The Howl

The shift didn't last.

His body, broken by the iron and the grief, collapsed back into itself. The bones snapped and shrank. The fur returned.

He was a pup again. Small. Helpless. Alone.

Kael lay in the snow, watching the fire across the water. The orange light reflected in his glassy amber eyes.

He waited. Part of him, the childish part that believed in their shared dreams, waited for her to stand up out of the fire. He waited for her to run across the water and scoop him up and tell him the cabin was ready.

But the fire only burned hotter. The smell of smoke drifted across the creek, carrying the scent of burning wool and hair.

The Hunters eventually left, their laughter fading into the night. They left nothing but a pile of ash and scorched earth.

Kael dragged himself to the edge of the water. He couldn't cross back. The current was too strong, and he was too weak.

He curled his tail around his nose to preserve what little warmth he had left. The snow began to fall again, covering the tracks they had made together, erasing the proof that she had ever existed.

He was alive. He had survived. Just as she had commanded.

Kael lifted his head to the gray, empty sky. He opened his mouth to scream her name again, but he had no human voice left.

A howl rose from his throat. It wasn't the fierce call of a predator. It was a high, broken, keening wail. It drifted over the frozen water, a funeral song for the girl who burned so the wolf could live.

The wind swallowed the sound, and the snow kept falling.