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 

opting for a thicker one this time and start again. This time the needle. has no issue with the fabric. Once I’m done, I run my fingers along the sewed area looking for any weaknesses. 

“A fine repair.” I spin around to see the little old lady sitting next to the sewing box. 

“Where did you come from?” I ask her. 

“I come when I’m needed. Swiftmane Pack hasn’t needed me since I passed in 1974.” She pats the sewing box. 

“It’s your sewing box?” I see her smile. 

“It was to be passed down from Omega to Omega. There was no other after me though. So, it has been gathering dust and is unable to do its purpose.” She looks sad as she pushes the box towards me. “Use it well, little wolf.” 

“What’s its purpose?” I ask, I don’t hear her answer. 

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