Names
517 Words
Elena didn’t sleep much.
Even though her body begged for rest, her mind refused to settle. She kept listening for threats—hoofsteps outside, whispers through the trees, the creak of wood giving way to a knife. But none came.
Just the steady pop of the fire. Just the occasional shift of Lyle as he moved quietly around the den.
She didn’t understand him.
He’d saved her. That part made sense—barely. But the way he looked at her, the way he spoke—without fear, without hate—that didn’t make sense at all.
Wolves didn’t trust sheep. Sheep didn’t trust wolves.
That was the rule.
And yet… here she was, alive, warm, breathing.
He gave her food the next morning—simple flatbread and boiled herbs. She refused it. He left it beside her anyway.
The next night, she asked, “What are you waiting for?”
He glanced up from where he was stirring something in a pot. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve healed me. I’m not dead. So… what now? Are you waiting to turn me over to your village?”
Lyle met her gaze, patient. “No.”
She squinted. “Then you’re waiting for what—me to change my mind and become peaceful like you?”
“No.”
She growled in frustration. “Then why?”
He was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m just giving you space. You were hurt. Now you’re healing. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” she snapped. “You keep looking at me like I’m something I’m not.”
Lyle tilted his head. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m not dangerous.”
He smiled, and somehow, that infuriated her more.
“I know you’re dangerous,” he said. “You could kill me right now if you wanted. I’m just not afraid of you.”
That threw her.
Most sheep trembled when they saw a wolf. They flinched at her voice. Ran from her shadow. She was used to that kind of power. This calmness? This certainty? She didn’t know what to do with it.
“I’m Elena,” she said suddenly, almost without thinking.
Lyle blinked. “Elena?”
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
He smiled again, gentler this time. “Lyle.”
She snorted. “Of course it is. Sounds soft.”
He chuckled. “It is. So’s the wool.”
She should’ve hated that joke. But instead, something about it made her lips twitch.
“Why’d you tell me?” she asked.
“Tell you what?”
“Your name. I’m still your enemy.”
He set down the ladle and looked at her seriously. “I don’t think enemies share fires and food. Or names.”
She didn’t know how to answer that.
So she didn’t.
Later that night, after he’d gone to sleep on the floor across the room, Elena lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her shoulder was almost fully healed. She could leave. She should leave.
But something rooted her in place.
- Writer
