I stayed on the mountain.
Ethan built me a small cabin from cedar wood.
The roof was covered with thick hides, and the windows faced south.
When I opened them, the entire snow-covered mountain range stretched before me.
Every day, Ethan climbed up from the refuge carrying food.
Oatmeal in the morning.
Roasted meat and cheese at noon.
A pot of wolfsheart tea at night.
I started helping at the refuge too.
Changing bandages for injured lone wolves.
Delivering food to elderly wolves who had run out of supplies.
People started calling me “Assistant Sera.”
Nobody called me the Guilty Wolf anymore.
The old wounds in my knees hardened into thick scars.
The frost cracks on my hands faded into pale lines.
Only the silver-needle marks remained.
Dark purple and black.
Permanent.
Ever
