#Harper
Rowan's wolf was beautiful.
I don’t know why I was surprised.
Black as midnight, streaked with silver like a storm brewing across his shoulders. He looked like something out of a dream, except dreams didn’t usually snarl at the wind like they were ready to fight gods. His eyes, even in that form, were sharp and broody.
He looked right at me before they vanished into the trees. And something in my chest did a weird lurchy thing that I refused to examine.
Nope. Not today Satan
I need a distraction. There is way to much going on right now.
And gardening, apparently, is my therapeutic vice.
I dug my hands into the soil, the cool earth grounding me in a way nothing else had since arriving. The gaden beds are overgrown, chaotic and full of stubborn intruders that refused to die q
