my dad was here."

Anna let the words hang in the air for a moment. Both her parents were alive, and there was really nothing she could say to actually make him feel any better. 

"He'd know what to do... he was always very patient," Elijah continued. "And now... now I'm here... I feel like a sheep that's lost it's way from the shepherd... but my shepherd isn't coming back.... nobody coming back to get me, I'm just lost. How do I find my way back?"

Anna frowned to herself. She felt as if there was something of value she ought to say. Some wisdom she ought to extend. Elijah didn't really need anything like that. All he really needed was for her to listen. 

"I don't know."

"I mean... he'll never meet my mate. How can he never meet my mate? It isn't fair," Elijah let his head fall into his hand. A weaker wolf might have cried, but Elijah wasn't one for tears. Tears and mates were a weakness. The moon could force him to like the idea of mates, but nothing could make him like the idea of crying. 

"I'm sorry."

...

Teddy's alarm blared too early in the morning. He felt tired, more tired than he usually was, and he rubbed his eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Life in a church called for an early riser, and Teddy was mostly up for the challenge. On Saturdays Teddy got out of daily mass because he needed to be at work before it would end, but on weekdays Teddy had no such excuse. 

Teddy pulled a sweater over his head from his dresser and a quick pair of jeans before rushing down the stairs. His hair was still a mess and his eyes were drawn with sleep, but if he wanted to be on time he needed to keep some pep in his step. 

The sky was still dark when Teddy left the rectory and passed over to the church across the yard. The yellow light pouring from the stained glass and illuminated the pathway over to the side door which Teddy often took, leading him over. Despite his resentment of the fact that he needed to wake up so early on weekdays, Teddy liked the daily masses the best. Usually it was just him, Fr. Charles, and Sr. Matilda in the dark church. It was far more intimate than the crowded Sunday service where nearly the entirety of the village showed up. 

Living with a priest and a nun was something like a vocation in itself. Teddy was involved in most of the service activities the other two did and he lived about as much of his life in prayer as they did. Fr. Charles was a diocesan priest and not a member of a religious order which made their life a little bit less formalized, but Teddy still sang in a choir, attended daily mass, and was involved with the youth group.