Into the Wild Unknown with the Exiled Alpha

Amidst the chaos and confusion, one undeniable fact emerged, a fact that would become the stuff of legends—the world's leading pack had crumbled. The Roman Empire may not have been constructed in a day, but it certainly met its demise in one.

Following his ascension to the coveted title of Alpha, the enigmatic wolf from the shadows ruled in chilling silence, severing all connections with his newfound pack. The world remained oblivious to the mysteries unfolding within those eerie boundaries, yet rumors had a way of permeating the air like a haunting melody.

Whispers in the wind spoke of the new Alpha shedding blood without provocation, ruthlessly slaughtering scores of fellow wolves. This one wolf was said to be so overwhelmingly powerful that he governed alone—no Luna, no Beta, no challengers. Yet the enigma shrouding his motivations persisted, leaving the world in perpetual speculation.

Three long years dragged on, during which news of the shattered pack grew increasingly scarce. The world moved on, occupied with its own struggles and conflicts, but the memory of that fateful night lingered like a ghostly specter.

Then, as if foretold by the fates, a seismic event rocked the world of werewolves—a twist in the narrative that no one saw coming. The tyrant Alpha was exiled, banished from his own claimed territory by the very pack he had once ruled with an iron paw. The pack, now bereft of an Alpha, struggled to rebuild, weakened and vulnerable. But they were no longer the world's concern; all eyes had turned to the one they had cast out.

Word spread like wildfire that the Exiled Alpha sought vengeance, wandering through the woods, crossing boundaries in search of another pack to conquer and rule. Wolves across the globe trembled, on edge and paranoid, doing whatever they could to prepare for the lurking monster in the shadows.

The Visari pack, nestled deep in the heart of the wilderness, was no exception to this widespread fear. Their new Alpha, however, chose a different path to confront the impending menace: he resolved to take a Luna, thereby strengthening the pack's leadership. The rationale was clear—the more leaders they had, the more imposing they would appear to outsiders. It was a calculated move, a gesture of defiance against the looming darkness.

The world watched and waited, for the Exiled Alpha's shadow still haunted their collective memory, a reminder that even the mightiest could fall, and that in the realm of werewolves, darkness could rise from the most unexpected corners. The tale of the Exiled Alpha had become a legend, a cautionary tale of power unchecked and the consequences that could follow.

As the Visari pack embraced their new Luna, they stood as a testament to the enduring spirit of the supernatural world. They refused to be cowed by fear, choosing instead to face the unknown with courage and determination. In the face of uncertainty, they found strength in their unity, knowing that together, they could weather any storm.

And so, the world watched as the Exiled Alpha continued his relentless pursuit of power, a lone wolf on a path of vengeance and conquest. The shadows of the past clung to him, a reminder of the chaos he had once wrought. But in the heart of the wilderness, the Visari pack stood strong, a beacon of hope in a world where darkness and mystery still reigned supreme.

The story of the lone wolf and the fallen pack was far from over, and the world held its breath, waiting to see how the tale would unfold. In a world where power and darkness collided, the fate of the supernatural community hung in the balance, and only time would reveal the final chapter of this enigmatic saga.

The sound of snow crunching beneath my feet echoes through the mountain path as I trudge along. Above, the haunting hoot of an owl mingles with the distant voices of people reveling in the valley below. Envy wells up within me as I think about them celebrating the very thing that has tormented me, causing three mental breakdowns and a constant knot of dread in my stomach.

I release a heavy sigh, forcing myself to slow my pace. I can't change what's already in motion, but I'll certainly delay it for as long as possible. Perhaps the alternative isn't as terrible as it seems. Remaining invisible and unnoticed might just be preferable to being tethered to a narcissistic individual.

As I reach a high point on the trail, I step off the path, and a moth emerges from a patch of tall, lifeless grass. It flutters briefly in front of my face, then ascends into the vast, starstudded night sky until it becomes too minuscule to discern. Likely, it's seeking refuge elsewhere. I can't help but envy its freedom; it can escape from its troubles, while I remain trapped.

Through a break in the trees, I gaze down at the clearing where the pack members are gathering. Their bonfire burns brightly and stands tall, disrupting the prevailing darkness and casting a warm, inviting glow upon the cold landscape. Even from this distance, I can observe the snow sparkling in the radiance of the firelight.

On any other winter night, this scene would be beautiful, but tonight, it appears grotesque to me.

...

Four days earlier...

"Which one, or perhaps this one?" I found myself pondering the curious lives of squirrels in our neighborhood. Did they live close enough to consider themselves neighbors, just a couple of trees apart? What happened if a squirrel built a nest in a tree already claimed by another? Did they enAdkins in territorial disputes or find a way to coexist peacefully?

"Mackenzie? What's your take?" I solicited her opinion.

"They probably get along," I speculated, chuckling. "Maybe they even visit each other's nests to borrow acorn dust, like squirrel cocaine."

Suddenly, a sharp smack to my leg startled me. "OW! What the hell?!" I protested, rubbing my stinging thigh and shooting Martha a withering glare. What had I done to incur Her Highness's displeasure now?

"You're not even paying attention! You're lying there staring at the ceiling like a washedup cucumber," she accused, her tone indignant. Admittedly, I hadn't been giving her my full attention, but in my defense, she often carried on conversations with herself, needing only an occasional nod or grunt of acknowledgment.

I realized she was standing in front of me, holding two dresses in her hands—one silver and one black. After a quick game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I pointed to the black one to avoid further abuse.

My choice seemed to perk her up instantly. "Great, I thought so too," she concurred, carrying the dresses back across the room, hanging the silver one in the closet, and draping the black one over the back of an armchair.

"You know, I really wish you'd come to this party with me," she implored while settling at her vanity. She opened a small glass bottle and began applying skincolored paint that perfectly matched her cocoatoned skin. "Making some friends and talking to someone besides me would do you good for once."

"I'm starting to regret agreeing to this much," I grumbled in response. Martha was the only person I truly considered a friend, and although we'd known each other for as long as I could remember, we'd only become close about a year and a half ago.

"Oh, please. Your grumpy self loves me, and you know it," she teased, her words muffled as she puckered her lips to apply dark purple lipstick.

I didn't waste any time in rejecting her suggestion. "Not a chance."

"Come on, it'll be fun," she continued to coax me. "I've heard the Oarcan boys are quite the sight to behold—tall, sleek, water dripping from their silky hair, down their chiseled abs, and right to their—"

I gagged, and not just figuratively. I actually gagged. When that didn't deter her, I launched into an exaggerated coughing fit to drive the point home. The last thing I needed was to hear about Martha's extensive, and often disturbing, fantasies, especially her fixation on the Oarca pack males.

"You can act grossed out all you want now," she quipped, pausing from her makeup application to glance at me in the mirror, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "One day, Mackenzie Adkins, you'll find someone attractive. And when you do, I'll be there to rub it in your face."

I rolled my eyes. I was skeptical, to say the least. Martha fully embraced her sexuality, while I had little interest in the matter. Yet somehow, we managed to get along despite being polar opposites.

"Yeah, whatever," I replied, standing up and grabbing my black jacket. "I'll see you later."

Martha raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the other barely visible under her makeup. "Where are you going?"

"I have to help clean up for the party," I answered with bitterness in my voice. "Another celebration for that mightierthanthou asshole, I'm assuming. Who knows what it's for this time." Just the thought of dealing with Francisco made my blood boil, and the idea of spending the rest of the day with him made my hair stand on end.

Martha laughed, finding my disdain for Francisco endlessly entertaining. I, on the other hand, didn't share her amusement. Just the sight of him made me homicidal.

"Feel free to come with me," she chimed cheerfully, wiggling her one visible eyebrow.

I snorted and turned to leave. "Laugh it up, Martha. You're next on the list."

...

The sun's warmth envelops my back, creating an illusion of mild autumn rather than early winter.

"You missed a spot," Francisco nags for what feels like the millionth time from below.

My patience teeters on the brink of collapse. "Can't you see I'm not finished?" I shoot a fiery glare in his direction, where he stands, holding the ladder steady and offering critiques on my every move. Even the sight of his head, covered in moderately long, brown hair, irritates me.

I've never had any fondness for Francisco. He's the sort of person who could provoke a Buddhist monk into taking a swing at him. I'm not entirely sure why fate continually pairs me with him, whether it's for pack errands or border patrols.

"No, but you should get it before you forget. Right there, up in the corner." His innocent and utterly oblivious tone only serves to intensify my annoyance.

I squeeze the sponge tighter, causing water to spill over my arm. "Shouldn't you be busy with the ribbons or something?"

"I'm just trying to help, okay? This party is for you, you know." He points to yet another spot on the secondstory window, which I've been cleaning for half an hour because it's impossible to satisfy his exacting standards.

"For me? What do you mean for me? It's for Wyatt, just like everything else," I mutter, attacking the window with a vengeance.

Wyatt is the Alpha's son, and on top of turning 18, he's poised to inherit the title. Like all Alpha offspring, Wyatt is thoroughly spoiled, and every pack activity revolves around him. Once, his father even had us throw a dinner party to celebrate his first chest hair. I couldn't eat a thing that night without the absurdity of it all making me sick to my stomach.

"You haven't heard? Wyatt picked you as his Luna."

At that moment, my foot slips off the ladder, and I plummet downward. My stomach scrapes against the steps before my hands manage to grip where my feet once were.

"WHAT?!" I sputter, struggling to regain my footing.

"I thought you would've known by now," he says with a casual shrug.

"No. There's nothing to know because it's not happening." I state firmly and start descending the ladder.

"What are you doing? Mackenzie, we're not done! Mackenzie!" His cries fall on deaf ears because there's no way I'm returning to that task or allowing this to happen to me.

A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I'm seething with anger, my jaw quivering when not clenched. My stomach is twisted into knots, but not the excited kind—instead, they're the type that hints at an impending bout of nausea.

I march toward the Alpha's house with determination, my sights set on a certain egoinflated soontobe Alpha. My swift, furious pace attracts concerned stares from pack members as I traverse our small village. I try to ignore them as I make a beeline for the house. In retrospect, everyone has been treating me differently lately. I've been on the receiving end of dirty looks and sidelong glances all week, and I'm only just beginning to notice.

Their thoughts can only fall into one of two categories: "Why her?" or "Thank the gods, it's not me."

My cheeks blaze with embarrassment and a painful sense of ignorance. It turns out that everyone else was well aware of my fate, leaving me in the dark until now. But that changes at this moment.

With unwavering determination, I push open the door to the Alpha's house, not pausing for a moment, and make my way toward the stairs, knowing his office is up there. I march down the hallway, my footsteps echoing, until I'm abruptly brought to a halt by the sound of heated voices.

"That lunatic is still out there! How can I assume control of him lurking, waiting to pounce?" I recognize the whiny yet selfsatisfied voice of the infamous Wyatt Swelter.

Since I need to speak with him anyway, loitering by the slightly open door shouldn't be that wrong, should it? I've never been one to shy away from eavesdropping, so what's different now?

That's my rationale as I stealthily creep closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wall to let my heightened hearing work its magic.

"He's less likely to be a nuisance if we have two leaders. You already have a Luna in mind, right?" Alpha Matias's composed voice reaches my ears.

"I want Mackenzie," Wyatt promptly responds, causing me to struggle to suppress a gag. At the mere mention of my name, color drains from my face. "She's the one, and I've grown tired of waiting for both her and my title."

A deep hum follows, a sound Alpha Matias often makes when contemplating something. "Then wait no longer. We'll move the wedding up to Thursday. Since there's no mate bond to bind you, vows will suffice. Plus, it'll give you more time to get to know her. Perhaps even—"

"There won't be a wedding," I declare firmly, bursting into the room on a whim. There's no way I can stand out there, silently listening as my future is decided for me. I refuse to be a passive observer in my own life any longer.

Two pairs of eyes swivel in my direction. One belongs to Wyatt, a light blue that complements his neatly combed black hair. The other pair, a darker blue, belongs to his father, whose oncejetblack hair is now peppered with gray—a testament to the stress that accompanies his position.

"Pardon me?" Alpha Matias rises from his leather office chair, standing tall with squared shoulders. One thing is undeniable: he's accustomed to looking down on people, not the other way around. He levels that same disapproving gaze he's perfected over the years, capable of making even the proudest wolves feel shame.

I swallow hard, struggling to keep my attitude in check. I've spoken out against him one too many times and witnessed the consequences. Yet maintaining this newfound resolve is proving to be an immense challenge.

"I won't marry him or anyone else," I seethe again, planting my feet firmly. Surely, he doesn't think he can force me into this. There must be a line he won't cross. There has to be. He's held control over my life for so long, but this... this is too much. I refuse to accept it.

To my right, Wyatt lets out a frustrated moan. "Why can't you just cooperate for once?" he whines, glaring at me. "I thought we were past this. I can give you everything you want! Who turns down the title of Luna?" He turns to his father, pleading yet demanding with his eyes for support.

He hasn't grown up at all. He's still the same child who threatened to throw a tantrum if denied dessert or who menaced me with finger amputation if I dared to touch one of his forgotten toys.

"You can't give me anything, or you wouldn't have treated me like this my entire life," I shoot back, feeling a growl building deep within my chest. Wyatt has always regarded himself as royalty, with everyone else beneath him. But in my eyes, a king without a crown isn't a king at all.

Alpha Matias growls in response to my defiance. "Mind your tongue," he snaps before turning to his son, oozing confidence. "She'll obey me."

He settles back into his chair, leaning back and studying me with a calculating gaze that reminds me of a snake slithering in the grass, its beady eyes fixated on its prey.

"Wouldn't you, Mackenzie?" he asks in that sickly sweet, ominous tone. I loathe that voice, that tone, with every fiber of my being. It turns my stomach more than the thought of a future with Wyatt.

I clench my jaw, my fists tightening. "And if I don't?"

Alpha Matias tilts his head slightly, a dark smile playing on his lips as he clasps his hands together. "Then you'll be locked up once more. You wouldn't want that, would you? I'd imagine it gets awfully lonely down there."

My blood turns to ice, and I suddenly feel a chill that goes bonedeep. It's as though I can already sense the cold stone against my skin and the deafening silence enveloping me.

I hide my fear behind a scoff, striving to maintain a facade of defiance, even as I'm inwardly on the verge of breaking down, dropping to my knees, and begging to retain my freedom.

"You wouldn't," I force my words to sound like a challenge, but deep inside, I feel like crumbling, like begging to keep my liberty.

Alpha Matias smiles again, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. "Oh, but I would."

He revels in this. There's no doubt about it; he derives pleasure from my predicament.

I find myself gazing down at my shoes, a surge of heat coloring my cheeks. It's humiliating how easily he can manipulate me with a single threat.

This can't be real...

"The wedding is set for Thursday," the Alpha's words cut through me like a chilling gust of wind, dispelling any hope that this might be a nightmare. "That should give you ample time. Now, off you go. I believe you have a ceremony to prepare for."

Of course, forced into an enAdkinsment, and I'm still the one tasked with arranging the party I want nothing to do with.

My feet move mechanically toward the door, eager to escape. However, not before I knock a potted plant off a nearby table. The crash of shattering clay echoes in the room's thick silence.

"Bitch," I mutter under my breath.

"What did you say?" Wyatt snaps, surprising me that he doesn't delegate this to his father either.

I consider offering a sarcastically sweet reply, but instead, I opt for honesty. There's no reason to hold my tongue any longer.

I pivot sharply on my heel to face him, locking eyes with him and delivering my words like venomtipped arrows. "Bitch. That's what I said," I declare, loud and clear. "You're a damn bitch, and I fervently hope that one day your rotting, eyeless corpse is discovered floating in a river because the fish have already feasted on your eyes."

My skin feels like it's ablaze, and my lungs yearn for air. I mean every word I say, and my tone drips with not just hatred, but a seething, visceral loathing.

Without waiting to see if he'll further belittle me or if his father will condemn me to the depths again for my insolence, I slam the door behind me with enough force to leave a prominent crack across the wood.

Rather than returning to prepare for the party as ordered, I make a beeline for one of the small cabins in the village, heading straight to my bedroom, which resembles a loft.

Fairy lights twinkle along the tops of dark grey walls. The room bathes in natural light from a large window, adjacent to my bed. I flop onto it, burying myself in the sheets.

Just forget it. Forget everything.

Forgetting is always easier. Except this time, I can't chase away the dreadful thoughts.

The wedding is on Thursday. That leaves me with four days. Four days left of freedom. Four days left to figure out how to save myself.

Then, in a random recollection, I remember what Wyatt mentioned before I burst into the room.

"That lunatic is still out there! How can I assume control of him lurking, waiting to pounce?"

What lunatic was he referring to? And how does this relate to his urgent need for a Luna before becoming the Alpha?

The sinking sun bathes the landscape in a dim, ethereal light, painting the bare trees and pristine snowcovered mountains with a serene, otherworldly glow. The cold air bites my skin, filling me with invigorating energy.

I tread along a path lightly dusted with snow, leading away from our quaint village and into the adjacent woods. Towering trees, still adorned with their autumn leaves despite the encroaching winter, encircle a clearing.

At the edge of the shadowy tree line stands Martha, surrounded by a cluster of girls, none of whom I've ever enAdkinsd in a conversation with. Their voices are hushed, barely above a whisper, signaling one thing: they're deep in gossip.

My curiosity piqued, I instinctively tuned in to eavesdrop.

"I've heard he's ruthless, a true monster with a wolf three times the size of any other Alpha," Morgan, a petite, bleachblonde girl, whispers with wide eyes, her tone emphasizing the gravity of her words.

Her brunette companion shudders before contributing, "They say he's an absolute beast, committing mass murders whenever the mood strikes!" She suddenly lowers her voice even further, her words trembling, "Dear God, what if he comes here? Who knows where he is right now."

They exchange apprehensive glances, seeking reactions from one another.

Who in the world are they talking about, and why does it seem to make them so anxious?

As I draw nearer, a twig snaps beneath my heel, startling all of them, including Martha, who has always appeared fearless for as long as I've known her. Morgan even lets out a startled scream.

Their collective gaze fixates on me as if I were a harbinger of doom, their faces drained of color, and their mouths agape.

"Damn it, you can't do that!" Morgan scolds me, her accusatory tone slicing through the air. Something about her words strikes a nerve.

I narrow my eyes and purse my lips in a snarky expression. "If you're so frightened, why don't you choke on something other than fear?"

Morgan inhales sharply, taken aback. Maybe I went a tad too far, but I can't say I'm sorry. Wyatt has already frazzled my nerves for the day. Morgan stares at me like a fish out of water, struggling to find her words.

"You know what? Screw you," she spits before storming off, followed by the other four girls, who cast disdainful glares my way.

I brush off their departure and turn my attention back to my best friend, Martha, who remains standing with her back toward the trees.

"What was all that about?" I inquired, walking up to her and motioning back toward the group.

She isn't phased by the minor altercation between me and Morgan. At one point, she tried to teach me the art of keeping my inner thoughts to myself, but she never succeeded. Now, she doesn't even acknowledge my lack of a filter as she raises an eyebrow, her forehead creasing with curiosity.

"Haven't you heard?"

I shake my head, furrowing my brow. I need to know what's happening. People gossip all the time, but this feels different, laden with an unusual level of fear.

"They call him the Exiled Alpha," she pauses, gazing up at the darkening sky. "Damn, I've got to run. I'm already late."

Her sentences are hurried as she stoops to grab the strap of her purple backpack and swings it onto her back.

"Wait! What do you mean, Exiled"

Before I can complete my question, she reaches out, gripping my shoulders firmly, locking eyes with me in an intense stare that renders me momentarily paralyzed.

"Listen to me, Mackenzie," she insists, squeezing my shoulders, her tone resolute. "I don't have time to explain right now, but just... don't venture off into the woods alone. I know you like to, but don't. Stay close to the pack. Do you understand?"

A shiver runs down my spine, one that isn't provoked by the cold. In that moment, all I can think is, what in the world is out there?

I don't comprehend. I have no clue about what she's talking about, except that it's perilous. But I nod nonetheless.

Seemingly satisfied with my response, she pulls me into a quick hug.

"Stay safe, bitch," she murmurs near my ear, her seriousness giving way to her usual playful demeanor.

She releases me and takes a step back, now wearing one of her trademark mischievous grins. Normally, that would comfort me, seeing her return to her usual self instead of issuing warnings. But it isn't this time. Her smile seems forced, incomplete.

"Sorry I can't stick around for the party. Looks like you'll have Wyatt all to yourself," she teases with sarcasm.

A surge of anger stabs at my gut, and I open my mouth, ready to unleash a tirade of profanities. However, I hold back when realization hits me.

She doesn't know.

She's unaware of the coerced enAdkinsment or impending wedding. If she knew, she would have told me. I'm certain of it. She would have confronted Wyatt, consequences be damned.

I muster a feeble smile in return, though it pales in comparison to her own.

Let her enjoy her moment. I think. My problems aren't hers.

"Yeah, whatever," I call after her as she recedes into the distance, "Just don't catch anything nasty."

She turns back briefly to stick her tongue out at me in a playful jest.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I turn and head back, passing by various people bustling about, most of them carrying ribbons and decorations.

I move past the industrious pack members, making my way back to my room.

If Wyatt or Matias expect me to prepare for the party that feels like a celebration of my own doom, they're sorely mistaken. What can they possibly do to me? Condemn me to a life of misery?

Oh, wait...

It has been three days since Martha departed. Three days during which I've confined myself to my room, desperately attempting to distract my mind from the grim reality.

The only moments I venture out of my room is to stick my head out of the window to smoke, keen on preventing the acrid smell from clinging to the walls. The small glass ashtray on my desk is brimming with ashes, and two empty cigarette packs languish in the trash can.

Approximately four times a day, one of the lowerranking pack members, a maid or servant, brings me food. I can only assume this is Wyatt's ploy to curry favor, his feigned sweetness designed to prevent me from causing a scene during the impending ceremony.

Little does he know that his pitiful attempts to win me over are futile. I won't bend for that arrogant jerk, no matter how much food he sends my way.

I hadn't even realized I was slipping into slumber until a knock on the door rouses me from my troubled dreams.

Normally, someone calls out to me after knocking when delivering food, but this time, no voice follows the knock.

What now? Another task for wedding preparations? I scoff at myself.

The knocking intensifies.

"I'm coming," I growl, untangling myself from the bed sheets. I make my way to the door and open it.

Wyatt stands there, hands in his pockets, wearing a polite smile. "Well, hello, sleepyhead," he chirps, his tone dripping with false friendliness. The sound of it nearly churns my stomach. "The party's beginning in half an hour, so make sure you look your best. After all, it's in our honor."

I narrow my eyes at him and take a step back, scrutinizing his every move. "Who the hell are you?"

He laughs, as if my question were the funniest thing he'd ever heard, but it's an artificial sound. "I just came to remind you," he says, his tone switching abruptly to a more businesslike one. "Now, fix your hair, put on something extravagant, and be downstairs in ten minutes."

I stand motionless, like a statue, maintaining my skeptical gaze.

"Alright, listen up. As my chosen Luna, you need to have a presence that makes everyone envious at first sight. Of course, they already do that as long as you're by my side, but still. I expect you to act like the perfect sweetheart, and if not... there will be consequences."

With that, his façade crumbles, and his arrogant and bossy attitude returns in full force, along with that pulsating vein in his neck that always appears when he doesn't get his way.

I continue to stare at him with an unyielding gaze, knowing it will eventually cause that nerve of his to snap. If he intends to control my life, which he undoubtedly does, then he'll have to provide some reasoning.

"Why have you chosen me as your Luna?" I inquire, wary. It doesn't add up. We don't get along anymore, so why would he want to marry me, against my will no less?

He smirks, locking eyes with me, his gaze gleaming with malevolence. "You're mouthy, Mackenzie Adkins. Sharptongued and clever. Those are qualities people don't notice until it's too late."

Drawing closer, he lifts my chin with his thumb, our cheeks almost touching, his warm breath wafting over my ear as he speaks in a hushed tone. "And I can't forget those gray eyes... They're so cold, so unpredictable, so... inscrutable."

He swipes his thumb along my jawline as he steps back, then turns and leaves abruptly. "Remember," his voice echoes in the dim hallway, "Ten minutes."

I raise my fingers to touch the spot where his thumb had been, rubbing my skin until it begins to burn. I'm convinced I've rubbed it raw with my palm, yet it still doesn't feel clean.

So, that's his reason.

He intends to use me as his pawn.

But I'll be damned if I help him win whatever twisted game he's playing.

With Alpha Matias's threat looming in my mind, I close the door and reluctantly begin the process of preparing myself. If only I had a fashionsavvy best friend like the movies portrayed, then this would be so much easier.

The cruel irony is that I do have one, but she's miles away, enjoying herself in another pack.

At least one of us is having a good time.