My soft, padded paws hit the dirt-covered ground a little too hard as I approach the Alpha. As I near, she turns. I drop my mangled catch at her paws and lower my head in respect a little too late. Her eyes meet mine—they narrow. Muzzle twisting in anger, she growls at the sight of me meeting her eyes a little too long. She snails a warning and a command in the same ragged breath. Get out of my sight or die, and catch more, idiot. I cower and scuttle back into the forest, my tail between my legs, running a little too fast. The wind carries the packs, whispers straight to my ears. Runt. Not good enough. Embarrassment. One insult, however, sticks. It becomes my future, my title.

Omega.