“Yes,” Thomas said, his jaw tight. “She meant for the wolves to take him. We have to find him—he might be alive.”
Benjamin nodded, his expression grim. “Let’s move.” The men dispersed, their festive mood replaced by a steely resolve. They returned with rifles slung over shoulders, axes gripped tightly, and coils of rope. They spoke little, their faces set, as they prepared to venture into the wilderness, not for a celebration but for a rescue, a mission to save a man who might yet defy the fate Linda had chosen for him. The forest greeted them with an eerie hush, its shadows deep and unyielding, the air heavy with the scent of cedar and impending rain.
A dozen men, led by Thomas, fanned out in a disciplined line, their boots crunching on pine needles as they scoured every thicket, every hollow, their voices echoing through the trees: “Dave! Uncle Dave, answer us!” The cedars returned their cries, hollow and distant, the forest guarding its secrets. Thomas moved deeper, his heart pounding with guilt. He should’ve stopped Linda, questioned her strange errand into the dusk. Every moment lost now could mean David’s life, each step a race against time.
They followed a faint trail, the cart’s tracks barely visible in the dry, needle-strewn soil. Thomas’s keen eyes, honed by years of hunting with David, traced them, his fingers brushing the ground to confirm the path. “This way,” he said, pointing toward Raven’s Hollow, a wild, untamed stretch of forest where the cedars grew dense and the creeks ran cold. Local legends spoke of wolves ruling the hollow, their howls a warning to trespassers. The men exchanged grim looks, their hope dwindling with each step into the wilderness, but Thomas clung to the image of David—his mentor, his friend, whose spirit had shaped him through years of shared work and quiet wisdom.
They searched for miles, the cold seeping into their bones, their faces taut with effort. The trail twisted through dense underbrush, past moss-covered boulders, the forest’s silence broken only by their calls and the occasional snap of a twig. Whispers of doubt began to surface—some muttered that David was gone, his bones scattered by predators—but Thomas refused to yield. David had taught him to track elk through snow, to read the forest’s signs, to hold fast when hope seemed lost. He couldn’t believe that man, so woven into the wild, would perish so cruelly.
As they neared a clearing, Caleb, a young trapper with a lean frame, halted, raising his hand. “Quiet,” he hissed, his breath visible in the air. “Hear that?” The men froze, straining their ears. Through the thicket came a low, drawn-out growl, close and menacing, laced with a fury that set their nerves on edge.
“Wolf,” someone muttered, fingers tightening on their rifles, axes raised instinctively. Thomas signaled for silence, his heart racing as he led them toward the sound, their steps cautious, deliberate. The growls grew fiercer, a warning that echoed through the trees, a declaration of defiance.
They emerged into a clearing dominated by a towering cedar, its roots sprawling like the veins of the earth, and the sight before them stopped them cold, their breaths catching in their throats. David lay against the tree’s roots, his face pale and gaunt, his body frail but undeniably alive, his eyes fixed on them with a mix of exhaustion and relief. Beside him, shielding him with its body, stood a massive grey wolf, its fur bristling, fangs bared in a grim snarl, eyes burning with a fierce, unyielding resolve. It was ready to fight, to die, to defend the man at its side.
The men stood frozen, the scene surreal, a tableau that defied reason—a man left for dead, guarded by a wild beast, a creature of instinct turned protector. “What in God’s name?” Benjamin whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“He’s alive,” Thomas said, his voice trembling with relief, a wave of gratitude washing over him. He took a step forward, his hands raised to show he meant no harm, but the wolf lunged, its bark a thunderous warning that echoed through the clearing. The men recoiled, fear and awe warring within them, their weapons lowered but their nerves taut.
“Shoot it,” someone hissed from the back, voice edged with panic. “No, you fool,” Thomas snapped, his tone sharp, his eyes never leaving the wolf. “It’s protecting him. Can’t you see?”
David’s lips parted, his voice a faint, hoarse rasp, barely audible but carrying the weight of thunder in the heavy silence: “My… friend…” The words were a plea, a command, a testament to the bond forged in the wild. The wolf stilled, its gaze shifting from David to the men, its aggression easing but its vigilance unbroken. It stood like a sentinel, its body a barrier between David and the world.
Thomas seized the moment, advancing slowly, his hands empty, his movements deliberate. Step by step, he neared David, the wolf watching but allowing it, its eyes tracking every gesture. He knelt beside his friend, his hand trembling as he touched David’s arm. “Dave, you’re alive. Thank God.” David’s hand was cold, but a faint pulse beat beneath the skin, a fragile thread of life.
The men, speechless, stared from the gaunt old man to the wolf, now sitting calmly, its presence a quiet but unyielding force. “How’d he survive?” Caleb asked softly, his voice tinged with wonder.
“The wolf,” Benjamin said, his tone thick with reverence, as if speaking of a sacred thing. “It kept him alive, fed him, guarded him.” As some men cautiously fashioned a stretcher from branches and coats, their movements slow to avoid provoking the wolf, Thomas gave David water from his flask, the old man drinking in desperate, greedy sips. Life flickered back into his eyes, a spark rekindled by the wolf’s care and the hope of rescue. The wolf watched, a silent sentinel, its presence a barrier none dared cross, its loyalty a mystery that humbled them all.