and all of my poems were false

[Maria Agapito]

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Maria was accustomed to her werewolf form just like a lot of wolves here chose their natural form. Being born and raised in Italy, it was more humanized than this area of the world. She rarely saw wolves on four legs overseas and coming here seemed so unnatural to her. Rubbing the cold water against her fur soothed the dull throb in her leg and she wished there was something else she could do that would make the pain go away. The wolves in the pack that helped her were knowledgeable of herbs and other things and even had a stock of human things that also helped her in her time of need.

When someone came around, she snapped her head toward the other. "Leg was broken but heal now, sore," she tried. Having spent time in the last pack, they also helped her learn English. "Eh, no exact," she said and dropped her head and pushed away from the lake. If she was not so sore, she would stand. "I was here December, yeah? Went explored out a bit and fell," she explained, smiling a little. "Just came back," she added with a shrug, touching the leg that had been broken. "Son Beppe lives here," she added, wondering if she knew him.

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