Wolf Drama

“What are you going out for this year?” Ulf asked.

Ranolph shrugged and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Drama club, I think. I hear they’re doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which was fantastic.”

Ulf paused in shrugging on his jacket. “...What?”

“Did something I say not make sense?” Ranolph asked.

Ulf blinked slowly. “No, but...I’m going out for football. Hemming and Lovell are doing track, and Marrok is doing wrestling.”

“And I’m doing drama. So what?” Ranolph peered at his reflection and attempting to smooth down an errant cowlick of hair.

“You don’t want to do, I don’t know, sports or something?” Ulf wore a distinctly dubious expression.

Ranolph wore an equally dubious expression as he gestured to himself, indicating his slender frame. “If I went out for sports, I’d get crushed. Even at something like cross country or track and field. Seriously. I’m clumsy, and also delicate.”

Ulf sighed. “You’re a werewolf. You can’t be delicate.”

Ranolph sniffed. “Tell that to my pediatrician. I’ve broken at least thirty bones and I’m only sixteen. If I want to do drama, I shall do drama. You and the others can chest beat all you want and get picked up by the cops for overdoing it with the loup-blood and the testosterone. Ten years from now when you’re rotting in jail and I’m accepting my third Oscar, you’ll see who was the sensible one.”

“Right.” Ulf shook his head. “Just...remember you’re pack.” He clapped Ranolph on the shoulder. “If anyone gives you crap for being a, you know, thespian, let us know. We’ll take care of them.”

Ranolph smiled. “Thanks, cousin.”

(275 words)