The quiet of the forest and my thoughts are abruptly splintered, the snap of a branch breaking under weight. The sound is sharp, unexpected.

  For a moment, I freeze, my heart skittering against my ribs and the hairs on the back of my neck standing tall. Instinct screams at me, a cold warning that something is out of place.

  Something is watching.

  I listen intently, trying to sense what’s beyond the stillness, but nothing stirs. The wind is a mere whisper through the treetops, soft and distant. The rustling of leaves is far off, a squirrel, perhaps, making its morning rounds.

  But that sound—the crack of a branch underfoot—it's too deliberate, too measured to ignore.

  My senses, still heightened from the aftermath of the Rut, don’t let me down. I can feel it, a presence nearby, one that doesn't belong.

  Something foreign. It smells different from the usual earth and pine, the crisp, familiar scent of the forest I call home. There's a sharp, musky tang that cuts through the natural scent of the woods.

  Wolf.

  My muscles coil, tight and ready. A predator is near.

  My body tenses like a drawn bowstring.

  You're not alone anymore.

  I hold my breath, eyes darting through the thick trunks of trees, scanning for any flicker of movement. The woods are dense here, the trees so closely packed their thick boughs weave a tangled net above, the shadows dark and heavy. My surroundings are nearly suffocating in their silence, the bark of the trees impossibly still, their roots and branches thick with age.

  Still, I know I’m not imagining it.

  The sound of movement—soft, deliberate—reaches my ears again, followed by another snap of a twig. Closer this time.

  Closer.

  A flicker of something, movement, shifts between the trees. The air hums with tension, like the moment before a storm breaks. My heart pounds harder, louder, as if it’s trying to warn me too. A low, instinctual voice inside urges me to run, to flee from whatever looms in the distance.

  But I don’t. I stay, rooted in place. My feet feel anchored to the earth, as though the forest itself is holding me still.

  I can feel the blood rushing in my ears now, the breath in my chest quickening. My gaze sharpens, dilating as I try to focus. There, just ahead, between the trunks of two ancient oaks, I spot a shadow. Something large. Something moving with purpose.

  And then, it steps into view.

  A massive wolf, its fur a blend of shadow and silver-gray, rippling with raw strength as it moves. The muscles beneath its pelt flex, shifting with each powerful stride. It’s a beautiful creature—silent, but every step cautious with primal grace.

  But it's too large. Too massive. This isn’t just any wolf.

  It’s a werewolf.

  My breath catches, my pulse jumping in my throat as the realization hits. A creature of legend. Of nightmare. But also, of treaty. A shiver runs down my spine. I know the pack laws. I know the rules. But that doesn’t mean I trust them. Not completely.

  Its yellow eyes lock onto mine, glowing faintly in the cool light of the early dawn. There's an intensity there, something sharp and unsettling that pins me in place.

  For a long moment, neither of us move. The forest around us seems to hold its breath, the air thick with tension, as if the trees themselves are watching this moment unfold.

  Instinct urges me to run. To dart away like the deer I am. But I don't. Instead, I remain still, my heart thrumming beneath my ribs.

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  I can’t tear my gaze from the creature before me. It's a force of nature, beautiful in its power, terrifying in its silence. I don’t know why, but a part of me knows it’s not a threat.

  Not yet.

  The werewolf doesn’t advance. It doesn’t growl or bare its teeth. Instead, it stands there, as if waiting. Watching. Its posture is taut, but there’s a hesitation in the way it holds itself. Almost as if...it doesn’t know what to do with me.

  I blink, my thoughts racing. What is it waiting for?

  Without thinking, my senses reach out, stretching into the depths of the woods. Not just with sight or sound, but with something deeper, a pulse of awareness that connects me to the trees, to the earth beneath my feet. The bond between the creatures of this forest is woven with energy, and right now, I let it flow through me.

  And then, there it is. A faint brush against my mind, light as a whisper, but it’s unmistakable. A voice.

  "Don’t be afraid."

  The words are soft, a deep, rough timbre with an unfamiliar gentleness. It startles me. I hadn’t expected that. The voice is hesitant, unsure, like it’s not quite sure how to make itself known. It’s not the growl of a predator. It’s something different. Something... softer.

  "I mean you no harm."

  I freeze. The voice echoes in my thoughts, wrapping around my mind, pulling me into its stillness. I try to process it, to understand. It’s not spoken aloud, not in the way a creature might warn or threaten. This is a message. One I didn’t expect from a werewolf, of all things.

  I blink again, my chest tight. This is madness. My heart is still hammering against my ribs, my instincts urging me to bolt, to flee to the safety of the trees. But something... something in the werewolf’s voice, in the way it holds itself, keeps me from running.

  "Why are you here?" I ask, the question slipping through my mind before I can stop it, my voice quieter now, controlled, despite the storm of emotions tearing through me.

  I don't know what to expect. Not really.

  There’s a pause. Then, his voice trickles back through my mind, uncertain, almost self-conscious.

  "I was... watching you," he replies. "You seemed lost."

  The words stir something in me. A pang of confusion. My brow furrows, the sudden shift in my heartbeat making my pulse quicken. Lost?

  "Who are you?" I ask, the suspicion creeping into my tone, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been taught to be wary of creatures like this. Like them. "What do you want?"

  "I hadn’t known you were of the deerkind," he says slowly, almost apologetically, as if that explanation somehow makes everything clear.

  The werewolf’s eyes glance away for a moment, the intensity fading, though his gaze flicks restlessly to the trees as if he’s looking for something.

  "I don’t want to hurt you. I just... wanted to speak with you. I don’t understand what's happening right now." His words falter, and for a second, he sounds almost... lost.

  A rogue, maybe?

  I step forward, cautiously. My body is still tight with tension, but my curiosity outweighs my fear. What’s going on here? What does he mean by “speak”? Why is he so…confused?

  I let the silence settle for a moment before I speak again, my voice low. "What do you want?"

  The question lingers in the air, but before I can hear his response, another sound breaks through the quiet—the sharp snap of a twig underfoot, the unmistakable sound of hooves.

  Giselle. My late mother's best friend and someone who took over as one of my many mother figures. She steps into the clearing, her form elegant and poised, a doe of quiet strength. Her dark eyes flick between me and the werewolf, her stance defensive, her muscles coiled like springs.

  "Who is this?" she demands, her voice harsh but not unkind, cutting through the tension in my mind like a knife.

  "I don’t know," I say, glancing back at the werewolf.

  His posture shifts under my gaze, his body taut as though caught in a moment of indecision before he does the unthinkable.

  He flinches.

  The werewolf turns suddenly, his body moving fluidly as he bolts into the woods, vanishing into the shadows of the trees before I can react. I stand there, stunned, watching his retreating form disappear. The forest goes unnervingly quiet again, the air still heavy with unanswered questions.

  Giselle watches him go, her expression unreadable. After a long moment, she turns her gaze back to me, her voice quieter now.

  "Are you alright?"

  I nod slowly, my chest still tight with uncertainty. "He didn’t... attack me. He didn’t want to hurt me."

  The doe's gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing slightly. "That’s strange. Wolves don’t just... talk. I’ve never heard of one doing that before." She snorts softly, her hooves shifting against the ground as if in distaste.

  I chew my lip, processing the encounter. Her words echo in my mind, but I can’t shake the strange feeling the werewolf left me with. The unease still lingers, but I don’t know if it’s from fear or something else.

  Giselle steps closer, her gaze sharp. "Stay sharp. Not all creatures in these woods are friendly, and that wolf... He’s not like you."

  A chill runs through me at her words. She’s right. The forest is full of danger, of creatures I will never understand. And I can’t help but feel that this encounter isn’t over. The werewolf’s actions were too strange, too unexpected.

  With one last look toward the path the werewolf took, Giselle nods firmly. "I’ll send for the others. They're looking for you."

  I watch her disappear into the forest, leaving me alone again, the silence stretching between the trees. Whatever is between me and that werewolf, whatever it was, it’s not over.

  Not yet.

  I am alone again, but the forest feels heavier than it did before.