Ivan
At least one of these pups was a werewolf.
I don't know which one, but I know it. Their scent is that of a wolf; they know I'm there. I don't think it's the oldest, though she's focused on her mother and their conversation, so it's hard to tell. The other two are much younger. One might be three, and he's busy eating a hotdog. That leaves the little one. She looks like a year old, maybe less so, and she's looking around.
That's when her eyes find me, and I'm frozen on the bench.
She has the same eyes as her mother, hazel green, and the same calico hair, but looking at her was like looking at my baby sister when she was that age. It means nothing; babies can have that generic kind of look, but it's startling. It's even more of a punch to the gut. Would I be sitting on that blanket with them if things were different? Would we celebrate that little girl's birthday as a family, and would their expressions be happiness instead of sadness? Yes, it would be very different.
