The plan had been simple—split up, circle around, double our chances. Einar had shown me the game trails, pointed out the tracks, and told me where to circle back if either of us didn't return by nightfall. We weren't far from home. The air was crisp, but the snow hadn't started falling yet. We had time.
I wasn't nervous.
I was getting good at this.
The bow felt right in my hands now. I moved quieter than I used to. I knew how to spot droppings, fresh tracks, disturbed brush. I was starting to feel like someone who belonged out here. Someone capable. Reliable. Not just the strange girl who lived in the woods with a quiet man and his tired wife.
So when I saw the deer… a stag—grazing near the edge of a frozen stream, huge, antlers wide and heavy like a crown—I didn't panic.
I slowed. Dropped low. Stayed downwind.
It hadn't seen me. Hadn't heard me. I watched its ears. Listened to the rhythm of its chewing. It was the kind of moment you wait for—the kind you dream about when you're still missing every rabbit that doesn't spot you.
I raised the bow. Drew the string back, smooth and steady. My breathing slowed.
This was it.
And then it jerked its head up, ears swiveling—not toward me. Not even close.
It bolted. Crashed through the trees, hooves hammering the earth, gone before I could even exhale.
My first thought was confusion. What did I do wrong? I hadn't moved. I hadn't made a sound.
My second thought was wrong direction—it wasn't running from me. It was running from something else.
And then I saw the eyes.
Across the clearing, low to the ground, glowing with that unnatural yellow gleam that needs no light to catch. A shape moved between the trees—slow, deliberate.
A wolf.
No. Not just a wolf.
This one was big. Bigger than any I'd seen from a distance, bigger than the scrappy lone wolves that sometimes stalked the edges of the village in deep winter. Its shoulders were heavy with muscle. Its fur looked almost black in the fading light, thick and shaggy, glinting with frost.
And it was staring directly at me.
I didn't move. Didn't blink.
I didn't breathe.
My mind raced. What do I do? Einar had taught me what to do if I saw a wolf, but that was from afar—when you could back away, make yourself look big, regroup. This was close. Too close.
It didn't growl. Didn't snarl. Just stood there, half-shadow, half-animal, watching.
Sizing me up.
I lowered the bow slightly. Not because I meant to, but because my hands were shaking just enough to ruin any shot I might try.
This thing looked tough.
I stepped forward once—just a single step—but it was enough to make my instincts scream.
I was prey.
I remembered what Einar had told me—what to do if I ever saw a wolf.
Don't run. Don't turn your back. Make yourself look big. Loud. Threatening. Make them think you're not worth the fight.
So I did exactly that.
I stood tall—or as tall as I could at my size—raised my arms, and shouted. Loud, sharp, and sudden, forcing my voice to echo off the trees. I slammed the back of my hand against my bow like a drum.
The wolf didn't flinch.
Its ears flicked at the sound, but its eyes never left me. Still, it watched. Still, it waited. And then—it moved. Not away. Not back into the trees.
Sideways.
A slow, deliberate step. Circling.
That's when I saw the second set of eyes, low and gleaming among the trees. Then a third. Both emerging without a sound, slipping from the forest like shadows with teeth.
They were flanking me.
No growls. No snarls. Just movement—controlled, patient, and predatory. They were testing me.
I didn't move. Didn't back up. My fingers twitched near my bowstring, but I didn't draw. I knew it would be useless. One shot, maybe two if I was lucky. That wouldn't save me. I couldn't afford to act like prey.
Don't turn. Don't give them your back.
A low wind swept through the clearing, stirring dead leaves at my feet, and with it came the faintest shift in my gut—the taste of magic, of panic trying to become action.
I thought about fire.
I knew wolves didn't like it. Animals feared flame. It was primal. Ancient.
But the moment I reached for it—really considered it—I knew.
Too much.
I could feel it in my bones. That awful, draining pull it took just to light a hearth on that frozen night. It would leave me trembling, empty, weak.
And right now? Weak meant dead.
I glanced left, then right—just once.
Eyes. Two more sets. Low, alert, glinting in the fading light.
That made five.
They were closing the circle.
I clenched my jaw, keeping my breathing steady, cursing under my breath so low even I could barely hear it.
"Should've practiced. Should've made fire my friend."
But I hadn't. I'd let it slide. Because it was hard. Because it hurt.
And now, here I stood—eight years old, alone in the woods, bow in hand, surrounded by wolves.
It was hard to explain what happened.
One moment I was surrounded, counting glowing eyes in the shadows and cursing myself for every fire-starting lesson I'd skipped. The next, something shifted.
Not outside—inside.
The fear was there. Heavy. Cold. But I pushed it. Set it aside like I would a too-heavy log. Not because I wasn't afraid, but because I couldn't afford to be.
Running would've made me prey.
Fighting would've made me dead.
And somewhere deep in my chest, I knew—I didn't want to fight.
So I lowered my bow.
Not all the way. Just enough. Enough to show I wasn't a threat. My arms were trembling. My heart pounded so hard I thought the wolves could hear it.
And then…
Something clicked.
It wasn't words. Not exactly. Not even thought. More like… presence. Intention. A feeling like my soul brushing against something older, deeper, more instinct than intellect.
I didn't hear them—but I felt them.
The hunger. The tension. The flickering instinct dancing on the edge of decision. They were waiting for a signal. Not from me. From each other. From the lead.
And I gave them one.
Not food, I told them. Not prey.
Friend.
It was barely a thought—more like a whisper in my bones. A shape of meaning I couldn't explain if I tried. A language too old for words.
And they heard it.
The circling stopped.
The ears perked.
A sixth wolf stepped into view from what felt like nowhere…the leader—huge and dark and impossibly still—took a slow step forward.
I didn't move. I couldn't. My breath caught in my throat as it came close, impossibly close, and sniffed the air just inches from me. I could feel its heat. Smell the wild earth and musk on its fur. Hear its breath, slow and deep.
We locked eyes.
Its eyes weren't just yellow. They were deep—too deep. Not just reflecting the fading light, but holding it, like twin lanterns in the dark. I felt myself sink into them, like falling forward into a well with no bottom. There was age there. Old age. Not the kind that grows gray and brittle, but the kind that grows into stone. Into legend.
And suddenly, the leaders form shimmered and I wasn't looking at an ordinary wolf anymore.
Well…It was still a wolf—but more. Broader through the chest, thicker in the legs. Its shoulders rose to my chest. Its fur wasn't just dark, it was midnight—striped with faint ash-gray patterns like smoke or morphing runes written in frost. Its breath came in long, silent puffs that steamed in the cold. But its eyes—those eyes—they held no malice, only weight. Memory. Judgment.
A word whispered through me, unbidden. Not English. Not Saxon. Not anything I should have understood.
I didn't know what it meant, only that it wasn't a name. Not quite. a warning maybe. Or a title.
The forest shifted around us—quieter somehow. Reverent. Like everything that lived here knew this creature, and stepped lightly in its presence.
It wasn't just testing me.
It was measuring me.
And somewhere, far behind the fear, beneath the instinct to survive, something in me answered.
Not with defiance. Not with submission.
But with understanding.
Then, just as suddenly, it turned. Looked back at the others.
A flick of its tail.
And they vanished.
One by one, like smoke between trees.
Gone.
I stood there, alone in the clearing, knees locked, bow still lowered, hands shaking now that it was safe to shake. The world felt like it stood quiet for an eternity.
…ping!
I actually jumped, almost dropping my bow like an idiot. A blue shimmer flashed at the edge of my vision. My heart, which had just begun to calm down, decided to try and exit my body through my ribs.
The system window blinked open, innocent as ever.
[Skill Unlocked: Animal Communication]
Rank: F (1%)
You have made a connection with a non-verbal, instinct-driven mind. Further use may increase empathy, mutual understanding, and influence.
I stared at it.
Then stared at the woods where the wolves had disappeared.
Then back at the screen.
The woods were quiet again.
Still.
The kind of stillness that comes only after something dangerous has passed—like the forest itself was holding its breath. I stood exactly where the wolves had left me, staring into the trees like they might come back. Part of me still expected them to. Another part was convinced I'd imagined the whole thing.
Then I heard the sound of boots crunching fast through old frost.
I turned just enough to see Einar stepping out from between two pines, bow in hand, expression unreadable. He looked me over once, sharp eyes flicking to the path the wolves had taken, then back to me. He wasn't rushing. He didn't run to grab me or check me for bites.
He had seen something.
He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away, bow now lowered.
"You alright?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm okay."
A pause.
Then he looked back toward the treeline, thoughtful. Not afraid. Not confused. Just… processing.
"You didn't shoot," he said.
"No."
"They didn't attack."
"No."
He was quiet again. Long enough that I wondered if he was going to say anything else. Then, with that familiar Einar quietness, he asked, "You spoke to them?"
Not a question, really.
Not this time.
I hesitated. Then nodded. "I think so. I didn't talk out loud, but… they understood. I told them I wasn't a threat. That I wasn't food."
He gave a slow nod, like he'd already come to the same conclusion and was just confirming it.
Another long silence.
"I saw you stand your ground. I saw you choose not to hurt them. You didn't lash out. You didn't panic." He paused, considering. "You listened."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"I've known men who'd see wolves and fire arrows until their quiver ran dry," he added. "You didn't. That tells me more than magic ever could."
I looked down at the ground. "I'm not trying to hide what I can do. Not from you. It's just... hard to explain."
"You don't have to explain," he said. "Not now."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm and steady.
"But I believe you. Fully. And I'll stand between you and anyone who doesn't."
I nearly cried at that. Nearly. But I didn't.
Instead, I nodded.
We stood in silence a little longer before he finally said, "Come on. Let's head home before the cold sets in."
And this time, I walked beside him not just as his daughter.
But as someone seen. Fully. Finally.