The wolf who whispered her name

There are dreams that are not dreams. They do not come to frighten you. They come to be remembered. … Mist lay low over the fjord. It drifted across the water in long white veils, hiding the mountains on the opposite shore. Only their dark outlines could be seen through the morning fog, tall and silent, as though they had stood there since before anyone could remember. Eldermere lay between them. An island surrounded by the dark waters of the fjord. Connected to the mainland by an old stone causeway that stretched through the mist like a narrow road between two worlds. William Eldren used to say that the causeway had a memory of its own. "It always knows who is coming," he would say. "And it always remembers who leaves." Elena believed him. She believed most things her father said. … "You're holding it wrong." Elena frowned. "I'm not." "You are." "I'm not." William smiled. It was one of those smiles that always began at the corner of his mouth, as though he was trying to hold it back and never quite managed. He took the stone from her hand. "Watch." He threw it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The stone skipped across the fjord before finally disappearing beneath the dark water. Elena stared at him. "You do that on purpose." "Being better than you?" "Yes." "I would never do such a thing." She nudged his arm. He laughed. The deep sound loosened something inside her chest. That was how it had always been with her father. Whenever the world became too big, she could come down to the fjord with him. And somehow it became smaller. He bent down, picked up another flat stone, and placed it in her hand. "Try again." "You say that as if it's easy." "It isn't." He stepped in behind her. His hand closed gently around hers. "Turn your wrist." She could feel the warmth of his hand through her own. "Like this?" "A little." "Like this?" "Now." She threw it. The stone touched the water. Once. Then it sank. Elena turned to him. "That was only one." "One is more than none." She smiled. "That sounds like something people say when they can't get five." "I can get five." He laughed again. And for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them. The fjord. The stones. The gulls. The cold wind in her hair. It was their place. When Elena was little, she believed every father had a place with his daughter. A place where you could simply be quiet together. A place where you could talk about things that had no answers. After her mother left, the causeway became theirs. Sometimes they would sit there for hours. William would look out across the water. Elena would skip stones. And sometimes neither of them would say a word. Other times, she asked questions he did not want to answer. "Do you think Mom is happy?" William looked out over the fjord. "I hope so." "Do you think she misses us?" "Yes." "Then why doesn't she come home?" This time, he didn't answer right away. The wind tugged at his hair. Far out on the fjord, a bird cut through the mist. At last, William crouched down in front of her. "Have I ever told you what an Alpha owes his pack?" Elena shook her head. "An Alpha protects." She nodded. "But not only from the things that can harm them." He rested a hand against her cheek. "Sometimes, you also protect the people you love..." For a moment, his gaze drifted across the fjord. "...by letting them go." Elena didn't understand. Not then. She only understood that her mother was gone. And that her father still loved her. Maybe that was the worst part. That there was no one to hate. … It was Elena who saw them first. Four figures in the mist. Far out on the causeway. They were coming from the mainland. A woman. Three children. They were little more than dark silhouettes moving through the fog. "Dad." William turned. He followed her gaze. Then he stood still for a moment. "Someone's coming." Elena took his hand. "Who are they?" "I don't know." He squeezed her fingers. "Then I suppose we'll have to find out." They walked toward them. The woman looked exhausted. Her clothes were worn from the journey, and her hair was damp from the mist. She held herself upright, even though her shoulders carried the kind of weariness that didn't come from walking alone. The oldest boy carried a backpack. A girl walked beside her. Dark brown curls escaped from beneath her hood in every direction. She looked about Elena's age. She seemed exhausted, but her eyes were awake. Curious. The youngest boy stayed close to his mother. The woman stopped in front of William. "My name is Carina Duvain." Her voice was gentle. Not weak. Simply gentle. "I'm sorry for arriving unannounced." William looked at them. At the children. At the damp seam along the woman's sleeve. At the way the youngest boy clung to his mother's hand. Then he stepped aside. "You don't need an invitation to seek shelter." Something shifted across Carina's face. For a moment, there was only exhaustion. Then relief. Or perhaps it only looked like relief. "We've lost our home," she said. William nodded. "Then you shouldn't lose hope as well." He looked toward the island. Toward Eldermere. "Welcome home." Carina placed a hand over her heart. "We will never forget your kindness." William smiled. "I hope not." … Elena could never remember the first time she saw Carina smile. She only remembered thinking about that smile much later. Not because it was unkind. It never was. It was just... very difficult to remember what had been there before it. In the beginning, it was easy to believe that Carina had brought something good with her. She had a way of making people feel seen. She remembered names. She seemed to be listening. She noticed who was tired, who was lonely, and who needed someone to ask if they were truly doing all right. She didn't ask many questions. She rarely had to. People told her things. It was strange how much people would reveal when you simply let them believe you were listening. And perhaps she was. Perhaps she truly listened. That was what made it so difficult to tell when something began to change. A detail here. A concern there. One small truth missing another small truth to make it whole. "I'm only saying this because I care about you." "That's not how I heard it." "Of course, I don't know if it's true." "But if it were me..." That was how doubt grew. Not like a storm. Storms arrive suddenly. Doubt seeps in like moisture through wood. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day, you realize that what you thought was solid has already begun to rot from the inside. Elena was nine years old when Carina came to Eldermere. She was fifteen when she ran. Six years. Only six years. But sometimes six years is long enough to change an entire world. Elena couldn't remember the beginning of the end. Not really. She remembered fragments. Her father's face. A door being thrown open. Shouts and the howls of wolves cutting through the night. Flames reflected in the black waters of the fjord. And snow. Always snow. She remembered William's hand against her back. His voice close to her ear. "Keep going, Elena." Not harsh. Simply firm. As though he had already decided that she would be the one to get away. She ran across the causeway. Or perhaps he was the one who made her run. The snow bit into her bare feet. The cold tore through her lungs. Behind her lay Eldermere. Her home. Her father. Everything she still loved. Ahead of her lay the mainland. And the darkness. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to leave. "Elena!" It wasn't a voice she heard with her ears. It sounded inside her mind. Raw. Pressed beneath something she had never felt from her father before. "Run, Elena. You have to get away." She didn't look back. Not because she was running from him. But because she knew he was pushing her forward even as he stayed behind. That he was holding a door open somewhere she couldn't yet see. That he was giving her one final way out. If she looked back, she might stay. And if she stayed... She couldn't think any further. Something warm stirred inside her. Something that had always been there. Soft fur brushing against her soul. A voice. Not her father's. Not anyone she knew. Elena. She almost stopped. It didn't come through the air. It came through the bond she didn't understand, but that already existed between them. Inside her mind. “I'm here.” She reached for the voice as though it could hold on to her for just one moment longer. But grief pulled harder than the call. Fear followed close behind, heavy and merciless. Between them, there was room for nothing but escape. Something deep inside her drifted farther and farther away, as though it were already slipping beyond her reach. So Elena kept running. … Many years later, Elena still dreamed of Eldermere. Of the mist drifting over the fjord. Of the causeway disappearing into the fog. Of her father's hands. Of four figures walking from the mainland. Sometimes she woke with the cold of snow beneath her feet. Other times, with a voice in the darkness. A voice that always slipped away before she could understand it. She only knew that it was calling to her. And every time she woke, the dream faded a little more. Like mist in sunlight. Like footprints in snow. Like something that had been waiting for her for thirteen years. But memories are strange. They hide the things we cannot bear to know. And they let the things we long for go on whispering. So Elena remembered the causeway. She remembered the mist. She remembered how it all began. But she never remembered... how it ended.