Chapter 38 — Old Instincts
1408 Words
Dawn in the forest did not arrive softly.
It arrived cold.
The pale light crept slowly across the clearing near the ruined stone wall where they had stopped for the night. The air still carried the damp chill of early morning, and the ground was wet with dew.
Linda had been awake long before the sun.
Sleep had come eventually the night before, heavy and deep after exhaustion and too many emotions. But when the first gray light touched the trees, she had slipped away from the camp quietly.
Now she moved across the clearing alone.
Her spear cut the air with a sharp whistle.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
The wooden practice dummy she had assembled from a fallen branch and rope swayed under the impact.
Linda exhaled slowly through her teeth.
Again.
She stepped forward, thrusting the spear straight into the target’s center before spinning the shaft in her hands and sweeping low.
The movement was fast.
Precise.
Disciplined.
Her training showed in every motion.
But something inside her felt wrong.
She knew it.
The forest did too.
She shifted stance and pulled the spear back again.
Strike.
The shaft cracked against the dummy’s “shoulder.”
Pain flared in her leg.
Sharp.
Hot.
Linda ignored it.
Again.
She moved faster.
The spear spun through her hands, her body pivoting smoothly around the movement.
Another thrust.
Another sweep.
Another pivot.
Her injured leg buckled slightly.
She forced it straight.
“Again,” she muttered to herself.
Sweat gathered along her neck despite the cold morning air.
Her breathing deepened.
She dropped the spear suddenly and grabbed two short training blades from the ground beside her.
The metal flashed in the rising light.
Step.
Strike.
Left blade high.
Right blade low.
Turn.
Slash.
Her body remembered the patterns.
The drills.
The rhythm of pack combat.
She moved around invisible enemies.
Parry.
Strike.
Advance.
Retreat.
Her breath grew sharper.
The pain in her leg spread slowly up her thigh now.
She ignored it.
Again.
The blades moved faster.
She lunged forward—
And stumbled.
The pain shot up her leg hard enough to steal the air from her lungs.
Linda stopped.
Bent slightly at the waist.
Breathing hard.
The clearing was quiet.
Too quiet.
She straightened slowly.
Then she felt it.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Presence.
Her eyes lifted toward the trees.
Stanton stood near the edge of the clearing.
Leaning against the trunk of a tall pine.
Arms crossed.
Watching.
He had been there for a while.
Long enough to see everything.
Linda wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.
“You could have announced yourself.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“When you ignored it.”
She scowled slightly.
He pushed himself off the tree and stepped into the clearing.
His gaze moved over the training area.
The dummy.
The blades.
Her stance.
Her injured leg.
“You’re compensating,” he said.
“I’m training.”
“You’re hiding the injury.”
“It’s nothing.”
His eyes moved to her leg.
“It’s slowing you.”
She lifted her chin.
“I’ve fought worse.”
“Yes.”
He studied her for a moment.
“You’re dissatisfied.”
She didn’t answer.
But the way she gripped the blades tightened.
“That wasn’t good enough for you,” he said.
“No.”
Silence lingered.
Stanton stepped closer to the training area.
He nudged the wooden dummy with his foot.
It swayed slightly.
“You move well,” he said.
Linda narrowed her eyes.
“That sounded like an insult.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then explain.”
He looked at her directly.
“You’re training like a pack wolf.”
She froze slightly.
“That’s what I am.”
“No.”
The word landed bluntly.
“You were.”
Her jaw tightened.
“This is the only way I know.”
“Yes.”
He gestured lightly toward the clearing.
“Formations.”
“Structured movement.”
“Predictable rhythm.”
She bristled.
“That’s called discipline.”
“That’s called surviving inside a pack.”
“And?”
“And it gets you killed outside one.”
Linda stared at him.
“You think I can’t fight alone.”
“I know you can.”
Her shoulders tightened slightly.
“But?”
“But not against what waits outside pack borders.”
She crossed her arms.
“And what exactly waits out there?”
“Wolves who don’t follow rules.”
His voice remained calm.
“Wolves who don’t wait their turn.”
“Wolves who attack from behind.”
“From above.”
“From everywhere.”
He stepped closer.
“You were trained to fight alongside others.”
“That’s how packs survive.”
“Yes.”
He met her gaze.
“But you don’t have a pack anymore.”
The words struck deeper than he intended.
Linda looked away briefly.
Her jaw tightened.
“I still have myself.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s not enough?”
“It will be.”
He studied her stance again.
“Your strength is impressive.”
She didn’t soften.
“Your speed too.”
Still no reaction.
“And your instincts are sharp.”
She glanced at him.
“Then what’s the problem?”
He tilted his head slightly.
“The problem is that you still fight like someone will cover your blind side.”
Her eyes hardened.
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He gestured toward the dummy.
“You attack forward.”
“You pivot left.”
“You retreat right.”
She frowned.
“That’s standard combat flow.”
“For pack fighters.”
“And?”
“And a wild wolf breaks that flow immediately.”
Silence.
“You rely on patterns,” he continued.
“They rely on chaos.”
Linda’s grip tightened on the blades.
“I’ve fought rogues.”
“Yes.”
“And I survived.”
“Yes.”
His gaze sharpened slightly.
“But if you fought a real wild wolf—”
He paused.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Finish that sentence.”
“You would lose.”
The words landed quietly.
But they hit harder than any strike.
Her breathing slowed.
Dangerously.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer to him.
“Even with everything I know?”
“Yes.”
“Even with my training?”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“You think I’d lose to you.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then:
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them.
The morning wind moved through the trees.
Linda stared at him.
He didn’t look arrogant.
He didn’t look smug.
Just certain.
That certainty irritated her more than anything he had said.
She looked down at the blades in her hands.
Then back at him.
“You know what your problem is?” she said.
“No.”
“You talk too much.”
He almost smiled.
Linda’s jaw tightened again.
She bent suddenly and grabbed the spear she had dropped earlier.
The wooden shaft scraped across the ground as she lifted it.
Then—
She tossed it aside.
It clattered against a rock.
She rolled her shoulders once.
Then stepped closer to him.
“So,” she said coldly.
“If my training is so useless…”
She looked him up and down.
“…why don’t you prove it?”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Prove what?”
She kicked the practice blades aside.
“They say wild wolves fight without rules.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She flexed her fingers once.
The frustration of the morning.
The anger of his words.
The lingering heat from the night before.
All of it sharpened inside her chest.
She took another step toward him.
“Let’s see how quickly you end up on your back.”
Her eyes flashed.
“And then you can explain to me again how useless my training is.”
Stanton looked at her for a long moment.
Then slowly pushed away from the tree.
The faintest hint of interest crossed his expression.
The clearing suddenly felt much smaller.
Much more dangerous.
Linda lifted her chin slightly.
“Well?”
She spread her hands.
“Show me how wild wolves fight.”
The wind moved through the clearing again.
Neither of them moved.
But the air had changed.
And the fight had already begun.
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