Breath ragged, Adrian backed away once more, retreating to the far bank. He had learned something, though—the cries were real, unmistakable, growing weaker by the hour. Whatever secret bound the wolf there, it was alive. And unless he found a way past the beast, it would soon be gone.
Adrian returned, exhaustion written into every line of his face. He carried nothing but his gloves this time, leaving the spade behind. He needed the wolf’s trust, or at least its tolerance. As he stepped onto the bank, the animal lifted its head, eyes dim yet unyielding.