"Because I love you Sam."
He raised his eyebrows at me questioningly.
"Not like that you dingus. I love you like you're my best friend, and the only family I have, and no matter what happens, even if you turn into an extremely large dog, I'll alwa...
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Hours later, after coming out of shock, Allison was pacing in her living room, muttering to herself much like an insane person would.
"I had to have imagined it, right? Yeah, I did. But then where is Sam? And how would I explain the clothes outside? Crap. I need to buy him new clothes. Allison- I don't think that really matters right now."
To an outsider, it would look much like Allison was having a psychotic break, but in all actuality she was just highly confused, and downright terrified, and had no idea what to do.
After debating back and forth for another hour, she checked the clock, and saw that it was almost 8 in the morning now. She resolved to go to the one person she knew she could trust, the only person who might believe the craziness that's happening right now.
After a quick five minute drive, Allison found herself in front of a worn down red house, a rusty red chevy in the driveway. She sat there for a minute, her mind running faster than she could process.
What was she going to do? Her best friend just exploded into a wolf. She was completely convinced that she was going insane. She took a deep breath and opened the door of her old Malibu, trudging through the muddy driveway and up the ramp that she helped build, until she reached the worn down door, knocking twice before she could talk herself out of it.
Allison heard shuffling on the other side of the door, and the familiar squeak of Billy's chair, before the door opened slowly, allowing Allison to see the russet-skinned Chief.
"Allison! Ayásochid?" Billy Black asked in their native tongue. (Allison! How are you?)
"Wàshíłli tikłowa." Allison replied, which caused the older man to chuckle, before beckoning her inside. (I'm going crazy.)
"Well I'm sure that's not true," Billy said as they made their way over to the small kitchen table. "Probably." He added as an afterthought, laughing to himself at his own joke.
"What's going on?" He asked, the joking edge to his voice fading as he took in the appearance of the young woman in front of him. She looked thoroughly frazzled, her hair a mess, her clothes looking like she had slept in them. What really concerned him, however, was her eyes. The lost, terrified, and utterly exhausted look she had as she looked around the room. He stayed quiet, letting her collect her thoughts, and braced himself for what she was going to say, because whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"Do you believe?" She asked, looking down at her hands that were resting on the table, refusing to meet her mentor's gaze.
"In..." he trailed off questioningly, able to guess, but not quite understanding her meaning.
"The histories, Billy. Those old scary stories you used to tell us as children. Are they true? Is everything you used to say actually real?" She asked, tears shining in her eyes as she met his gaze, eyes pleading for the only thing she wanted. The only thing she desperately needed. The truth.
