It was a crisp winter evening when Maria first heard the chilling howl. She froze, her boots crunching on the icy trail as the sound echoed through the dense forest. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the snowy landscape. She had grown up hearing tales of wolves, their cunning and ferocity, but this was the first time she had ever been so close to one.
Maria’s village, nestled at the edge of the Blackwood Forest, had always regarded wolves with a mixture of fear and reverence. The elders often shared stories around the fire, warning children to stay away from the woods after dark. “Wolves are dangerous,” they would say. “Not just because of their teeth, but because of their minds.”
Maria had always dismissed these stories as folklore, meant to scare children into obedience. But now, alone in the forest, she felt the weight of those words.
She quickened her pace, the heavy basket of firewood in her arms. Her breath formed clouds in the cold air, and the rhythmic crunch of her footsteps seemed deafening in the silence. Then, she heard it again—closer this time. A low, guttural growl.
She turned her head sharply, scanning the shadows. The trees seemed to close in around her, their gnarled branches clawing at the twilight sky. And then she saw them. Eyes. Dozens of them, glowing like embers in the gloom.
A pack. Wolves.
Maria’s heart pounded as she backed away slowly, her eyes never leaving the pack. They emerged from the shadows, their sleek bodies blending seamlessly with the snowy terrain. The alpha, a massive gray beast with scars crisscrossing its muzzle, stepped forward. Its piercing yellow eyes locked onto hers.
“Stay calm,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t run.”
The alpha growled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the ground. The other wolves followed suit, their teeth bared, their breath visible in the frigid air. Maria knew she had no chance of outrunning them. Her only hope was to stand her ground.
“I’m not here to harm you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. She slowly set the basket down, hoping to appear less threatening.
To her surprise, the alpha stopped growling. It tilted its head, as if considering her words. The other wolves hesitated, their snarls fading into uneasy silence. Maria dared to hope.
But then, a sharp crack pierced the air. A gunshot.
The wolves scattered, yelping in panic. Maria spun around to see a figure emerging from the trees, a rifle slung over his shoulder. It was Old Man Grigor, the village hunter.
“Are you mad, girl?” he barked, striding toward her. “Standing out here like a lamb to the slaughter?”
Maria shook her head, trying to find her voice. “They weren’t attacking me. They were just watching.”
Grigor snorted. “Wolves don’t watch. They wait. They’re dangerous, Maria. Never forget that.”
But as they walked back to the village, Maria couldn’t shake the image of the alpha’s eyes. There had been something in them—something more than hunger or aggression. Something she couldn’t quite name.
That night, Maria dreamed of the forest. She dreamed of the wolves, their howls echoing in her mind. And she dreamed of the alpha, standing alone in the moonlight, its yellow eyes filled with an unspoken question.
When she woke, she knew she had to return. She had to understand. Because maybe, just maybe, the stories were wrong.
Perhaps wolves were dangerous not because of their teeth or their minds, but because of what they represented: a wildness that could not be tamed, a freedom that called to something deep within her.
Maria’s journey into the heart of the forest was just beginning.