In his memories, Graeme was running on all fours, panting, with trees whipping by. The forest was a palimpsest, its green a backdrop to fractured memories of the caring woman—'Maggie'—his thoughts repeated. 'Maggie.' He ran faster. But he couldn't get away from the pain and the guilt that followed on his heels.
Men had arrived that day of his parents' deaths to drag her away. They were his father's men, but his father was gone. His father would't have allowed this! Not Maggie! But the elders were there saying she was responsible for his parent's death.
People and wolves were growling at Maggie, biting her, spitting on her. Hatred twisting their faces. Graeme and Greta stared on frozen in disbelief, the loss of their parents magnified a thousand fold as someone else they loved was taken. And they did nothing to stop it. They just stood there.
