POND MOON

October 9th, xxxx (Night)

THE ELDERS DANCE LIKE swans in the central courtyard under the moon, legs slightly buckling forward when they rotate their middle in tandem to their hands.

In the darkest corner they could find, the soldiers not on night duty—all eight of them including the Cap—have begun betting on drinks, loudly egging each other on.

The squeaks of children fill the air like cricket music, excitedly running around—a rare adjust from their sleeping early on a school night.

The adults cocooned in blankets and shawls sit on mats, rocks and balconies talking in hushed tones, observant eyes on the children and trained side-eye on the teenagers huddled in a circle nursing cold soft drinks playing a sort of board game.

Mates on the other hand munch on snacks—little sweet things stuffed of sugar, honey, cinnamon and butter—heads on their partner's shoulder or just lying around on carpeted grass gazing at the acne starred sky.

Everyone is preoccupied doing their own thing but not Kamil. Well, in a way it is his thing that he enjoys every now and then. Because you see, his eyes never leave the Alpha—a hidden long-time hobby of his.

The Alpha stands off-centre appearing casual. He's anything but. His hips lean against the back of the Alpha stool—an ancient cushioned high stool fashioned in teak, elegant cuts and swirls by the cuffs of the arm and the heels of the legs. He stands like a guard trying to be commonplace but fails miserably.

Alpha North. Beautiful Alpha North of hair like raven, eyes like midnight, generous mouth, marvelous body—on the lean muscular side than his bulk—that'll look good under him or above him, he isn't picky.

Better yet, Alpha North will look good on his knees; that well-manneredness of him coming undone as Kamil takes him over the edge and that suit—that forsaken suit crumpled, torn, thrown away.

On all fours panting for release, that tie bound around his neck like a leash—a leash Kamil will use to guide puckering lips to his erection, warm mouth sucking him in, swallowing him deep, soft-spoken voice reduced to a whimpering, moaning, begging mess.

Antsy, he adjusts, uncomfortable at the growing bulge in his trousers. Is so focused on the Alpha and trying to cool himself down at the same time he doesn't notice an Elder creep on him.

"He's worth a spectacle, don't you think?"

Jolting from daydreaming, Kamil plants a palm on his chest, heart swinging wildly like a sledgehammer.

Taking a second to calm himself down before slowly turning to see Elder Yotu grinning from ear to ear, the big sized mole under her eye smudge like a stain, pasty face covered in a sheen of sweat.

Her white hair loosely braided rests peacefully down her spine cresting above her butt doesn't seem to have gone through the sweating strain.

Elders are the only family allowed to grow their hair longer than an Alpha's current style. The more aged and experienced an Elder is, the longer hair braided.

Collecting himself, Kamil instantly kneels to touch her feet, stands, presses a hand across his left chest and greets in their native tongue. The Elder nods, acknowledges and prattles off succinct blessings but the grin doesn't leave.

"Goddess, you walk like a ghost."

The Elder laughs.

"It's not funny. It'd embarrassing if a soldier such as myself dies by fluster."

Releasing a clasped hand from behind, she pinched his right cheek and he feigning affront, gasps.

"You are a cheeky little child. It's a good thing you're handsome." He returns her smile.

Standing side-by-side, they focus on the Alpha.

"He reminds me of his mother. If I'm proud of him, I can imagine just how she'd have felt .if she was alive. Unlike my daughter," eyes their farmer daughter jumping around, howling but there's nothing but love there.

"Yeah. He's good."

"He is a great leader," the Elder corrects, scratching at her sleeved arms. "He'd do marvelous things."

"He's being Alpha for seven years, Elder. I'm sure he has been nothing short of marvelous."

"He has. And he'd continue," a pause. "I can't believe we ever doubted him. It's ridiculous to think about now."

They stay silent both remembering the strong opposition against his appointment because of the Alpha's partial deafness.

Sourly, Kamil recalls the insults; his 'defect', a popular opinion among the Elders, the belittlement. For a split second too long, his chest tightens as he flash back to when an Elder, in the heat of an argument took it too far and called him demented.

Everyone heard rather than saw his face crumble. And the Alpha's Father? If not for the Elders holding him back, that Elder would've been hospitalzed. Didn't stop a sixteen year old Camuel from breaking the Elder's nose.

"He has proven himself to be better than his shortcomings. And that's good. The North Star Pack can not look weak."

He's partially deaf not weak, Kamil thinks frowning. The Elder goes on but he isn't listening.

Back then, seven years ago, Cam was worse than he is now; a sixteen year old Shifter barely in control of his hormones yet had been the Elders' favourable nominee.

Only nominee because there'd been no one suitable—either they were too old, too young or absorbed in their assigned labour—and between the two boys, they'd wanted testosterone personified antagonistic Cam. The symbol of unchecked strength.

No hating on the Cap because he is great. At fighting. A perfect war machine but sometimes, great leadership means security. Insurgency stifles growth.

If there's a security risk, Kamil is assured that the Alpha will deal with it as efficiently as he does most things.

Finished, the Elder pats him on the shoulder and rejoins her dancing group. Kamil leaves for his own circle—the soldiers howling corner to find them doing a drinking game.

He scrunches up his nose at the stench of alcohol as if they've been dunked in it but quickly realized it's only Anduan smelling like that when she stumbles into him slurring her words, eyes completed clouded. Unseeing.

"Just how many did she drink? Anduan, hey," he slaps her cheeks but she rolls her eyes, tight grip on his biceps.

"She's been winning all the drinking game," a snotty kid says by way of explanation pointing to the three soldiers sprawled on the ground—one slouched against the table full of empty cups and drinks.

"But she lost against the Cap."

Camuel flashes a wolfish grin raising a cup. "Reigning champ that I am urged her to forfeit but stubborn Shifter that she is refused."

It takes a lot to get a Shifter drunk. And it smells like one has to drink like a fish before calling it quits.

"Mura!" Anduan barks, shocking everyone. "Mura! Mura!"

The soldiers laugh while he's stuck trying to shut her up but she wriggles free and away screaming her mate's name.

He follows her stagger but Mura the mate catches her halfway, toned arms bulking under cumbersome weight, throws him a dirty look that pushed the soldiers to laugh harder, before carting off a smooching, zombie Anduan.

Crises averted, Kamil swipes a beer from the chilled bucket, the soldiers chattering about but his eyes fixes on the moving Alpha, observing his interaction with the Pack.

With the Elders he is reserved but obedient. With the children he is patient but firm. With the teenagers he is cool and relatable.

And when he meanders to their dark corner bringing the scent of cool clover with him, he is authoritative but taciturn—a swift order and the dead drunk soldiers are shouldered indoors.

The soldier left behind—the snotty kid shines teeth on the Alpha as she shyly offers him an empty glass promptly filled to the brim. The Alpha chuckles and downs it in one gulp.

"One shot, one shot!" the returning soldiers hails, arms raised to the sky.

"Alpha, AlphaAlpha," one of the soldiers, a kid with cropped hair calls, gleaming brown eyes shining, "Can I offer you a glass too?"

Without waiting, she stretched another full cup and soon, the four of them want to do the same whereas both him and the Cap guffaw in amusement.

On his fourth cup, Kamil senses the Alpha is going over his limit but doesn't want to be outdone, remains tight-lipped and eager.

On his seventh cup however, he buckles slightly and Kamil reaches out but the Alpha catches himself, finishes the cup and cheers to the incitement of the soldiers.

Bless Cam, he stops the ninth offer while simultaneously escorting the Alpha to his high stool to the disappointment of the soldiers who quickly got over it when Cam returns and drinks with them some more.

Kamil leaves to keep a mindful eye on the Alpha—buzzed and dazed that his wolf starts to show; the ears poofs first, then paws and when he raises his head to notice Kamil approaching, the Major sees the red of his eyes flashing in and out of view.

It's only a matter of time before he shifts.

Seeing the Alpha's self-control weakening, Kamil rushes over, brings a jar of water and pumps him full of it—only after three trips and a burp can he control the shifting.

Still drunk but not in danger of thoughtlessly going full wolf. It is in this state of lucidity that the Alpha declares he wants to piss.

Finds his feet and for some reason drags him along. Kamil had to pry the grip away to give him privacy as he does his business but behind the bushes, the Alpha laments about lack of a wipe and in his muttering a Hankie! was procured.

Goddess above, the first time he witnesses the Alpha drunk he's behind a bush pissing and muttering to himself like an idiot. Still a cute idiot though.

When the Alpha stumbles out, Kamil nods to himself approvingly. Even in his state, the Alpha managed to tidy himself looking as unruffled as he did some minutes ago.

That when their eyes meets, his body moves on its own—his hand moves on its own and slides the hairtie off the Alpha's hair, mesmerized as the hair bounces, the tips a few inches from the shoulders.

Intent gaze catching something ahead, the Alpha cuts the mesmerizing short and walk past him. Kamil follows until they come across the pond—the pond just before the lake of flowers.

The Alpha wedges in and stoops to his hunkers to rinse off his hands but falls in, face splat that Kamil rushes in to pull him up but before he reaches, the Alpha lifts his head laughing, barking up a storm.

His ears perks at the sound, stunned at how melodic it sounds, how smooth it glides through the air—the happiness melting goosebumps on his skin.

For the third time tonight, he's so focused on the Alpha he doesn't react when the children, hearing him, runs to where they are, demanding a swim.

Kamil reckons their parents wouldn't like the aftermath. But the Alpha obliges them, carrying them on his arms, shoulder where a little one even dangles on a leg, playing 'airplane' on an unsteady foot.

Kamil cracks a smile at the display. Moon in the Alpha's hair, on his smile, he hugs two children to him, burying wet hair in their necks, palpable grief stretches the peace into fragments, into harshness, into pain.

He can't imagine what the Alpha must be going through what with the human government demands. It must be losing him sleep.

But right here, right now, he looks free. Must feel free too. Water in his hair, moon on his face, laughter in the air, Kamil could watch him forever.

A grin spreads on his mouth like the happiness in his chest.