Chapter One: The Watcher in the Pines

The forest had always been quiet, but tonight, it breathed differently.

Elara stood by the window of her cabin, brush in hand, staring out into the dense pines that hugged the edge of her property. Her canvas sat behind her, unfinished — a dark smear of trees and stars that had lost her attention hours ago.

She saw him again.

A silver-gray wolf, half-shadow, half-moonlight, watching her from the treeline. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, still as stone, like he had every night for the past week.

Elara’s breath caught.

She should’ve been afraid. Most people would be. But something in those eyes — golden, unnervingly intelligent — always froze the fear before it reached her heart.

She raised her hand slowly, palm open against the glass.

The wolf tilted its head.

“Elara.” Her friend’s voice crackled through the old walkie-talkie beside her. “You there?”

Startled, she grabbed the device. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“You see him again?”

Elara hesitated. “He’s back.”

A pause. “Girl, I’m telling you — that’s not normal. You need to report it.”

“I’m not reporting him,” she said firmly. “He’s… just watching. He’s never come close.”

“You’re alone out there.”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t sure that was true. Lately, dreams had been bleeding into her waking hours — voices whispering under moonlight, a name she didn’t remember calling out in her sleep. Her paintings had shifted, too — now filled with silver fur, glowing eyes, and an ache she couldn’t explain.

And always, that wolf.

After the walkie clicked off, Elara lingered by the window. The wolf hadn’t moved. For a moment, they simply stared at one another. Then, soundlessly, he turned and vanished into the trees.

That night, Elara couldn’t sleep.

The fire had died out, and the cabin had grown cold. She curled beneath her blankets, wide-eyed, listening to the wind whisper through the pine needles outside. The shadows on her ceiling seemed to sway like branches.

She sat up.

The window beckoned again, the way it always did when the feeling returned — a pull she didn’t understand.

He was gone.

Reluctantly, she stepped onto the porch. Snow crunched faintly beneath her bare feet. The clearing beyond glowed under the heavy, low-hanging moon. Her breath clouded in front of her.

And then — a sound.

Branches cracking. Something moving just beyond sight.

“Hello?” she called softly. Her voice barely rose above the wind.

Nothing. But she felt him.

Not just heard — felt. Like a heartbeat outside her own chest.

She waited, pulse quickening.

And then… from the trees, a low, almost imperceptible sound reached her. Not a growl — not quite. It was deeper. Sadder. Like a sigh from something that didn’t remember how to speak.

The sound curled into her bones.

She stepped back inside and locked the door.

Later, in bed, she opened her sketchbook. Her hand moved without direction, and when she looked down, a wolf’s face stared back up at her — wild and soft, powerful and tired. Beneath his golden eyes, she had written, without meaning to:

“He remembers me.”

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