Tension in the air was not a thing that Sahalie was unaccustomed to.
Sometimes it was the weather. It would be humid for days before suddenly the sky would crack open and drench the world and the lip of their den would turn to mud. The sky would be loud and it would flash. This was frightening, but not as bad as the other wolves were sometimes. This tension was different — more persistent. She felt it with the all-dark —she was starting to learn her name but still had trouble placing it— almost always. It was the only constant she knew: that sense that others were unhappy, on their toes, waiting for something else to go wrong. For, though Sahalie's family had been small to start with, it was rapidly expanding to include a regular cast of tense faces. It was like everyone she knew held their breath when they were around her. Everyone except Drift. At least with him she could relax and play because they did not need to care about the world when it was just the two of them.
Well, like the sky, the tension gripping her family finally snapped it in two.
A few days ago it had rained very hard. Harder than Sahalie had ever known. She had clung tightly to her brother and felt that surely this was the end of her brief life. But the next day the sun had come out and she had tried to bring her brother out to play. But she had been forbidden. No one wanted her outside. She had Drift had spent the day in utter boredom, having grown too big to do any of their more amusing games in the den.
The next day no one told them that they were not allowed out. In fact, no one told them anything. But everyone seemed shaken. Visibly upset. Sahalie peered cautiously at the faces that surrounded her and wondered what was wrong, but she had not the words to ask. Several days came and went but still this mood hung over the broken family like swollen clouds of rain. It tainted everything. The others were not around as much, seeking the solitude of their own grief, but when they were Sahalie felt without any particular reason that she should play less loudly, less joyfully.
She caught sight of the grey, huddled body of one of her pack mates. From their posture and the distance between them it was unclear to the little girl whether or not they were sleeping. With curious, hesitant footsteps she pitter-pattered towards the slumped mass. She knew not to touch others without their permission —interactions with the all-dark had taught her that much— so she yipped quietly as she came around to the front of the pack mate. Sahalie was not sure if she had been told this one's name. Maybe this wolf didn't even know who she was.
"Shalie," she whispered matter-of-factly. She couldn't be sure what unspoken rule forced her voice to be so gentle, so timid.