SEVEN | SUNSET

The pack house was rammed when I crept out of the library. I’d intended to get my bandages changed before dinner, but I’d become sucked into my research. I discovered that many Native Americans offered their animal fetishes cornmeal, so I resolved to find some for my little wolf.

I also spent a long time noting down references in a word document, flitting between that and my mind map in an attempt to narrow down my focus. I’d found a folk tale about two wolves, one black and one white; one made of anger and the other forged from goodness. A grandfather tells his grandson that the one that wins is the one he chooses to feed. I liked the sentiment, and decided to use it as a focal point for my argument.

It had been relaxing, to sit in the warm rays of the sinking sun. They streaked in through the windowpanes, garnishing the wooden bookshelves a deep gold. I would’ve liked to have stayed there through dinner, but I heeded Jacob’s message and packed u