"No, keep your guard [i]up[/i]," Hatchet reminded him for the umpteenth time. "Just because you're taller than everybody, doesn't mean someone can't reach up and grab your prettyboy face."

Sammy and Hatchet circled each other in their were forms. Both men had worked up a sweat from a hard workday on the ranch, and Sammy's nose clogged with salty musk. That was not unusual. This evening, though, there was an added tint to the air, that subtle tint of extra adrenaline that every werewolf cultivated an alertness for. It was the scent of [i]anger[/i]. Sammy growled, but accepted the critique. Ever since Jack's arrival, Hatchet had been holding back less and less. Sammy didn't appreciate being the whipping boy for the old man's frustrations, but he wasn't about to whine over rough treatment.

For his part, Jack always kept his distance during the sparring matches, but watched intently. Always watching intently. And whimpering with every blow, even though Sammy had explained that they weren't really hurting each other. Well, not in any lasting way. It had been a few days since his outburst with Sammy's Bible, and it hadn't taken Jack long to go back to his old clingy self.

But what had Sammy on edge was Sandy, tied up on the opposite side of the barn from Jack. She was lying down but kept the chain taught. Dogs could pick up on a werewolf's body language and physical queues, perhaps even more easily than a human's, and Sandy was a huge mirror for her owner's aggravation. She was used to Sammy and Hatchet's training matches by now. But every now and then she would curl her lips back and direct a growl Jack's way.

Hatchet came at him again. Sammy blocked the attack, but Hatchet anticipated the deflection and drove his elbow into Sammy's gut, winding him. Sammy staggered back, trying to snarl but only coming up with stunted gasps. As his lungs tried to re-prime themselves, the old man circled like a whirlwind and came up behind him, catching Sammy in one of his leverage-utilizing martial arts traps. Sammy's hackles raised as Hatchet's hands closed down around his head.

"What's your problem?" Hatchet demanded. "You haven't been this easy since we first started."

Sammy shook Hatchet off, stood, and steadied his breathing. "And you haven't been this aggressive. What's [i]your[/i] problem?"

Hatchet just growled and assumed the position for another round.

Sammy raised his hands. "Enough, okay? I'm done for the day. I just haven't been gettin' much sleep lately." He spared a sideways glance at Jack.

Hatchet rolled his eyes, but he relaxed his posture. "That's enough for this evening, then. Get a good night's sleep tonight, even if you have to collar and leash Chihuahua to the couch. This is damn ridiculous, kid."

Hatchet wasn't joking. Sammy grunted noncommittally, dusted himself off, and headed into the forest to catch some dinner. Odysseus and Patience were making stew for dinner, but Sammy wanted to sink his teeth into something fresher--something with bones he could snap apart and suck the marrow from. You couldn't vent your frustrations on stew before you ate it.

Chihuahua--Jack--began to follow. "Checkersh now?" he asked.

"Aaargh! [i]No![/i]" Sammy spun around and raised a scolding finger. Jack's loyalty had been flattering for the first hour, but only the first hour. "Just… cut it out! You [i]stay here[/i]! I need some time [i]alone[/i]! Please, I'm begging you, go find someone [i]else[/i] to be your friend for a while!"

He didn't wait to see the half-breed's reaction before disappearing as deep into the woods as quick as he could.

***

Hatchet grumbled as he marched into the barn. He had been around for well over a century now. Fought in both World Wars. He had seen all kinds of shit in his life, but letting a half-breed live took the cake. Sure, the thing was intelligent, but all it did was skulk around and cringe. That wasn't a Life--it was a mockery of it. Hatchet was a god damn Chosen. In more traditional packs, that afforded him some respect. But around here, nobody [i]listened[/i] to him. Exactly at what point had Odysseus started valuing an upstart pup's opinions over his own?

He snorted. It was only because of his sacrifices that Argo could even afford to be so peaceful. So why did he stick around here for much? It was getting near time when he would have to uproot and move to another pack anyway. Such was the life of every Chosen, moving on and starting over before humans could notice they didn't age like everyone else. He still had almost a century of life left in this battle-pitted body, barring any accidents. Maybe it would be better to move on sooner rather than later and head somewhere he would be more useful.

He sat on the ground and placed a paw on Sandy's head. The German shepherd sat up with impeccable decorum and wagged her tail.

"You're a perfect specimen, ain't you girl?" he said, pouring his affection on her. "Not some confused mess of genes that doesn't know if it's one thing or the other, like the rest of us. Unambitious and content with your status. Good. Knowing what you are and what your purpose is is the key to happiness, I think."

She barked in agreement. She always did that when he talked to her. Maybe instead of getting married all those years ago, he should have just gotten a dog.

He slipped his fingers over the latch that connected the chain to her collar. Her ears perked and her muscles trembled, in that way they always did when she was eager for her freedom. As soon as chain clicked, though, she exploded out of the barn, barking the entire way.

She aimed herself directly at the half-breed.