Ahead, through the curtain of snow, I saw a familiar jagged silhouette. It was an old, abandoned hunter’s shack I hadn’t used in over a decade. I had no idea I was even in this territory.
The wolves stood at the edge of the clearing, refusing to come closer to the man-made structure. I stumbled toward the door, my hands shaking so violently I could barely work the latch. I fell inside, the air still and dry, and managed to find a stash of old wood. As the first sparks of a fire began to catch, I looked out the frost-covered window.
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The wolves were still there, lying in the snow like sentinels, watching the smoke rise from the chimney. They stayed until the sun began to break through the morning clouds.
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