The pack meeting took place that evening in the community center: a generous term for the old barn they'd converted into a gathering spot. With just thirty-seven wolves, the Moorland pack was one of the smallest independent territories in Montana. Everyone sat in a rough circle, and you could tell the pecking order just by how each wolf held themselves and where they chose to sit.
Otto slipped into his usual spot near the back: close enough to catch every word, but far enough to avoid being the focus. As the lone Omega in a pack that desperately needed muscle, he'd long ago figured out that his presence was tolerated, not exactly welcomed.
"Border tensions are heating up," James announced, his voice steady and sure, instantly drawing attention. "Blackwood scouts have been spotted three times this week. They're testing how fast we react."
Low murmurs of concern spread around the circle. The Blackwood pack, holding territory to the east, had a reputation for pushing boundaries and swallowing smaller packs whole. Their Alpha made no secret of his belief that weaker packs should just bow or get swallowed.
"What's the plan?" asked Derek, a young Beta barely out of his teens. "Do we patrol in thicker groups? Set up more checkpoints?"
"We need to send a message that we won't back down," said Maria, one of their more seasoned fighters, her tone sharp as a blade.
Otto listened as the tone grew more aggressive, a knot tightening in his stomach. More patrols meant fewer hands for other jobs. Bigger response teams meant tensions rising. Someone was bound to get hurt, and none of it would fix the root problem.
He lifted his hand hesitantly. "What if we tried talking things through first?"
The room went dead silent. Thirty-six pairs of eyes shifted to him, surprise bleeding into thinly veiled annoyance.
"Talking?" Derek scoffed. "They're creeping into our land. What's there to talk about?"
"Maybe sharing resources or agreeing on hunting times that don't overlap. Clear boundaries we all stick to." Otto's voice gained strength as he leaned into the point. "I've studied other packs' territorial deals. Take the 1987 Riverside Compact that stopped a three-way war by..."
"Otto," his father interrupted softly but firmly. "This isn't some classroom debate. These are real wolves threatening our ground."
"I know that, Dad. But violence isn't the only answer. The Blackwoods need more hunting grounds for their growing pack. What if we negotiated shared access to the northern range during certain seasons..."
"Are you seriously suggesting we hand over our territory?" Maria sounded incredulous.
"I'm saying we find a way without bloodshed." Otto's Omega instincts screamed at him to stay quiet, to go along with the pack's hard edge, but his conscience wouldn't let him. "They've got sixty-three wolves; we've got thirty-seven. If this ends in a fight, we lose."
"So you want us to roll over? Show our bellies?" Derek stood up, his youthful wolf flaring at what it thought was weakness. "Maybe that's the Omega way, but it's not how a pack survives."
"Sit down, Derek," James's voice cut through like a whip.
Derek sank back down quickly, but the damage was done. Otto could feel the pack's mood shift from uneasy unity to frustration and division. His attempt had backfired.
"Otto's ideas on negotiation have merit," James said, trying to be diplomatic. "But the council has to weigh all options, including defense."
James's words walked a tightrope: praising Otto without making the pack look soft. Otto appreciated the effort, even while realizing his ideas were polite fantasies, not real solutions.
The meeting dragged on for another hour before settling on increasing patrols and fortifying positions. Negotiation was never mentioned again.
When the others had left, Otto found himself alone with his parents in the empty barn-turned-community center. The silence stretched until Rebecca broke it.
"Your research was thoughtful, honey. Don't let anyone tell you differently."
"But it wasn't helpful," Otto said softly. "Not for this pack, anyway."
James sighed, the weight of fifty years in his eyes. "Son, you've got a good heart and a sharp mind. But the world doesn't always reward that. Sometimes, you've got to be ready to fight."
"What if I don't want to fight? What if there's always a better way?"
"Then you'd better find a pack that can afford idealism," his father said without anger. "Because this one sure can't."
As they walked home through the pine-scented Montana night, Otto thought about the impossible gap between who he was and what his pack needed. An Omega in a pack that demanded fighters, a peacemaker in a world that prized aggression, a scholar among those who valued muscle over mind.
Moonrise Academy wasn't just school. It was his shot at finding wolves who valued what he brought to the table. Wolves who saw negotiation as strength, not a weakness; who believed stopping fights was better than winning them.
Seven days until he left for a place where maybe (just maybe) being different didn't mean being lesser.