I pounced toward him without thought, and he shot, fire raced across my shoulder before I slammed him into the ground, my paws on his chest. Another low growl rumbled through me as I ripped into his neck.
My heavy panting sounded loud in my ears as I lifted my head and peered into his lifeless eyes. His life’s blood dribbled from my mouth and poured from his neck, soaking my paws.
My paws.
I stumbled backward, falling onto my ass and twisting by instinct to get my feet under me like a cat. Rather than straight up to my full almost six-foot height, I remained on my hands and knees—no.
On four paws.
I blinked, my sharp focus at war with my mind, unable to bring words to my lips—through my head, even. The tangy scent of blood filled my nose, coated my mouth, but I breathed deeply as a sudden assault to my nose baffled my muffled thoughts.
Wet dog.
Damp earth.
Burnt coffee.
I recognized the smells of our campsite but couldn’t put words to them in my mind. Stumbling, I turned in a circle, trying to gain some bearing—and failing. My paws made no sound as I moved across the camp.
Mom lay unmoving where the man had left her in his haste to escape me.
I nudged her shoulder with my nose since I didn’t have hands to shake her, but she made no noise, no move to wake. My throat swelled, and I nudged again. Blood oozed from where the man had hit her head, and I realized her eyelids hadn’t closed completely.
A whimper escaped from my lungs—and I watched her chest—waited for it to rise and fall.
Seconds—hours—passed, but she didn’t so much as twitch.
My heart ached, and I lay down beside Mom, my nose against her cool cheek.
Twilight crept overhead as the sun sank beyond the horizon, and I allowed my mind to ease along with its descent into darkness.
173
Ashlyn
Getting lost in the woods for three days really messes with a kid’s head. I became a phobic hoarder with fears I fought for years. Being alone. No more camping trips that I used to love with my parents. The dark forest and the spooky sounds of the unknown young imaginations used to create monsters. Refusing to go out without a physical map as I got older.
Years of counseling—wasted money.
After my older parents died, leaving me alone once more, I knew I had to face my fears. Take control, or I might as well die, too.
I packed up my parents’ old station wagon with enough supplies to see me through a month although it would take less than four days to drive from Pennsylvania to Texas. The more I planned, studied routes and maps, the better I felt about my decision.
If I planned to the extreme, I wouldn’t get lost.
If I planned to the extreme, I wouldn’t go without.
If I planned to the extreme, my fears would have no step to stand upon.
The morning I pulled into the campground in south-eastern Texas, I’d already accomplished more than I’d expected, hell, even hoped. Four days of driving through unfamiliar territory down roads I couldn’t remember from twenty-seven years earlier when I’d been a naive eight-year-old staring in wonder at the vast world we’d travelled through, her glasses truly rose-colored.
Choosing to head off into the great unknown near our campground had been the worst decision of my childhood—but it had given me one of the greatest moments, the flash of true living, during that time.
I had seen him.
The tall young man I could still clearly see every time I closed my eyes. His scent still lingered in my nose—musk and wildness, like a creature of the forest.
He’d stood above me on a ledge across the creek, as though a dark angel looking down upon me, his strength, his confidence reaching across the gurgling water with enough power that I’d actually smiled. He’d made me feel protected. Safe. All with one look that seemed frozen in time and sped my heartbeat after all the years since.
Pisoiaș.
My Pisoiaș, I’d decided after he’d run off at the woman’s call of his name. He’d left me alone, but it had been his memory that kept me company, the warmth he’d brought to life inside my heart, that accompanied me through the hours until my parents found me the next morning.
My pulse thrummed and hands shook as I parked my car, but I’d travelled so far to change my life. I refused to turn back without taking that final step.
My backpack sat on the front seat, full of provision—bottled water, jerky, granola bars, matches, a flashlight, emergency blanket, compass...
And in my head, I had the images I’d memorized from 3D and topographic maps. I knew exactly where I headed, how far into the woods before standing in that spot I’d seen my Pisoiaș.
The fanciful part of my mind dreamed of meeting him once again, but I had no such expectations. I believed in fate, but also knew real life didn’t transpire like in the books and movies I vicariously lived through.
I stepped off the road, and a sense of purpose, of rightness settled over me. Dappled sunlight danced across the forest floor as birds twittered and flitted about. Life abounded—chittering squirrels, buzzing insects, a scampering rabbit … all living free.
Filling my lungs with scents I’d long forgotten from my carefree childhood, I moved deeper into the woods, carefully picking my way over downed branches and rocks, noting swells in the land exactly as the maps had shown. My smile grew as peace settled fully over me.
A sense of being home invaded my heart, and I submitted to its power, its control. Joy flooded through me, hazing my eyes.
I’d found healing—seemingly supernaturally—from simply traversing the land that had ruined me all those years ago. Whether the planning, determination, or my confidence, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
I simply relished in the release, the freedom the creatures around
