The days before the blizzard had been filled with a constant, low-grade anxiety, like static in the back of my mind.
I had been trying to navigate the shifting sands of my workplace, where a restructuring had left my role uncertain.
A key project I’d been leading was suddenly reassigned to a colleague without explanation.
It felt like a gut punch, a silent confirmation of my worst fears.
At home, things weren’t much better.
My landlord had started making vague complaints about noise or maintenance, subtle but persistent reminders that my tenure there was precarious.
I tried to stay steady, but the edges felt like they were fraying faster than I could stitch them back.
Now, as the blizzard raged outside, I found myself caught between two storms.
The wolves were a presence I couldn’t ignore, their silent companionship a stark contrast to the noise of my own mind.
The one who had hesitated by the door seemed to carry a weight that went beyond the physical.
She watched me as if gauging my reactions, as if unsure of her place in this makeshift sanctuary.
Her eyes held stories I couldn’t yet comprehend, layers of experience that hinted at a life far removed from mine.
I tried to offer them warmth, something to eat, but they remained mostly silent, communicating in glances and gestures.
There was a quiet understanding among them, a bond that was both comforting and alien to me.
As the hours passed, I found myself drawn into their orbit, my usual routines slipping away.
Work emails piled up, messages from my boss and HR blinking insistently on my phone.
But I couldn’t bring myself to care, not with the storm outside and the storm inside threatening to collide.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
