CAINE
The Fiddleback Pack is unusual, settling most of their central pack territory in the middle of a human city.
There are rows of cookie-cutter homes, differentiated only by paint color. Manicured lawns, where even the trees look trained. White fences.
The back of my neck itches, and I resist the urge to scratch at it. "How do your wolves stand this?"
Marsh glances at me from behind the wheel, his expression placid. "Stand what, High Alpha?"
"This." I gesture at the subdivision sprawling around us. "Boxed in like sheep. No room to breathe."
A yard the size of a postage stamp comes into view, a plastic swing set crammed into one corner. The thought of a pup confined to such a space makes Fenris bristle.
"We're used to it." Marsh shrugs, turning down another identical street. "Most of us were born here."
"That's worse."
Fenris growls agreement in my head.