The night after the ravine did not feel empty.
It felt attentive.
I moved away from the edge with careful steps, the land still sloping and uncertain beneath my boots. Each breath came easier now, fuller, my chest rising without resistance. The ache in my muscles lingered like a warning rather than a wound—something to respect, not fear.
I found a low hollow between two ridges where the wind broke and the ground dipped gently, sheltered by a thin line of trees. Their branches leaned together like conspirators, needles whispering as they brushed. I crouched beneath them and let my pack slide from my shoulder.
Only then did I realise how quiet the wolf had been.
Not absent. Just listening.
“Are you still there?” I asked softly, as if speaking too loudly might scatter whatever held the
