Rachel

Rachel hadn't always been blind. Once, she had seen the world in full—the shimmer of moonlight on water, the soft glow of fireflies in summer, the silent dance of falling snow. She had known the way sunlight turned leaves to gold and how her own reflection rippled in a still pond. But that world was stolen from her.

It happened without warning, creeping in like a shadow over the course of weeks, then days, then moments. At first, it was just a blur at the edges of her vision, a haze that made hunting harder, a dullness in the once vibrant colors of the forest. Then, one morning, she woke to nothing but darkness.

She didn't understand why. No injury, no sickness, just an abrupt and terrifying loss of the world she once knew. Her pack had tried to help at first, but their patience had limits. A blind wolf was a burden. A liability. They whispered behind her back, and soon, she could feel the distance growing. Pity turned to frustration. Concern turned to indifference.

One night, she heard them talking when they thought she was asleep.

"She'll slow us down."

"We can't keep feeding her if she can't hunt."

"Maybe it's better if she finds her own way."

Rachel left before they could make the decision for her.

Alone in the Darkness

The first weeks were the hardest. She stumbled often, bruised herself on unseen obstacles, went hungry more nights than she could count. She didn't cry—not because she wasn't afraid, but because she had already decided that she wouldn't let this break her.

So she adapted.

She learned to map her world in new ways.

She memorized the way the ground felt beneath her paws—the softness of moss, the roughness of stone, the give of damp earth after rain.

She learned to listen—to the way wind shifted through the trees, how water echoed differently against different surfaces.

Her nose became her new guide, able to detect scents with stunning accuracy.

Where others saw weakness, Rachel discovered a strength no wolf had ever taught her.

Finding Haru and Momo

She had been alone for months when she first sensed them—the scent of a strong pack, a stable one. Unlike the wolves who had abandoned her, these were well-fed, healthy, united.

Rachel should have kept moving. She had survived on her own this long. But something told her to wait.

It was Haru who found her first. She heard his paws in the undergrowth, the soft exhale of breath when he caught sight of her. Rachel stood her ground, ears flicking toward him, posture neutral but unyielding.

"You're not afraid," Haru observed.

Rachel almost laughed. "I don't need to see to know you're not a threat."

Momo arrived soon after, her voice softer, but no less perceptive. "You're alone," she said, not as a question, but as a truth.

Rachel hesitated for the first time in a long while. But before she could answer, Momo added, "You don't have to be."

It was those words that made Rachel stay.

Her Role in the Pack

Rachel had expected pity. What she got instead was respect.

Haru and Momo never treated her as lesser, nor did they expect her to prove herself in ways she could not. Instead, they saw the strengths she had forged on her own.

She became a guide in her own way. Her keen hearing and scent made her an early warning system—she could sense shifts in the environment faster than most, detecting predators or intruders before they ever became a threat.

She learned to track prey through scent alone.

Though she could not see, she could tell when prey had passed, how recently, and even which direction it was moving.

She became a keeper of knowledge. While others relied on sight, Rachel remembered everything she heard and smelled. She could recall past hunting patterns, seasons, and even the subtle differences in a wolf's voice that revealed things they didn't say out loud.
She could never be a warrior, nor could she lead a hunt. But she was no less valuable to the pack.

Rachel's Future

Rachel still struggles—there are days where she longs to see the world again, where frustration eats at her patience, where she feels trapped inside her own mind. But she is no longer alone.

Haru and Momo's pack is not the one that abandoned her. Here, she has a place, a purpose, and a future.

And though she will never see their faces, she knows the sound of their laughter, the rhythm of their steps, the scent of trust and warmth that lingers in the den.

That, more than anything, tells her that she is finally home.