The night lay still, heavy with the scent of pine and frost, when the air broke into wind.
A single howl rose, long and low, curling through the trees like smoke, around Lyra.
It was not for her. She knew that at once. She knew the forest was putting her through test.
It was a voice seeking another, thrown out into the dark in hope or grief of she couldn't tell which.
The sound carried far, wrapping itself around trunks, brushing over the snow, sinking deep into the silence it left behind.
Her breath caught, and without meaning to, she closed her eyes.
Once, she had known that sound. Not this voice, but the meaning.
It had been the signal to come running, to find warmth pressed against fur, to feel the steady rhythm of others breathing beside her.
It had been safety. It had been home.
Now it was only a reminder of what she no longer had.
She stood in the quiet that followed, her hands curling inside her sleeves, nails pressing into her skin.
The cold seeped in, but it was the emptiness in her chest that made her shiver.
Somewhere, far away, the howl came again. Shorter this time.
It faded into nothing, but its echo lingered in her ribs, thudding softly with each heartbeat.
Her lips parted, as if she might answer, but no sound came.
She turned her face to the trees, watching the darkness swallow the place where the voice had been.
The forest closed in again, and the night was whole.
Only her silence remained.
She drew in a breath so deep it burned her chest, the cold cutting down her throat like glass.
Her head tipped back, eyes closed against the pale glare of the moon, and the sound tore out of her.
It was raw, uneven with more pain than voice, more need than language.
The howl carried, trembling through the trees, curling over the snow, reaching for something she could not see and definitely not feel.
For a moment, she could almost feel it traveling, threading its way through the dark, seeking a listener, and it got to her after it's long travels.
Her lungs emptied, and the sound broke, shattering into the night.
Silence fell quickly, too quickly.
She stood still, every muscle tight, her ears straining for an answer.
The forest gave nothing back, but just it's biting cold and silence.
Only the wind moved, drifting low through frozen branches, a hollow sound that scraped at the edges of her heart.
She swallowed hard, the taste of cold iron on her tongue.
The quiet pressed in, heavy, as if the trees themselves had heard and chosen to keep her words.
Her breath puffed out in pale clouds, fading faster than she could draw them in, for it was so cold.
The ache in her chest deepened, twisting, pulling at something she wished she could tear free.
She wanted to call again, louder, longer, but her throat was raw, her voice already broken from the suffering she has been through.
So she stood there, in the stillness, with the silver light spilling over her face, and let the truth settle.
No answer was coming.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Her foot caught on a root while she was moving and she staggered forward, breath tearing out in a cloud.
The trees closed in on all sides, shadows pooling like ink between their trunks.
Then she saw it, a fallen log, split open, its hollow belly yawning in the frost, with a sternful gaze should looked at its purposefully.
She dropped to her knees, palms pressing into the cold earth.
The wood was rough beneath her fingers, splintered in places, the edges dark with age.
Her hands shook as she pushed herself forward, crawling into the narrow space.
The bark scraped her arms giving her only small injuries snagged at her sleeves.
Inside, the air was thick and close, carrying the smell of old rot and damp soil.
It clung to her skin, the scent settling in her lungs.
But the wind could not touch her here.
She curled herself small, drawing her legs tight against her chest, feeling the frozen ache in her bones.
A drop of water fell from the log's roof, cold as ice on her neck, she felt the cold bitting in.
She didn't move.
Outside, the forest shifted with the faint creak of branches, the whisper of something moving far off.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, steady but too loud, as though the darkness might hear it.
Her fingers dug into the rotting wood, crumbling it into damp flakes.
The cold still seeped in, but it was duller here, muffled.
Her breath slowed, each exhale curling into the dark.
She let her eyes close, but not all the way and never all the way.
The wild was still out there.
And it was not done with her yet.
The frost crept into Lyra's feet like a slow beast, sinking its teeth in deeper with every breath of night.
She pulled them close, cradling them in her hands, rubbing hard until her palms stung.
The skin felt strange, neither warm nor cold, just empty, as if the life had drained away.
Each touch seemed to push the numbness of her body further, until it was no longer her feet she held but two blocks of winter.
Above the stillness of her hands, the silver collar pressed against her throat, reminding her of her place in the wild.
It was a steady burn, not sharp, but deep, like the memory of a wound that would never heal.
She tilted her head, trying to ease it, but the metal only shifted, kissing her skin with cruel heat and pain.
It told her without words what she had already begun to fear, she was no longer the wolf that had run through storms without shivering.
No longer the shadow between trees that felt no cold, no hunger, no fear.
The frost was inside her now, and she could not shake it out.
Her breath rose in thin wisps, curling in the air before vanishing.
The silence pressed in, soft and heavy, broken only by the faint crack of ice beneath her shifting weight.
She rubbed harder, faster, chasing a warmth that would not come.
Her chest ached, though not from the cold alone.
Once, the wild had belonged to her as an omega in the pack.
Now, she could only sit in its teeth and feel them bite.
She drew her knees tight, folding herself small, as if the night might forget she was there.
Her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat loud enough, she feared, to be heard beyond the hollow log.
The forest was still, too still for a young wolf like her.
No wind stirred the branches. No owl called. No snow slid from the weight of ice.
It was a silence that felt full, as if it held its breath and waited.
She tried to steady her breathing, each exhale a slow mist that drifted toward the rough, rotting curve above her.
Her eyelids grew heavy, the cold making her limbs dull and slow.
The dark wrapped around her like damp cloth, and for a moment, she let herself sink into it.
Sleep came without color, without sound, without the comfort of dreams.
Her mind drifted, light as ash, until a sound split the quiet.
A single crunch of snow.
Close.
Her eyes snapped open, heart slamming hard enough to make her chest ache.
She held her breath, every muscle locked, straining to hear more.
Nothing followed.
The stillness returned, but it was no longer empty.
It had weight now, pressing on her from all sides.
The hollow smelled of earth and decay, and she fought the urge to cough.
Another breath of silence passed, and her skin prickled with the knowing that she was not alone.
Her hand moved slowly to the stick she had dragged inside earlier, fingers wrapping around it like a lifeline.
She stayed curled, unmoving, listening to the dark listen back.