That eerie kind of silence where you just know something is watching. You stop. The hairs on your neck rise.

From the shadows between two mossy fir trees, he appears.

A huge northwestern wolf, broad-shouldered and towering compared to what you imagined a wolf would be. His coat is mottled gray and black, thick and coarse like storm clouds, and his eyes… piercing amber, locked straight on you.

A low, guttural growl rolls from his throat.

His lips twitch, baring long, yellowed fangs as he steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of walk that says “I’m not scared of you. You should be scared of me.”

You take a step back—just one—and his ears flatten, his hackles rise, and a sharp, warning bark tears from his mouth. It echoes through the trees like a gunshot. You freeze, heart pounding. His nose flares, catching your scent. A drop of saliva slips from his fang.