We walked to the MotherTree early in the morning the day the Wolf Clan fled. The walk was longer than normal. Longer than I ever remember it being. We walked past families carrying their children, carrying all they owned. Some still packing. Babies and some of the children were crying. Even some of the adults cried.

  Tears rose in me, but I held my mother’s hand. She was so strong. Her face revealed no weakness. Barely even any emotion, except for pride. I fed off her strength. We all did, I think.

  We walked past the flowers and all the way to the MotherTree.

  First Mother stood on Her roots and watched us, her eyes hard on my mother, who smiled, sword in hand. Mother turned from First Mother and watched the herd that the clan became. Goats were pulled along with crates of chickens placed on carts. Screaming children.

  I imagine it looked much like the refugee train you traveled with to find me here. The only difference, I imagine, is the color.

  The wolf clan loves their colors. They always have. Even as refugees, as a people in flight from their homes, they still dressed in the thousand autumnal hues. Their dyes made from the flowers that were left to grow for no one but my family. It wasn’t only those with status either. But all families wore bright colors. Some were faded by time and use, but many of the clothes looked as if they were freshly dyed that morning.

  It’s one of the most striking images from that day.

  Thousands of people walking away from their home, from the MotherTree, and each one in a different shade. The Autumn Trail. That’s what the other clans who saw them called it. Even at our lowest, the Wolf Clan still had pride.

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  We stood beside the MotherTree. Below First Mother. We watched them all leave, carrying all that they could. They walked away. All of them. The Meadow children who hurt us, the many faces who hated us. Even then, they looked at us with disgust. But my mother raised her sword in the air and howled. HoPa and LoPa joined her, and we did too.

  When they were all past us, First Mother climbed down from MotherTree’s roots. She walked right up to us. Her eyes only on HoPa. She touched his hand, but he made no reaction to her. Then she turned to my mother, shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, but then turned away. Walked away.

  Walked away and left us at the base of MotherTree. She didn’t look back. Not even when we howled.

  And we did howl. Howled and howled until we couldn’t see them anymore.

  And then it was only us. The last of the Wolf Clan waiting to face a dragon.

  My brothers and I wandered the empty clearing. Running up and down the hillhomes, hiding from one another in the overgrown bushes and unharvested crops. I picked a hundred flowers and brought them home. LoPa wove them into crowns and necklaces for all of us.

  That night, we ate a feast, draped in flowers. A thousand colors howling against the lonely night that we spent beside the MotherTree.

  It’s funny, looking back on it. We were forced to live at the edge of the forest, but even when we could’ve eaten anywhere. Could’ve slept right up in the yurts or beside MotherTree Herself, we still chose the home we made in the shadow of the forest.

  We could’ve eaten any food left behind too. But we didn’t. We still ate our own.

  LoPa played songs for us and HoPa took out a jug of shine. He even gave some to my brothers.

  Weirdly, it was a beautiful night. We had several more days like that. Just us, alone, with the entire village as a playground.

  We were always alone. Always separate from the clan. But those days and nights, I think I learned what a family truly was. But I don’t think the lesson hit home until just now. Right now, finally saying all this aloud.

  We were a family.

  We were our own clan.