I used to lie awake at night listening for the sound of footsteps. Not the comforting ones, you wait for the ones that mean someone you love is finally home. These were the other kind. Heavy, unpredictable. The kind that made you shrink into yourself and hope to disappear. Safety felt like a luxury, not a given.
That memory came rushing back when I read Janis Flores’s Ruby. This isn’t your typical “coming-of-age” story where the tough stuff is neatly packaged and overcome in the final chapter. Ruby Fairchild, twelve years old, isn’t handed safety by the adults in her life. She has to go out and find it in the wild, literally in the form of Waya, a white wolf with eyes like the night sky, and Luna, his wary but regal mate.
And it struck me: we all search for wolves in one way or another.
Wolves Don’t Make Promises, They Keep Them
What makes Ruby’s connection with Waya and Luna feel so different from her ties to humans is this: the wolves never promise anything. They don’t claim they’ll show up, then vanish. They don’t swear love and turn around and wound her. They are wolves. Uncomplicated, fierce, present. When Waya steps into the clearing and doesn’t attack, when Luna finally lets Ruby touch her flank, that moment of trust is more profound than any words could be.
Compare that with Ruby’s family. A mother whose beauty masks an unstable rage. A grandmother locked in her mountain cabin, bolting the door rather than opening her arms, a revolving cast of men who only bring danger. Words everywhere, promises everywhere, and almost no truth behind them.
Reading those scenes, I kept nodding. Isn’t that how it feels sometimes? People say what they think they should. Wolves, whether real or metaphorical, are in our lives.
Packs We Build, Not Inherit
The more I thought about Ruby’s wolves, the more I realized how often we create our own packs. Some of us find them in friends who step up when family disappears, or in mentors, neighbors, and even coworkers who see us in a whole new light when our blood relatives never did. The wolves in Ruby become stand-ins for that chosen pack. They don’t erase Ruby’s pain; they stand beside it.
I think about the people who’ve sat with me in silence when I couldn’t explain what I was feeling. Those who have shown up on doorsteps with coffee or soup, or just a look that says, “You’re not crazy for hurting.” Those are wolves, too. They may not have fur or fangs, but their loyalty is every bit as wild and necessary.
And isn’t that the real marker of family? Not whose DNA we share, but who stays when the world tilts.
Why This Story Cuts So Deep
In the book, Ruby has a moment when she discovers that she doesn’t need the wolves to act like people. She needs them to be wolves: strong, wild, and true to themselves. That part made me sick. Isn’t it what we all desire from the people we care about? Not perfect polish. Not empty promises. Just the truth about who they are: stable and dependable in their own way.
Early readers of Ruby have compared it to Where the Crawdads Sing, but it is grittier and more feral. One even called it “a feral hymn to survival.” I get it. Flores writes violence without glamor, poverty without sentiment, yet somehow pulls out a thread of hope that doesn’t feel cheap. It’s the kind of book that doesn’t whisper “you’ll be okay,” it snarls, “keep moving, even if the world doesn’t care.”
The Wolves We All Need
So here’s what I carried away: wolves aren’t just out there in the wilderness. They’re the friends who text when you’ve gone quiet. The music that steadies your breath. The stories, like Ruby’s, that remind you you’re not alone in the mess.
Sometimes the wolves are literal, sometimes they’re metaphorical. Sometimes they’re the parts of ourselves we’ve been told to hide, the fierce, protective instincts we finally let loose. Whatever form they take, they’re worth noticing. Worth honoring.
Ruby found hers in the Idaho mountains. I’ve found mine scattered across years and states and late-night phone calls. You could have already seen yours, or this narrative might help you know that they have always been there for you.
Don’t Wait for the Door to Open
Ruby’s grandmother bolted hers. Her mother’s words twisted sharply. But the wolves waited anyway. Maybe that’s the point: when one door slams shut, the path sometimes goes into the woods, where safety doesn’t look like what you were taught to expect.
Ruby isn’t just a book; it’s a reminder. A reminder that survival isn’t easy, that devotion can come in the form of fur, feathers, or people, and that finding your pack can make all the difference between falling apart and staying strong.
So here’s the call: honor your wolves. Feed them, thank them, and recognize them. And if you’re still searching? Janis Flores’s Ruby might help you see the shape of them.
The book is out now, waiting to be read. Order your copy today, and you may find the wolves you didn’t know you needed.