Arrow Lake white snake

Anselm had gone and done what Anselm did best: he’d fucked up.

On the heels of his own self-sabotage, Anselm fled the hollow and found himself in the familiar region of the lakes. He took in the thousands of scents here: each told their own story of the lake's activity, and its visitors.

One such scent stood out: wolf.

Out along the water a shapely form waded. Anselm’s dull gaze tracked her progress. He was too far to see her clearly, but by the attentiveness in which she walked, he knew her purpose.

Anselm inched close, his stomach rumbling as if to remind him of how poorly he’d eaten as of late. He wondered if this wolf would catch anything — and if she did, how easy it might be to persuade her to give it up.