He scanned the riverbank, half-expecting to see hunters with rifles. But the forest was empty save for the wolf, still unwavering in its post. Its fur bristled faintly as his gaze swept over it, as though it too sensed the intrusion of others.
The storm came that night. Rain hammered the rooftops, and thunder rattled windowpanes. Adrian lay awake, thinking of the riverbank. If water levels rose, whatever kept the wolf rooted there would be at risk. The thought pressed on him with the weight of inevitability.