Blowing on my hands in a futile effort to bring warmth back to my numb fingers, I squint across the vast expanse of snow at a group of wolves coming in. "Is that Vester's group?"
No. Ethan's. Selene rests her furry head against my leg, panting after her playful romps through a few snow drifts. She's very much in her element in this weather, and I've had more than one mother come to me complaining that their pups have all been following Selene around the compound to play in the snow all day.
It wouldn't be a problem, they stress—repeatedly—if they were old enough to shift. But they're not, and it's cold, and they're obsessed with the only dog they've ever seen.
Wolves aren't nearly as cool as a husky, apparently.
I can see two kids right now, peeking around a truck like we can't see them. They're whispering to each other and pointing in Selene's direction.
