The creature padded forward, leaving wet prints like potholes in the sand. With each step, its long legs cut the distance far too quickly. The square muzzle, the thick ruff, the tail that didn’t curl playfully but hung low and straight—all of it rearranged her first assumption.
A stubborn fact solidified in her mind: she wasn’t looking at a dog. She was watching a full‑grown wolf walk out of the surf. Her breath clipped short. She backed away until her calves hit a piece of wrecked wood—an old plank from a rotted boat the tide had thrown ashore. Instinct shouted for a barrier.