When she opened her eyes, the world was a symphony of scent and sound. She could hear the heartbeat of every creature within a mile. She could taste the fear of a deer three ridges over. And she could smell, woven through the pack like a shared breath, something she had never smelled in all her years of tracking wolves.
She walked for an hour. Maybe two. She stopped counting steps when she realized she wasn’t choosing the path. Her legs were moving to a rhythm older than her spine. The trees grew thicker, older. The air smelled of moss and iron. june hervas pack
And then she saw them.