THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 10

Alec

The trail finally levels out, and I know I’m close. My legs ache, my shoulders burn, and my breath comes in ragged gasps, but I push forward, driven by a mix of determination and something deeper, something I can’t quite name.

And then, suddenly, the trees part.

I step into the clearing, and the world opens up before me.

The summit.

It’s breathtaking.

The ground beneath my feet is a mix of rock and soft grass, and the air is crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. The sky stretches out above me, vast and endless, a brilliant blue that seems to go on forever. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything, and the light dances on the leaves of the trees below, turning them into a sea of green and gold.

But it’s the view that stops me cold.

The valley stretches out below, a patchwork of forests, rivers, and distant mountains. The trees look like tiny specks from up here, their tops swaying gently in the breeze, and the rivers glint like silver threads in the sunlight. The air is so clear that I can see for miles, the horizon a blur of blue and green where the earth meets the sky.

I stand there for a moment, frozen, my breath caught in my chest. It’s beautiful—more beautiful than I could have imagined.

And then it hits me.

This is it. This is the place Dad wanted to show me.

I can almost hear his voice, low and steady, telling me about the view from the summit, about the way the world looks from up here.

“You see that, Alec?” he’d say, pointing to the horizon. “That’s what it’s all about. That’s why we do this.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away, my throat tight. I wish he were here to see this, to stand beside me and share this moment. But he’s not, and that’s why I’m here—to honor him, to carry his memory with me, even if it’s just in a Tupperware container.

I set my backpack down and pull out the container, the weight of it heavy in my hands. I unscrew the lid and take a deep breath, the scent of the forest filling my lungs.

“This is for you, Dad,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

I scatter the ashes, watching as they catch the wind and drift out over the valley, carried away on the breeze. For a moment, it feels like he’s here with me, his presence as real as the warmth of the sun on my skin.

I stand there for a long time, watching as the ashes disappear into the distance, the world stretching out before me in all its wild, untamed beauty.

And then, slowly, the moment fades.

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing, and the air grows cooler. I take a deep breath, trying to hold onto the feeling, but it slips away, leaving me with a hollow ache in my chest.

I sit down on a rock, my legs trembling, and stare out at the valley. The view is still breathtaking, but now it feels… different. Lonelier.

I close my eyes, letting the breeze wash over me, and for a moment, I just sit there, listening to the sound of the wind and the distant rustle of leaves.

But the peace doesn’t last.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear it—a low, guttural growl, so faint I almost think I’m imagining it. But then it comes again, louder this time, and my eyes snap open.

The forest is quiet, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the breeze, but the feeling of unease is back, stronger than ever.

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink before fading into a deep, velvety blue. The air grows cooler, and I know it’s time to set up camp.

I find a flat spot near the edge of the clearing, sheltered by a cluster of rocks, and start unpacking my tent. The process is familiar now, my hands moving on autopilot as I unfold the fabric and stake it into the ground. It’s smaller than I’d like, but it’s enough to keep me warm and dry through the night.

Once the tent is up, I gather branches and twigs from the surrounding area, piling them into a neat stack near the fire pit. Dad taught me how to start a fire using only a flint, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the past two nights. I crouch down, striking the flint against the steel until a spark catches the dry kindling. The flame flickers to life, small at first, but it grows quickly, devouring the twigs and branches until it’s a steady, crackling fire.

I sit back on my heels, watching the flames dance and twist, their light casting long shadows across the clearing. The warmth is comforting, a small but welcome reprieve from the chill of the night air.

I pull out one of the pre-packaged meals from my backpack—Beef Stew with Mashed Potatoes and Peas—and set it near the fire to warm up. The smell of the food fills the air, rich and savory, and my stomach growls in anticipation.

As I wait, I glance out over the valley. It’s too dark to see much now, just a sea of black dotted with the faint glimmer of water reflecting the moonlight. But the stars…

I look up, and my breath catches.

The sky is a blanket of stars, more than I’ve ever seen before. They’re bright and countless, scattered across the darkness like shards of glass, their light piercing through the clear mountain air. The Milky Way stretches across the sky, a river of silver and gold, and I can’t help but stare, awestruck.

Dad would’ve loved this.

I can almost hear his voice, low and steady, telling me one of his stories.

“You know, Alec,” he’d say, his eyes twinkling as he pointed to the stars, “people used to believe that the stars were the souls of those who came before us. They thought the night sky was a way for the dead to watch over the living.”

I smile at the memory, but it’s bittersweet. The stars feel farther away tonight, their light cold and distant. I miss him. I miss the way he could make the world feel smaller, more manageable.

I pull the meal from the fire, the tinfoil packet hot in my hands, and tear it open. The smell of beef, potatoes, and peas fills the air, and I take a cautious bite. It’s warm and comforting, the flavors mingling on my tongue, and for a moment, I let myself relax.

But the peace doesn’t last.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear it—a low, guttural growl, so faint I almost think I’m imagining it. My body tenses, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife at my side. The fire crackles softly, its light flickering across the clearing, but the shadows beyond feel darker somehow, heavier.

I strain my ears, listening, but the sound doesn’t come again. The forest is quiet, too quiet, as if it’s holding its breath.

I sit there for a long time, my heart pounding, my eyes scanning the trees. The stars are still bright above me, but their light feels cold now, distant.

And then, just as I start to relax, I see it—a pair of glowing yellow eyes, watching me from the shadows.