158.  No “I” in Pack 

~ RIG ~

It was the small hours of the morning, the darkest moments before dawn began to creep up around the mountains.

We’d eaten, talked, I’d held her when she got scared, and laughed with her about the funny side of her naked, midnight jaunt. But she was exhausted.

So now, as the fire died in the hearth, I lay there in bed on my back with Cara curled into my side, deeply asleep, but still clinging to my chest like a lifeline. Her breathing was deep and slow, her hair loose and flowing over my arm as I held her close, thoughtlessly trailing fingers up and down the curve of her spine.

She was herself again—and relieved. She’d described exactly what I’d sensed, an animal within trying to come forward, fighting to take control. Instincts acting