“I don’t see any wolves.”
Then my eyes catch on something in the distance. From here it’s just a shadow, a dot on the horizon, but I can tell it’s a house of some kind from the smoke wafting out the chimney.
“What’s that?” I point in the direction of the silhouette.
“A cabin?” Jasper says, already starting to move in that direction.
“How can you tell?”
“Because I know it.”
He speeds up until he’s running toward the squat building, pulling me along with him.
For what feels like hours but also no time at all we run, until we finally arrive at the door. Before me sits your quintessential log cabin, a lumberjack’s dream house. Thick pine trunks run horizontally along the walls, a set of uneven stairs lead up to a front porch complete with rocking chair, the door is a different color wood from the rest of the house.
“You’ve been here before?” I ask.
“This is my dad’s cabin.” Jasper is staring at it intently. “It’s not far from the lodge at the pack retreat. My dad built it when I was a kid, said it was our private hideaway, a place we could go when things got overwhelming with the pack.”
“I didn’t see it during the Blue Moon Festival.”
“It’s deep in the forest, well hidden. A proper retreat.”
I readjust my hand in his so that our fingers are laced together. “Why do you think we’ve been brought here?”
Jasper takes a tiny step forward. “Maybe ... he needed somewhere quiet to come while he healed?”
“You think he’s inside?”
He gestures up to the chimney, where a light plume of gray smoke swirls into the sky.
“Someone’s in there.”
Jasper takes another step, letting go of my hand. “Dad?” A shadow moves behind one of the windows. “Dad!” Without waiting another beat, he springs up the stairs, pulls open the door without knocking, and disappears inside. I chase after him, not wanting to lose him if some trippy, metaphysical shiz happens. But what I find when I burst through the door rocks me to my core.
Oh my moon gods ...I clutch the doorframe to stay upright.
Jasper is standing in the center of a circular woven rug. A sofa sits to his right, facing a crackling fire, the air is warm and smoky, the delicious scent of apples and cinnamon drifts from the little kitchen, and sitting at a crooked, round dining table is a woman.
“M—Mom?” Jasper asks, his voice barely a whisper.
She looks just like him. The same green eyes and freckles, the same slim nose. And there’s something about her energy that’s familiar, instantly warming me to her.
“Is it really you?” Jasp asks, wonder and disbelief making him hesitant.
Jasper’s mom, Mitsuha, stands, her long black hair falling over one shoulder. She’s wearing a simple yet elegant dress, a scarf wrapped around her narrow shoulders.
“Jasper,” she says, her voice soft, almost as unbelieving as her son’s. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Mom!”
In an instant, Jasper has run into his mother’s arms, pulled her into his, and they stand like this for a good long while. Her head rests on his shoulder, his on the top of her head.
“Is this real?” he asks, finally. “It feels real.”
She smiles with tears in her eyes. “Then it must be so.” Carefully, as if she’s trying to commit every detail to memory, she runs a hand down the side of Jasper’s face, finally resting her palm against his chest. “You look good,” she says, laughing a little, color rising in her cheeks.
“So do you,” he replies. “You look ... wonderful. I never thought I’d see you again.”
