Delilah

When Delilah joined the pack, she was used to second glances, hesitant stares, and the unspoken question that lingered in the air.

She had been born different—with more limbs than a wolf was meant to have. The extra legs weren't fully functional, but they weren't useless either. They shifted when she walked, twitched when she ran, making her movements unpredictable, strange, and unsettling to those who had never seen anything like her before.

Her old pack had never been cruel, not outright. But she had felt the weight of their unease, the quiet dismissal of her abilities. She was not seen as a hunter, not trusted as a scout. She was a burden, tolerated but never truly accepted.

She left before they could decide whether to push her out.

When she stumbled into Haru's pack, she expected the same reactions—stiff postures, lingering eyes, uncertainty. But instead, she was met with curiosity, not judgment.

Haru had looked at her the way he looked at all wolves—not as something broken, not as something to fix, but as a wolf who had survived.

"You've traveled far," he said simply, as if that was what mattered most.

Momo, ever perceptive, had tilted her head, studying Delilah's stance. "Have you ever hunted?"

The question had startled her. Not 'can you hunt,' not 'are you capable.' Just—'have you?'

Delilah hesitated before answering. "Not often. Not well."

Momo had only flicked her tail. "Then we'll teach you."

No hesitance, no doubt—just acceptance.

And so, Delilah stayed. She learned to hunt, adjusting her movements to make up for the weight of her extra limbs. It was awkward at first, frustrating even, but she was determined. And the pack? They let her try.

Now, she was both a hunter and a pupsitter, guarding the youngest members of the pack with the same unyielding spirit that had carried her through the wild alone.

She had come expecting rejection.

Instead, she had found a home.