“The forest doesn't gossip.”
“It absolutely does. I can feel it judging my hiking boots.”
Daniel's expression shifted into something that might have been fond exasperation. “Your hiking boots are fine.”
“They're from a discount sporting goods store. I'm pretty sure that's a crime against nature out here.”
“The forest doesn't care about brand names.”
“Easy for you to say. You probably grew up running through here barefoot, communing with ancient tree spirits.”
“I did, actually.” He held back a branch so I could pass. “My father used to bring me to these woods when I was young. Before I could shift. He said it was important to know the land with human feet before I learned to run on four legs.”
“That's...” I searched for the right word. “Beautiful, actually. In a weird werewolf way.”
“Everything about us is weird in a werewolf way.”
“I'm starting to notice.”
We walked in comfortable silence for a while. The forest hummed around us, alive with sounds I was learning to hear differently now. Bird calls that were actually bird calls, and others that Daniel's slight head tilts suggested were something else entirely. The rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. The creak of branches that moved without wind.
I stepped over a root that seemed to have grown specifically to trip humans. “What's it like? Being able to hear all of this. Smell everything. Feel the forest the way you do.”
Daniel was quiet for so long I thought he wasn't going to answer. Then:
“Overwhelming, sometimes. When I was young, before I learned to filter, the sensory input was nearly unbearable. Every smell, every sound, every shift in the air pressure. My mother used to hold me during thunderstorms because I could feel them coming hours before they arrived, and the anticipation was worse than the storm itself.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was. But you adapt. Learn to push certain things to the background, bring others forward when you need them. Now it's just... how I experience the world.” He glanced at me. “Though some things are harder to ignore than others.”
“Like what?”
His jaw tightened. He looked away, focused on the trail ahead with sudden intensity. “We're almost there.”
I filed that deflection away for later examination. Daniel Callahan, master of changing subjects when things got too personal.
The trail opened into a clearing that stole my breath.
It wasn't large, maybe fifty feet across, but the space felt sacred in ways I couldn't explain. Stone formations rose fromthe earth in a rough circle, weathered and ancient, covered in moss so thick they looked soft. The ground between them was carpeted with grass that seemed too green, too lush for the season. And in the center, a pool of water so still it looked like glass, reflecting the canopy above with mirror-perfect clarity.
“What is this place?” I whispered, because speaking at full volume felt wrong somehow.
“We call it the Dragon's Rest.” Daniel moved to one of the stone formations, sat on its weathered surface like he'd done it a thousand times. “There are stories about this clearing that go back further than the pack's written history.”
“Dragons?” I sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. “Actual dragons?”
“The legends say so.” He pulled the canvas bag into his lap, started unpacking containers of food. Sandwiches, fruit, something that looked like homemade cookies. “According to my great-grandmother, there was a dragon that lived in these mountains before humans came. Before wolves, even. It was ancient when the world was young, and it chose this place to build its nest.”
“What happened to it?”
“The stories vary. Some say it flew away when humans arrived, seeking somewhere quieter. Others say it's still here, sleeping beneath the mountains, waiting for something to wake it.” Daniel handed me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “My grandmother believed the second version. She used to tell me the dragon's dreams were what made the forest feel alive. That we weren't protecting the territory from threats outside. We were protecting the dragon's sleep.”
I looked around the clearing with new eyes. The stone formations could have been parts of a nest, I supposed. If the dragon was big enough. If any of this was real.
“Do you believe it?”
“I believe something lived here once. Something powerful enough to leave a mark that hasn't faded in centuries.” He gestured at the pool. “That water never freezes, even in the deepest winter. The stones are warm to the touch year-round. And sometimes, on very quiet nights, you can feel something breathing beneath the earth.”
