Vane
The question still rang in my skull when I moved.
Who are you?
I didn't answer. My hind paws dug into the earth and I raked my claws forward, sending a spray of dirt and grit straight into his eyes.
The black wolf flinched. His jaws loosened for half a second.
Half a second was enough.
I ripped free and ran.
No direction. No plan. Just the burn in my legs and the dark blur of trees splitting apart as I tore through them. Behind me, a snarl—sharp and raw, loud enough to rattle the branches above my head—but the paws didn't follow.
I didn't slow down until the forest thinned and the lights of the settlement bled through the trees. My lungs were on fire. My paw pads stung where roots and stones had torn them open.
The oak. I needed the oak.
I found it by scent. My own jacket, m
