"You will bring only the best!" he had roared, drowning out the howl of the storm. "The sweetest pomegranates, the brightest oranges... and cinnamon! Those stick-like things, whatever the f-ck they're called, find them too! Now!"
As the wolves vanished like shadows into the dark, Varg took a harsh sip of whiskey that scorched his throat. His uncle Samuel approached him as the alcohol burned.
The old wolf murmured, as if reviving a dusty, worn memory.
"When your aunt and I bit into salmon together, I could still feel the sharp cold of the waterfall in my heart, son."
"Stale fish romanticism, Uncle?" Varg snapped, his eyes never leaving the snow. "Don't you see how she looks at me? She is neither an Omega nor a human anymore. She is a freak of unknown nature."
