nose told her that he slept, for she could make out the milk on his breath. The black mother wolf looked at Jenni, amusement in the line of her ears.
He is a greedy, hungry one, but I have fed him full, she seemed to say. He will sleep well now; my pups and I will keep him warm. He is safe. So are you.
The words weren’t words, as such, but if Jenni had to translate the mother wolf’s expression and . . . communication (and it was clear that it was a deliberate communication, though Jenni couldn’t have said how), that was how she would have articulated it. Before. When she spoke.
The gray wolf nipped at her shoulder to get her attention, then flipped her tail in a gesture that clearly said, Come, and she padded out to the entrance of the den.
Jenni followed, slowly at first, but with more confidence as she worked out how to move on four feet and coordinate her tail. As she stepped outside, the night exploded into sensation.
First, of course, were the scents. It was as if she could feel them on her tongue. She could smell the comings and goings of the pack near the mouth of the den, but she could also smell the sharp crispness of the snow, and the softening that meant the snowfall would end soon. She could almost taste the underlying soil, and the blanket of pine needles that lived therein. The wood of the trees, the iron tang of the granite boulders, the warmth of the wind, her old blood . . . it made her head spin in dizzying circles as the scents swarmed her under.
Bodies brushed by her, fur crackling with static against her own fur. The warm, rich scent of the pack enveloped her as they swarmed, bumping playfully against her shoulders and flanks. Every touch, every nip a welcome, a jolt of joy at her existence, her choice to go on living.
Jenni took another step, feeling the snow crunch and compact beneath her splayed paw. The night even sounded different: she heard notes from the night animals that she’d never imagined existed.
The gray wolf looked back at her again and beckoned her onward once more before turning and beginning to lope away through the trees. Jenni took a deep breath (even that felt so strange!) and took another step, and then another . . .
And then she began to run.
Her body flowed like water. Jennilee could feel the power in her muscles as they contracted and lengthened with every stride. The wind of her passage ruffled over her fur, making her skin tingle with awareness. The scents of the night wrapped around her, drew her forward in the sheer joy of motion. Snow flew upward from her prints, dusting around her in a cloud that seemed to slow time itself as she ran.
Or was it flying? She never could decide, not even years later, when she looked back on that first glorious time.
Together, the pack streamed through the trees. The moon peeked through the thinning clouds and turned the air silver around them. Jenni felt that she could have run forever, drunk on the joy of it all. This was what it meant to be alive! This she could do forever . . .
Would do. Forever.
Jennilee came to a sudden stop, her joy draining away as she realized what she’d done. She could never go home, never go back to her family, and at the end of it all, she would never be reunited with them in eternity.
Between one thought and the next, she was human again. Whole and naked, she crouched in the snow, shivering in the night.
“Now you see,” the gray woman said, her voice coming through the darkness before Jenni could see her. She’d known she was there, though. Her scent had given her away.
“Ye-yes,” Jenni whispered, her words puffing into a cloud in the crystalline night.
“Do you regret it?”
Did she? The thought of her family was a piercing ache that closed her throat and left her heart feeling shattered. But then, the thought of her brother . . . and the joy