Phoenix Maplewood Rooted inside of my DNA

Three wolves diverged in a yellow wood, and I —

Riley felt a change on the breeze. Already, bursts of red shot across maple leaves. The earth’s sun cured fescue scents turned to damp and slow growth; streams trickled at the end of their run, and squirrels began their mad dash towards stocking their bowers for the long winter nights to come.

Riley scented wolves on the breeze, too. One was nearer; he caught her scent mixed with the trail of a buck beginning his rut. The other scent was further, and carried a heat with it.

He did not make it to four years of age by forfeiting his life to strangers; but the splinter in Riley’s paw had embedded its way into his bloodstream, causing waves of sickness to overcome him. He was hungry - and hungry made him desperate. If anything, maybe the two of them would have an easy meal he could poach from them, given his maturity and brawn.

Riley kept to the treeline, watching.