Chapter 22. Whispers in the Wood

The air was still, unnervingly quiet.

Callen knelt beside the unconscious girl, his weathered fingers hovering uncertainly above her shoulder. Samantha lay curled at the base of a gnarled tree, her skin smudged with dirt and marked with bruises, her lips cracked and pale. Her breath was shallow, barely audible over the soft rustling of leaves.

The other two elders stood a few paces back, silent and wary.

“She’s no older than seventeen,” Callen murmured, his voice low and unsure. “Eighteen at most.”

Greer adjusted the grip on his wooden walking stick, the old man’s eyes narrowed beneath bushy white brows. “And naked,” he said grimly. “No clothes. No bag. Nothing. She didn’t come from any path. And no one in Olubruk is missing a girl.”

Harst crouched low beside them, examining the faint tracks that led into the clearing tracks that danced between animal and human. His brow furrowed.

“She didn’t walk in here,” he muttered. “She ran. Fast. On all fours, maybe. Then collapsed. There’s blood on her knees, her hands. Something chased her, or… something changed her.”

Greer’s eyes darkened. “You’re thinking the same thing I am, aren’t you?”

Callen didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his pack and pulled out a thick fur tanned deer hide, lined with wool. He draped it gently over Samantha’s body, careful not to startle her. The girl didn’t stir.

“We can’t just leave her here,” Callen said at last.

“No,” Greer agreed, but his voice was heavy with reluctance. “But we also don’t bring strange things back to the village unless we know what they are.”

“She’s not a thing, Greer,” Harst snapped. “She’s a girl. She’s hurt.”

Greer turned to him slowly. “She’s a girl found naked, alone, bruised, in the middle of the forest on a full moon after weeks of howling in the hills. You want to tell me that’s normal?”

Silence settled over the three men.

The wind picked up slightly, whispering through the trees.

“Two nights ago,” Harst began, lowering his voice, “my nephew swore he saw a pair of glowing eyes beyond the chicken pens. Said it wasn’t any ordinary beast. Said it moved like it was watching.”

Greer gave him a hard look. “And you think this girl is the cause of that?”

“I don’t know,” Harst muttered. “But I’ve been hunting these woods for forty years. Those tracks that I just saw weren't just human. They were wolves. Large. Heavy. And they started where hers ended.”

“She couldn’t be both,” Greer said firmly, but there was doubt in his eyes.

Callen shook his head slowly. “I’ve heard the stories too. The children whisper about it when they think no one’s listening. Something wild. A shadow running through the trees. A lone figure seen at the edge of the mist when the moon is full.”

“They said it was a beast,” Greer scoffed. “A curse.”

“They said it was someone living in the forest,” Harst countered. “A girl. A ghost. Or a witch. But always alone.”

Greer scoffed. “Children’s tales. Nothing more.”

“Then what do we call this?” Callen gestured toward Samantha’s motionless form. “A fever dream? A lost wanderer who stripped off her clothes in the dead of night and ran through bramble until her body collapsed?”

“I don’t have an answer,” Greer admitted after a long pause. “But the forest has changed. We all feel it. Even the birds are quieter lately.”

They stood there in tense silence, broken only by the occasional call of a distant crow.

Harst knelt down again, brushing a curl of tangled hair from Samantha’s face. “She’s burning up,” he said softly. “Whatever she’s been through, it’s taken everything from her. We can’t leave her to die out here.”

Callen gave a stiff nod. “We carry her to the edge of hollowbrook. We don’t bring her into the center of the village, not yet.”

Greer hesitated. “And if the rumors are true? If she’s… not entirely human?”

“Then we deal with it,” Callen said, his jaw set. “But not by leaving her here to rot.”

Greer didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to watch the sky, where dawn had begun to break through the branches. The moon was fading, but the weight it had left in the woods remained.

Harst carefully gathered Samantha into his arms, mindful of her injuries. Her skin was hot to the touch, her body frighteningly light. She didn’t stir.

As they began the slow walk back through the trees, Callen brought up the rear, his thoughts spinning.

He remembered the howling.

Not once. Not twice. But four times in the past month.

Each night, it had sounded closer. And each time, it had sent a ripple of unease through the entire village.

Not wolf. Not entirely beast.

Something… in between.

Now, here she was.

He studied the girl’s face as they walked—soft, even in pain, her lips twitching as if caught in the middle of a dream. Her hands hung limply at her sides, bruised and scratched. There was a quiet strength in her, even in unconsciousness. Something untamed. Something barely held back.

Who are you? Callen wondered. What are you?

And why, after all this time, had she appeared now?

Behind them, the forest swallowed their tracks.

The trees closed in again, but the whisper remained.

Something had changed.

And the village of hollowbrook would soon learn just how much.