Chapter 1

My path led to small cottage plots located in the forest next to Lovell. So they were called by the inhabitants of Lovell - cottage plots, cottage village. And the locals called their house a reservation. If they had any Indian roots, they were very distant. They were not reflected externally, but were partially present in their worldview.

It was there that my Aunt Sarah lived, along with those who, reluctantly, called themselves my "family." I once lived too.

I pulled up at Lovell's post office. This is a mandatory item for me before going to the reservation. She glanced at the small diner, which was in the same one-story building as the post office. But, as much as I would like to delay the inevitable, there was no time. It would be warm, there would be one-legged plastic tables between the post office and the diner, and local elderly, and not very gossips, would collect fresh gossip from the front rows. But now it's January, which means that the weather is unpleasant even for the locals. Fierce wind and snow in shifts with drizzle.

On the second try, I was able to close my old maroon Honda, which I still affectionately called Cherry. After a long journey, she did not live up to her name - the entire bottom was covered with a dense layer of dirt. I need to be a more caring hostess.

The post office was quiet and empty. Four o'clock is the end of the working day. Around seven this town will calm down until morning. Inside, at one of the three computer desks, a teenager in large headphones was sitting, he did not pay any attention to the loud slamming of the door behind me. I stomped at the entrance, shaking the snow off my feet, and went straight to the mailboxes where my aunt and I rented a box. The postman leaned over the counter to get a better look at me.

"Good evening," I nodded to him. Mr. Collins nodded hesitantly, scrutinizing me carefully. He has aged noticeably since I last saw him. But he remained true to the large-knit sweaters - manifestations of his wife's care. I remembered him well, I watched with interest the life of ordinary people. But he hardly knew my name, if he remembered at all. For them, we were all one - "these from the forest", "these cottagers", "these rangers".

Under his gaze, I felt uncomfortable. What does he think, I'll rob mailboxes with stale news and packages from more civilized places? I opened the iron door and pulled out a paper bag. Then I didn’t unpack it, I clamped it under my arm and closed the box. On the way back, nodding to Mr. Collins, I noticed that he was disappointedly following my package with a look. Took away information from him.

In the car, the package was put aside on the next seat with the hope that it would not be needed. It couldn't take longer. I sighed and pulled out onto the road towards the reservation.

They did not like strangers on their territory, they themselves rarely got out either, hence the terrible state of the roads. My old Cherry barely coped with off-road. Another blizzard! Visibility is terrible, I would like to get there before dark. Although I had Aunt Sarah's handkerchief, which she left for me at the post office in the city in case I got stuck in the woods at night, but this would be the worst option.

The wipers could no longer cope with the precipitation, at the moment when the right one completely gave up, a shadow jumped out onto the road and stopped under the blinding headlights. Deer. Silly animal! I abruptly went to the right, what can I tell you during a rain and snow on a snowy road in the middle of the forest -a bad idea. A very bad idea.

***

I woke up from a sharp pain in my arm, no, in my temples... Damn, it hurt, everything seemed to hurt! Under a mournful song from a junk radio, she examined the damage. Only one airbag worked, the hood was flattened against a hefty tree, which was slightly illuminated by the miraculously surviving left headlight. Damn it! The forest is plunged into darkness, only the snow lifted by the wind from the hood is visible outside the window.

- ... remember every fragment, every minute of our walks with you, many years ago, when we were young? .. -the radio tape recorder sang with a hiss at the border of two radio waves.

I hastily turned off the radio, the sound seemed deafening in the silence of the forest. The airbag made it difficult to unfasten the belt, the fingers barely obeyed. Freed from the belt, I pulled the door handle - damn! - jammed! Not on the first attempt, the deformed door gave in, having hardly got out of the car, I, staggering, went to the trunk. Only the hand is damaged, it's hard to say what exactly happened to it, but it's not broken. In terms of broken hands, I'm special. From a strong push, my whole body ached, but this is my least problem. I need to find Sarah's handkerchief, otherwise the inhospitable owners of these places may not recognize me.

It was not so far to go, most of them, thank God, managed to drive by car. I returned to the road - a snow-white strip, barely knurled, among dark trees. Either they had not been out in the city for a long time, or the snow had covered all the traces. The blizzard was now urging me in the back, not allowing me to change direction.

Having tied a scarf around her neck, red, by the way, as symbolically, she limped along the road. I took only a backpack with me, I didn’t have the strength for other things. Looking around nervously, I listened to the unfriendly forest. All that could be heard was the wind and my creaking footsteps. I was numb, so despite the pain in my body, I decided to run. Running is the right option for me, I run well, even in a warm jacket. Braking sharply, I looked around, a wolf choir joined the howl of the wind. What was I waiting for? I am in their territory.

I was surrounded, I changed my run to a walk so as not to provoke the hunting instinct. Did they recognize me? There was a rustle and a growl among the trees. I froze, their yellow eyes shone on both sides, a huge gray beast came out on the road in front of me, the leader is Morgan. And why are they called wolves? They don't look like wolves at all. Huge, at the withers up to my shoulder, with a muzzle more like a bear, but more sinewy, like wolves. The pounding of his heart drowned out all the surrounding sounds. Calmly, calmly. I slowly pulled the handkerchief off my neck and held it out towards Morgan. Almost a "white" flag! Smell, sniff, it's Sarin's scent. Morgan's Beast snarled towards the trees. It's true? Does that mean you know? Or fas? It seemed to me that the rest supported the dissatisfied howl, but they stopped growling. Retreat.

At that moment, when I already believed that I would live, a piercing howl was heard, and a second animal jumped out onto the road. It was lighter, but not inferior in size to the leader. Morgan snarled at him, but he didn't seem to hear, hypnotizing as he stalked towards me.

What the hell? Why doesn't he listen to Morgan? New? Morgan gave the command, and the others rushed to cut him off. The bright beast bristled and rushed at its own, driving them away from me. Blocking their way, he howled, the flock froze. They understood, but for me, please, subtitles. After making sure that he was not disturbed, he growled one last time and moved towards me again.

- Stop, stop, stop! - I could not stand it, - I'm Lark, Lark! I am mine! I tried to convince him.

The wolf froze for a second, listening, but did not change the target, sniffing even more. Okay, Lark, remember what that means. Why did you give him up? Morgan found out, others recognized, he did not obey, dispersed others, howled, the rest retreated, does not growl, walks, sniffs ... All the years among the pack flashed through my head, everything I knew about their rules and nature. And why was he mad?

"Hush, hush," I muttered, backing away.

And then the beast growled, seeing that the prey was leaving. To hell with you! I rushed to the side, but did not have time to run even a couple of meters, as the beast overtook me and blocked the road. He began to go around me in an arc, closing other paths - he is playing after me. I threw a backpack at him to distract him, but he only threw it away with his teeth, without stopping his dance. The distance between us was shrinking, I imperceptibly went off the road and rested my back against a tree. All dead end. I can't win. I covered my face with my hands so as not to see his face. The wolf came close to me and sniffed me. Pushing my hands away with his nose, he stared into my eyes. And howled again, so triumphantly, if you understand the wolf howl. Well now! I swung and hit, pushing away from me. He broke off the howl in an instant, and before I could exhale, he knocked me over on the cold ground. I screamed desperately flailing at random with his hands, the wounded hand was slashed by a new pain - either fangs or claws, before I could make out how the wolf's mouth dug into the neck. And then I howled.