The afternoon sun hung low over Silverfang village as Bete made his way home from his first training session, his small body aching in places he didn't know could ache. His wooden practice sword felt heavier in his hand than when Sergeant Borin had first placed it there, and each step sent a reminder through his muscles that he had pushed himself harder than ever before.
Despite the exhaustion, a warm satisfaction glowed in his chest. He hadn't been the strongest or the fastest in the training group, but when Sergeant Borin had asked who wanted to attempt the advanced blocking sequence one more time, Bete had been the only one to raise his hand. The approving nod the sergeant had given him was worth more than any praise.
The familiar scent of baking bread and wood smoke guided him toward home, but as he rounded the corner onto his street, he heard a commotion coming from the direction of the village square. A group of children had gathered in a circle, their voices rising in excitement and alarm.
"Give it back, Gareth! You're being mean!"
Bete recognized Mira's voice immediately, and the protective instinct that had driven him through morning training flared to life. He broke into a run, his fatigue forgotten.
The scene that greeted him made his blood boil. His older brother Gareth—thirteen years old and already showing the impressive build that would mark him as a future guard captain—stood in the center of the circle, holding something small and glinting above his head while Mira jumped futilely to reach it.
"I'm not being mean, little sister," Gareth said with the casual cruelty that older siblings sometimes wielded. "I'm teaching you a lesson about keeping track of your belongings."
The object in Gareth's hand was Mira's pendant—a small silver wolf that had belonged to their mother. It was the only thing Mira had of her, and everyone in the family knew how precious it was to the little girl.
"Gareth, stop it," Bete commanded, his voice carrying more authority than his small frame would suggest.
His older brother turned, eyebrows raising in mock surprise. "Oh, look who's home from playing soldier. Did Sergeant Borin teach you how to give orders, little brother?"
The circle of children turned to watch this new development, sensing the tension that crackled between the brothers. Kael stood among them, his expression troubled as he watched the confrontation unfold.
"I'm not playing anything," Bete replied, setting down his practice sword carefully. "And you're making Mira cry. Give her the pendant back."
Gareth's expression shifted slightly, as if he was just now noticing the tears streaming down Mira's face. For a moment, something that might have been regret flickered in his eyes, but teenage pride won out.
"Make me," he challenged, holding the pendant even higher.
The other children drew back instinctively, creating more space in the circle. Everyone in the village knew that the Loga brothers occasionally clashed, but this felt different—more serious somehow.
Bete studied his brother carefully, applying the lessons Sergeant Borin had taught him about reading an opponent. Gareth was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. In a straight fight, Bete would lose badly. But sometimes, as his father had reminded him, the smallest wolf had advantages that size couldn't match.
"I don't want to fight you, Gareth," Bete said calmly. "But I won't let you hurt Mira either. So you have a choice—give her the pendant back, or I'll take it from you."
Gareth laughed, but there was less confidence in it than before. "You? Take something from me? You can barely lift that practice sword you're carrying around."
Instead of responding to the taunt, Bete began to circle slowly around his brother, keeping his movements relaxed and non-threatening. To the watching children, it might have looked like he was backing down. But Gareth's eyes narrowed as he recognized the tactical movement.
"What are you doing?" Gareth demanded.
"Watching," Bete replied simply. "Learning. You're holding the pendant with your left hand, which means your right is free to grab me when I attack. Your weight is on your back foot because you're leaning away to keep the pendant out of reach. And you're not watching Mira."
"What does that have to—"
Gareth's question was cut short as Mira, understanding her younger brother's strategy instinctively, darted forward and grabbed Gareth's left wrist with both hands. The sudden attack from an unexpected direction threw him off balance, and in that moment of confusion, Bete struck.
He didn't try to overpower his brother. Instead, he swept Gareth's front leg while the older boy was already off-balance, sending him tumbling backward. As Gareth fell, his grip on the pendant loosened, and Mira snatched it away with a triumphant cry.
The watching children erupted in cheers and applause, but Bete wasn't finished. He offered his hand to help Gareth up, his expression serious but not gloating.
"I told you I didn't want to fight," Bete said as his brother reluctantly accepted the help. "But Mira's happiness isn't something I'll ever compromise on."
Gareth dusted himself off, his cheeks red with embarrassment. For a moment, anger flashed in his eyes, and Bete tensed, ready to defend himself if necessary. But then something shifted in his brother's expression—surprise, perhaps even respect.
"How did you..." Gareth began, then shook his head. "That was smart. Using her as a distraction while you set up the leg sweep."
"Sergeant Borin says that the best warriors use every advantage available to them," Bete replied. "Including having allies you trust."
The tension began to drain from the scene as the other children dispersed, chattering excitedly about what they had witnessed. Kael lingered long enough to clap Bete on the shoulder with an approving grin before heading home.
Mira clutched her recovered pendant to her chest, her tears already drying. "Thank you, Bete. I knew you'd protect me."
As the three siblings walked home together, Gareth fell into step beside Bete, his expression thoughtful.
"I wasn't really going to keep it, you know," he said quietly. "I was just... I don't know. Showing off, I guess."
"I know," Bete replied. "But she didn't know that. And sometimes what people think is happening is more important than what's actually happening."
Gareth was quiet for several steps. "Father's been teaching you more than just sword work, hasn't he?"
"A protector needs to understand people as well as combat," Bete quoted. "That's what he says, anyway."
When they reached home, Grandmother Elsa was waiting on the front steps, her knowing eyes taking in their disheveled appearance and Mira's tear-stained cheeks.
"An eventful walk home?" she asked mildly.
"Bete protected me!" Mira announced, holding up her pendant. "Gareth took this, but Bete got it back!"
Grandmother Elsa's gaze moved between her grandsons, reading the story in their expressions and posture. "And how did he accomplish this feat?"
"He was smart about it," Gareth admitted, and there was genuine admiration in his voice now. "Used teamwork and strategy instead of just trying to muscle through."
"Ah," the old woman nodded sagely. "The difference between a fighter and a protector. One seeks to defeat enemies, while the other seeks to preserve what is precious."
As they settled into the warm kitchen for an afternoon snack, Grandmother Elsa began preparing tea while Mira showed off her pendant, now safely back around her neck. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, painting everything in golden hues.
"Tell us a story, Grandmother," Mira requested, settling onto her favorite cushion near the fireplace.
"What kind of story would you like to hear, little one?"
"Something about wolves," Bete said, settling beside his sister. "And about protecting family."
Grandmother Elsa smiled, her eyes taking on the distant look that always preceded her best tales. "Very well. Have I ever told you about the Three Wolves of the Ancient Pack?"
The children shook their heads eagerly, and even Gareth drew closer, his earlier embarrassment forgotten in the face of their grandmother's storytelling.
"Long ago, there lived three wolf brothers in the great forest that once covered this entire region," she began, her voice taking on the rhythmic cadence of an experienced storyteller. "The eldest was strong and fierce, a warrior without equal. The middle brother was wise and patient, a strategist who could see the patterns others missed. And the youngest was small but determined, with a heart so protective that it burned like a star in his chest."
Bete found himself leaning forward, captivated not just by the story but by the feeling that there was something familiar about these three brothers.
"One day, a great darkness came to threaten their pack—a shadow that sought to devour everything they held dear. The eldest brother charged bravely into battle, his strength legendary. The middle brother crafted brilliant strategies to outmaneuver their enemy. But it was the youngest brother who discovered the most important truth of all."
"What truth?" Mira whispered.
Grandmother Elsa's eyes sparkled as she looked at each of her grandchildren in turn. "That the strongest pack isn't made of the three strongest individual wolves. It's made of three wolves who trust each other completely, who would sacrifice anything to protect their family, and who understand that together, they're greater than the sum of their individual strengths."
As the afternoon melted into evening and Captain Fenris returned home from his duties, the family gathered around the dinner table. The conversation flowed easily between training stories, village news, and gentle teasing. But throughout the meal, Bete found his eyes drawn to his siblings and grandmother, a warm feeling growing in his chest.
This—this sense of belonging, of being part of something larger and more important than himself—this was what he wanted to protect. Not just the village or its people in abstract, but this specific warmth, these specific faces, these irreplaceable bonds that made life worth living.
He didn't know that in the years to come, this very desire to protect his pack would drive him to heights of strength he couldn't imagine. And he certainly didn't know the terrible price that strength would eventually demand.
For now, surrounded by laughter and love, eight-year-old Bete Loga was simply happy to be the smallest wolf in the best pack he could imagine.