The Heartwood Pouliá

The girl appeared without making a sound, or so he believed.

When she spoke, it was direct. The soft voice of their first meeting was not present. She seemed to be moved forward by her resolve. Antigone’s face burned with embarrassment. He did not know how he could have let himself look so pitiful to her. She would think he was pathetic. She would want to ditch him at the first lonesome beachfront they found.

The red-hooded boy pushed himself to his paws and hastened after her.

You came, he said.

Navy blue eyes had ceased their tearmaking. The young wolf’s voice was not surprised, not icy. He spoke this obvious statement out of relief. Seeing her had lifted a weight of worry from his heart. The size of the world beyond his home did not seem so daunting when he knew that he wouldn’t face it alone.

Sorcha? Antigone pulled his gaze from her face. The lump in his throat became smaller. Thank you, mumbled toward the ground.