Chapter 22: The Run

Isla's POV

The next night the moon came up full over the ridge, and it was the Winter Moon.

I did not decide to run.

I walked out of the cabin at dusk to look at the sky.

My feet kept going, past the shore, past the lone wolves' porches, up the logging road toward the high pines.

The change took me on the first rise.

It was easy now.

My bones knew the road. My paws knew the frost.

I ran.

The cold went through my fur.

Snow flew off my feet, and the ridge opened under me, silver and quiet.

For the first time since my mother died, I was not carrying anything.

Behind me, a branch cracked.

I did not slow down.

I knew the step. I had learned it at my cabin door, one night at a time.

A second set of paws hit the snow, heavy and fast, half a mile back and closing.

I ran harder, for the joy of it.

He kept coming.

I crested the ridge.

The whole valley lay under the moon, with the lake pale below and the village a few small lights.

I stopped on the rock at the top.

I looked back.

A black wolf came up the slope through the pines.

He was huge, and lean, and dark, with a long scar along his right jaw.

His eyes shone gold in the moonlight.

He stopped ten feet from me.

He lowered his head. He did not come any closer.

He was asking.

It was the first thing he had ever asked me without a word.

I stood in the snow a long breath, and let him wait.

Then I turned my head toward the north ridge and ran, and he ran beside me.

Not behind. Beside.

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