He returned as often as he could, carrying small offerings—strips of jerky and scraps from the hospital. He set them on the opposite bank, far enough to show respect. The wolf’s head never turned. The meat rotted in the rain, ignored, until crows claimed it. It wasn’t hunger alone that was driving this vigil.
Adrian’s unease hardened into determination. Something rooted the animal to that exact spot, stronger than instinct, stronger than survival. And until he uncovered what it was, he knew the mystery would gnaw at him. Yet the closer he came, the greater was the risk of provoking a predator into fury.