XLIII

Winter was coming. It had held off for a long time, giving this area of the world false hope that we would jump right from fall to spring, but the crisp scent carried in the air and the bite of the ocean breeze reminded us we would not be so lucky. I had never seen a coastal Canadian winter, but I assumed it couldn’t be too different from New England.

We had shifted once uncurled from each other, needing double furred coats to keep us warm when we lost each other’s body heat. Especially a little runt like myself did not run hot enough to ignore mother nature’s wintry tidings. The first snowflakes of the year clung to our coats, and it wasn’t just my lovestruck wolf that marveled at how the twinkly flakes sparkled like stars in contrast against the galactic darkness of Isaac’s fur.

He looked back at me, barking out a wolfy chuckle. I smiled mentally, appreciating how so much could be said without breathing a word between the two of us. It was a form of familiarity I had not experie