The Stained Omega by Elle T Jefferson novel Chapter 39

An Omegas job. 

«Anna»> 

I’m sitting in the kitchen, it’s dark outside the windows and I can hear a wolf howling in the distance. No, he’s not howling, he’s crying. 

I look down and, on the table is a blanket or what used to be a blanket. It’s ratty and worn with holes destroying its once beautiful pattern. I walk to the sink and below it I open the cabinet to reveal a beautiful ornate sewing box. It’s wooden with wolves of all different shapes and sizes carved into it. The box itself is massive and when I pick it up, I have to readjust as it’s almost too heavy to lift. When I sit it next to the blanket on the table, I notice an engraving on the side, Swiftmane Pack 

1961. 1961. 

I open the box to reveal perfectly cut pieces of cloth, multiple colours. and thickness of thread and dozens of sewing needles. 

I sit in one of the chairs and get to work fixing the blanket. Each hole seems bigger than the last. Some holes seem to have a crusty edge. almost like it’s been burned into the very fibres. I carefully scrape the burnt pieces off and layer each section with padding before I put a fresh patch over it. Each patch gets a second and third passing to ensure I haven’t left any holes. No point in fixing something if it’s just going to break again. 

Once I’m done the sun is shining through the windows and I can see a grey–haired woman sitting on the porch. I pick up the blanket and walk outside. As soon as I open the door, she turns to look at me. She has grey, almost white hair in a tight bun. Her red rimmed glasses hang from a chain around her neck, her face is graced with lines that display a full life. 

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“Ah, you fixed it. I knew you would.” The old lady says. She’s rocking. back and forth in the chair. 

“The wolf…it stopped crying.” I say to the lady. 

“Of course, he has. If you did a good job on the blanket, you won’t ever hear it again.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I say to her, 

“You will, my dear. Give Fraction my love.” She says taking the blanket from my hands. 

The walls are made of fabric, and I can hear the wind howling outside. The tent I’m in isn’t big enough to stand up in and barely big enough to lie down. 

I start to panic when I realise there is water on the floor. I get on my hands and knees and start to feel along the bottom seams of the tent. Eventually I find a hole in the fabric. It’s small but growing with every splash of water that makes it through. 

Turning in a circle to look for something to block the hole I see the wolf engraved sewing box. I quickly swing it open; it has more stuff in it than before. There is a collection of buttons, some zips, more threads. and more needles. The swatches of fabric are gone. 

As I pull off some thread and a needle. I notice an engraving on the side of the box. This one is below the other. It reads. Swiftmane Pack 1974. I trace my fingers over it, I can feel every groove and scratch used to form the words. 

I quickly turn back to the hole and start to steadily sew it up. The fabric is tough and it’s hard to get the needle through. After a few passes with the needle, it snaps in my hand. I grab another needle. 

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An Dragas pab