The Black Wolf
It was the only way I knew how to protect him.
He was the last thread tethering me to the world. If I let him get too close, I might snap and drag him into my darkness. I thought, eventually, he’d stop trying, but he didn’t.
Even after months, even after seasons changed and the cold crept into my bones, Zevarion still came, always alone with something useful. Always with hope.
During the full moons, my wolf would rise and hunt. She rarely spared rogues who wandered too close. The main pack knew this, they avoided the borders during the lunar peaks.
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