I close the door to my new room and can’t help but feel happy looking at the amazing little reading nook under my large window. I can already see myself spending hours painting or sketching there. Addison knew that as well, and that’s why she allowed me to have this room. It’s a bit larger than the one she chose for herself, but she said I would get more use out of this space, and I know she’s right.
I pad across the dark hardwood floors to my bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and wash my face. As I braid my long pale-blonde hair, I study myself in the mirror. The same light green eyes stare back at me as always, but something in them has changed. A softness or calmness sits there now. The fast-paced life of living in a big city must have affected me more than I had realized.
I climb into my freshly made bed and snuggle under the white comforter, resigning myself to a rough night since I never sleep well in unfamiliar places. But to my surprise, I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
It’s raining.
No, correction, it’s pouring.
But I don’t feel it hit my skin or soak through my white sleep shirt. Nor do I feel how my hair now hangs around my face like a wet curtain. I don’t shiver when the wind picks up or jump when the thunder cracks above my head so loud I swear it rattles my bones. I should be scared and feeling seconds away from hyperthermia, but all I feel is an unexplainable warmth.
I find comfort in the woods surrounding me, they welcome me like an old friend. I’ve never been here before, but I know this path like the back of my hand.
I skillfully weave between brush, gracefully leaping over fallen trees and rocks as I go. I have a feeling in my gut, it tells me something is waiting for me. And at any second I will come face to face with the source of my calmness.
My heartbeat echoes in my ears as I step into the clearing. The full moon above is the only source of light, its beams creating shadows and dark shapes in the trees. I force my eyes to focus on what’s in front of me, and I gasp when I finally see him.
A wolf.
He stands across the clearing from me, moving like a shadow in the dim light. His dark coat reflects the moonlight, and I can barely make out his silver undercoat.
Somehow, I know it’s a male. I can feel it in my gut. Just like I know, he has golden eyes. I can’t see them from this far away, but I know all the same, and I would bet my life I’m right.
I stare at the wild animal in front of me and notice a gold shimmer shines around his large frame. It’s barely visible, but I can see the shimmering gold light glowing in the moonlight.
There is something familiar about that aura around him, like many of my memories, it’s right under the surface, but I can’t reach it. I know I’ve seen it before, but I can’t place where.
We watch each other for what seems like hours, but I know it has only been mere moments. Neither of us moves, afraid if we do, it will be all over, and I’ll never see him again.
Something in my soul cracks at the thought of never seeing him again. I feel connected to him in some strange way like we are a part of each other.
No longer able to help it, I take a deep breath and a step forward. My fingers itch to run through his thick fur and to see those golden eyes for myself. But the second my right foot lifts off the ground, the thick, inky darkness of the night starts to swirl around us. My vision begins to cut in and out, and I feel him slipping away from me.
No!
I bolt upright in bed, almost flying off the side and onto the floor. It takes me a second to remember where I am and what just happened. Never in my life have I dreamt about a wolf. And if I really think about it, I hardly ever dream at all. Or if I do, I forget them the second I open my eyes in the morning.
But sitting here, trying to catch my breath, I can remember every moment of the dream. I remember the feeling of peace and the calmness I found by being in the woods. I remember the way the dirt felt under my bare feet and the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. But mostly, I remember him. I remember how beautiful he was and how his coat appeared pitch black except for the bits of white or silver peaking through on his chest. I remember how large he was compared to wolves I’ve seen at the zoo or on the discovery channel.
I remember everything about him and I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
To ensure I never will, I fling myself out of bed and begin to dig through the boxes on my floor. I sigh in relief when I finally open the box containing my sketchbook and pencils.
I practically float across the room to my window seat with images of the wolf swirling around in my head. I focus on the small details of his face as I start to sketch him. My hand moves without much effort, recreating the images in my head with skill and precision.
As I’m adding the finishing touches to his face, I hear it. A howl.
I sit motionless as I listen to the chorus of other wolves, adding their voice to the night sky. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and I pray I will hear it again.
I drift off as I stare out my window, willing the wolf to appear. Although deep in my soul,
