Chapter Two: Quiet Waters

Atticus set to work before the wolf could stir, careful not to make a sound. He had filled a metal basin with warm water from the small spigot in his work building, the sound of trickling water echoing softly against the walls. The wolf lay still, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her fur glistened under the dim light, streaks of white and deep mahogany catching the early sun filtering through the dusty windows.

He knelt, gently dipping a rag into the water and beginning to wipe away the blood and debris from the larger gash along her flank. Every careful motion betrayed a mix of caution and curiosity. Her size was impressive—muscular, strong—but there was a grace to her movements even in stillness. And her face… he could see now she was female, delicate around the muzzle, with ears that twitched occasionally at the faintest sound.

Atticus hummed quietly to himself as he worked. His hands were steady, but his mind wandered, noting how the fur felt, how strong her legs were even when she wasn’t moving, and how her breathing shifted slightly with each touch. The warmth of the water and the smell of soap mingled with the forest air lingering on her fur. He had grown up around animals enough to understand their reactions, yet there was something about this wolf that set her apart.

Once he was satisfied the worst of the blood and dirt was gone, he rinsed out the rag and laid it gently beside the basin. She still didn’t move. Her body was tense, but her eyes remained closed. He tilted his head, curiosity gnawing at him, before making a final decision.

“Better get some food in you,” he muttered softly, gathering what little he had. His cupboards and fridge were nearly empty—mostly stale bread, some canned beans, and a few dried meats—but it would have to do for now. He prepared a small tray with water in a shallow dish and laid a few scraps of meat nearby.

Before leaving, he secured the building. The door was bolted tight, and he checked every window to make sure nothing could sneak in. A low growl of satisfaction escaped him—this would be safe. 

He grabbed his keys and headed out toward town. The crisp morning air carried the scent of pine and damp earth as he walked. Supplies awaited: proper wound care materials, additional food, and a few other items he might need to nurse the wolf back to health. He tried not to think about how unusual this all was, or how uneasy he felt leaving her alone. Something about the way she had lain there, so still, almost as if she knew he would come back, had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The trip to town passed quickly enough. He purchased antiseptic, bandages, some high-protein meat, and a few other odds and ends. On the way home, he imagined the wolf still lying there waiting for him. 

Returning to the work building, he opened the door with a quiet creak. The interior smelled faintly of soap and wet fur. The wolf had not moved. Good. Hopefully that would mean she would continue to let him tend to her wounds before she became conscious again. His eyes narrowed however when he saw her ear twitch. A faint smile brushed his lips. Was the wolf pretending? 

“You’re clever,” he murmured, though the words were more to himself than to her. Atticus knelt again, this time with antiseptic and bandages in hand. He worked methodically, cleaning the wounds more thoroughly, wrapping the larger gash with precision. Her body remained still, chest rising and falling evenly, but he could feel it: the tension under her fur, the faint tremor of muscles ready to spring.

She was playing a game. And somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

Atticus cleaned his hands on a rag and stepped back, satisfied with his work. The wolf had food, water, and shelter. All that remained was time—time to see how she fared. He glanced around the room, feeling the quiet hum of the forest outside pressing against the walls, and realized, not for the first time, that he had walked into something larger than he understood.

The wolf had not moved a muscle. But in the back of his mind, Atticus knew better.