"Hey, Dad, look over here. Look at the view. It's beautiful" I point at the rolling hills covered in colorful trees.
"I agree. We should make this trip a tradition. Make an effort to come here once in every season."
"That would be amazing. I'm looking forward to it."
"You were right, it would have been wrong to give up so soon. I'm glad we decided to stay. I'm already starting to feel more comfortable."
"I'm glad we stayed too. I'm also happy to hear that. It makes me happy that you're happy."
He smiles at me and continues to gaze at the beautiful view.
I hear a twig snap. "Did you hear that, Dad?"
He looks at me in confusion. "Hear what?"
"There it is again, where is it coming from?"
"No idea, I can't hear it. Not that my hearing is the greatest anyway."
I catch a scent of a rogue.
"Ryder, is everything alright?"
I put my finger to my lips. "I think we're being watched," I whisper.
"By what?" he whispers back.
"A werewolf, I think."
"Uh, good kind or bad kind?"
"I'm leaning towards the bad kind, but it'd be nice if not."
"Why would we be getting watched?"
"Bad werewolves are weird, they like to stalk other werewolves and challenge them and be jerks and other bad stuff."
"That's rude."
I scoff. "Tell me about."
"What's going to happen?"
"I don't know, just as a warning, it-it could get bad."
"Should we go back to camp?"
"No, bad idea right now. We don't want to lead them to our camp."
"Them? Is there more than one?"
"No, I don't think so, I hope not. Lot harder to take on two werewolves at once and keep you safe."
"I can handle myself."
"Do you have anything helpful on you?"
"Yeah, a hand gun. I have a carry permit that's good in this state. It's more than legal to shoot something that's trying to kill you."
"Very true. But it's technically not even murder because werewolves aren't human, but that's not the point. The point is we need to get somewhere we will have the upper hand if the werewolf decides he wants to rumble."
"Was not expecting this on this trip."
"You going to be okay?"
"Yeah." He sighs. "I'll be fine, lead the way."
***
We just spent the last hour trying to lose the rogue but no luck.
"Okay, so that didn't work. What's plan B?" Dad asks, catching his breath.
"I fight and you hide." I sling my bag off my back and toss it aside to get later.
"Oh, no way I'm letting you fight on your own while I hide. Ain't happening."
"Dad, I can take care of this myself. I'm the one this dude is targeting, not you. So let me take care of it."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Why are you so stubborn?"
The rogue leaps out from behind a bush and growls intensely. On total instinct I shift and growl back even louder and more intimidating.
He lunges at me and I counterattack, knocking him out of the air. He yelps, but quickly gets back onto his feet. I see him take notice of my dad. I immediately place myself in front of him protectively. I see a glimpse of my dad's expression. He looks scared.
We lunge at each other and hit the ground hard, rolling downhill till we hit a tree. I yelp as a shooting pain runs up my side. He had dug his claws down my side, trying to get out from under me. He thrusts me off him.
"Hey, furball!" Dad shouts.
I whimper and I whine, trying to get up, but the pain causes my vision to go fuzzy, and I fall back over. My ears begin to ring as a gunshot goes off. I feel Dad touch my side.
"Hey, Ryder, hang in there."
***
I blink a few times to wash my blurry vision away. Once it clears, I notice we are back at camp and Dad is cooking up some food—what I assume will be our lunch.
"How'd we get back here?" I groan. The deep claw marks in my side clearly haven't had enough time to heal yet.
"Hey, stay still. You don't need to make that worse." He comes over to check my wounds.
"I'm fine, Dad, really. What happened back there? Did you kill him?"
He sighs. "After he got you down, he lunged at me. I did what I had to."
"It's fine, Dad, they usually don't stop till either they die or their target dies."
"Seems kinda dumb to me."
"Never said they were bright."
He laughs. "I didn't know what to do with the body, so I buried it."
"That's probably best. Are you okay?" I ask, groaning in pain again.
"I'm fine." He stares intently at my wounds.
"You sure? You just killed someone. Sometimes that can have effects on people."
"I did what I had to. End of story." He fixes my bandages.
I'm getting the feeling that this is one of the things he has to work out alone.
"Okay, soon as you can walk, we're leaving to get you home safe and sound," Dad says.
"I'm fine, Dad, really."
"Don't I'm fine Dad me. You're hurt, so I'm taking you home. End of story."
"Alright, is there anything I can do to help pack up?"
"Sit there and look pretty."
"But I want to help."
"No, what part of no do you not understand? You ain't doing shit till you are one hundred percent, understood?"
"Okay, fine. Can you at least find me something to do?"
"Fine, here." He hands me food. "Eat, you're good at that."
"Haha." He isn't wrong though. I can pack away food.
A couple hours later, I try to relax in the truck as we drive down bumpy country roads. After I had eaten, Dad got everything all packed up and loaded in the truck. He called Mom to let her know we would be about half a day early coming home but didn't tell her I got hurt. Which I understood. She would have a cow if she knew I have four long deep claw marks down my side.