The second her eyes slipped shut, she knew where she was. She was a wolf. She always was, in these dreams.
Cool moss tickled her paws. A wind threaded through the trees, carrying the scent of something familiar: pine, lavender, and magic. She padded forward slowly, already sensing it was different this time.
The forest looked younger.
Then she saw it. The cottage.
Rose’s cottage.
But not the one she knew. This one was fresher. The garden was wild but tended. The air shimmered faintly with magic, humming like a remembered song.
Two young girls played among the blossoms.
The younger one couldn’t have been more than five, with long black hair loose down her back. She twirled barefoot through the flowers, singing softly to herself. With every flick of her small fingers, petals opened in
