A strange feeling of having done this before hit me as I went into the woods. It had been years since I had run through these trees as a wolf—a day or two before I left Pinecrest Valley, if I remembered right. A few days before I made the biggest mistake of my life. It was wild how a choice made by a young man, filled with anger and hate, could ruin the lives of three people.
For more than an hour, I let my wolf do whatever he wanted. My human thoughts moved to the back, and the wolf ran through the bushes, moving as fast as a demon. Paws moved over moss, dirt, and leaves, even while small branches pulled at our fur. We did not stop or slow down, as if moving fast could let us run away from the sad yet amazing truth we had found. The wolf needed this just as much—maybe even more—than I d
