Chapter 7: The First Run

I could not stay in the cabin that night.

The stove ticked and the walls were warm, and my mother's last words kept walking around the room.

I went out onto the porch in my coat.

Hamish was already there, sitting on the top step with his boots in the frost.

"You don't sleep either," I said.

"Not the first week after a release. Not when it's someone else's."

"Then take me out with you."

He turned his head.

"On patrol," I said. "Every night you walk the border, and I've been sitting inside like a guest."

"You said you weren't a guest."

"I'm not. So take me."

He studied me in the dark for a moment, and then he stood.

"My wolf is quick," he said. "Yours has never run."

"Then she'll learn."

We walked into the trees.

At the first stone, Hamish stripped off his coat, his shirt, his boots, and I watched because I had decided I would not look away.

His shoulders were broad and scarred, and a long white line ran under his ribs.

He did not make a show of it.

He bent forward, and his body folded and lengthened.

A black wolf the size of a pony stood in the leaf litter with his breath smoking.

He looked at me with grey-green eyes that were still entirely his.

Something answered in my chest.

It was not a word this time.

It was a pull, low and deep, and it made my knees want to bend.

"I don't know how," I whispered.

The wolf padded closer and set his shoulder against my hip.

His fur was warm, and the shove was heavy.

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