Chapter Five: The Wolf’s Eyes
612 Words
The forest grew quieter the deeper they went.
Branches clawed at Evelyn’s cloak as she followed Nathaniel through the Crooked Grove. The other villagers had refused to step past the tree line—crossing themselves, muttering prayers, and retreating quickly. Even the dogs had whined and backed away.
But Evelyn didn’t stop.
The deeper they went, the stranger the air became. Still. Watchful. Like something was listening.
Nathaniel walked ahead in silence, parting the brush with gloved hands. His coat, black as pitch, seemed to absorb the dim light. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. The trees grew too thick, and the sky above was nothing more than a smudge of grey.
Finally, he paused.
“Here,” he said.
Evelyn stepped beside him—and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Another body.
Not a villager this time. A man dressed in foreign clothes, his throat torn open, eyes rolled back in fear. The mark was etched into his chest, just like the others—but this time, it had been bitten into the flesh.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Nathaniel crouched beside the corpse, examining the strange symbols with a kind of grim familiarity. He didn’t look disgusted or afraid. He looked expectant.
“This isn’t just murder,” Evelyn whispered. “It’s a message, isn’t it?”
Nathaniel nodded. “A warning.”
“From who?”
He glanced up at her, the faintest flicker of fire in his gaze.
“Not from who. From what.”
---
They buried the man in the old churchyard that evening.
The priest performed the rites with trembling hands, and even the gravediggers rushed the process. Nathaniel stayed long after everyone had left, standing at the edge of the grave like a statue.
Evelyn watched him from the shadows.
He hadn’t said a word since returning from the forest. But she could feel something churning beneath his stillness. Fury? Regret? Grief? She couldn’t tell. When she finally stepped closer, her voice was careful, quiet.
“You knew him, didn’t you?”
Nathaniel didn’t look at her. “He was a scout. A messenger.”
“Yours?”
He nodded.
“Then why is he dead?”
Nathaniel exhaled, long and slow.
“Because the woods no longer belong to us.”
Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “Us?”
He finally turned to face her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those glowing, inhuman eyes—softened, just slightly.
“There are things you don’t understand yet,” he said. “Things I once hoped you’d never need to.”
“Then why bring me into this now?”
“Because you’re already in it, Evelyn. You’ve been part of this far longer than you realize.”
A gust of wind swept through the churchyard, stirring the dead leaves. For a moment, Evelyn thought she heard something moving—low and growling—from the trees beyond the fence.
When she turned back, Nathaniel was gone.
---
That night, Evelyn dreamt of wolves.
Not the kind that roamed the wild. No, these were larger. Smarter. Their eyes burned like coals, and their howls shook the ground. She saw herself running barefoot through the snow, blood on her hands, her name echoing through a void.
Then she saw him.
Nathaniel—drenched in blood, his eyes feral, his voice a whisper on the wind.
"Don’t look away, Evelyn. You’ve seen this before."
She woke with a scream lodged in her throat, her heart thudding like war drums.
---
The next morning, Evelyn found a letter on her windowsill.
No seal. No handwriting. Just three words burned into the parchment:
The wolves remember.
- Writer
