The forest had changed. Or maybe it was Darius who had.
Each step through the underbrush was quiet, precise. His bow rested firm in his hand, an extension of his will. The traps he'd set the night before were still in place—no signs of disturbance, but new tracks crisscrossed the mud. Rabbit. Maybe fox. Something else, too. Heavier.
He knelt and pressed two fingers to the print. A paw. Large. Familiar.
He was being watched again.
For the past few nights, the scent of fresh blood had drawn the same visitor. Never too close, never too far. A silent shadow at the edge of the trees. It didn't growl. It didn't challenge him. It simply waited.
Darius stood and adjusted his grip on the bow. The trapline wasn't just protection anymore—it was bait.
And the wolf was learning.
Being near Darius meant food.
Hunting had become easier. This wasn't survival anymore—it was routine.
Darius crouched beside the fresh kill, cleaning the rabbit with practiced hands. The blade moved quickly, almost rhythmically. Off to the side, in the shadow of the trees, two yellow eyes gleamed.
He didn't look up.
"Don't play dumb," he muttered. "I know you're there."
He tossed the entrails a few steps away from the fire. The wolf crept out, silent as ever, and devoured them without a sound. Darius watched him for a moment, then spat on the ground.
"If you want to keep eating, you're gonna have to work for it."
The wolf paused mid-bite, eyes flicking up. Darius took a slow step forward.
"You scared off a hare earlier. That doesn't help."
Silence. Only the rustle of wind in the leaves.
"Tomorrow, stay behind me. Keep quiet. If you're useful, you eat. If not…" He shrugged. "Find your own damn dinner."
He turned away, as if the conversation were over.
Each morning began the same.
Push-ups. Pull-ups on low branches. Squats with rocks strapped to his back. Sprints through uneven terrain. Climbs up muddy slopes. Darius trained like his life depended on it—because it did.
The boy who had stumbled into the forest, half-starved, was now leaner, stronger, hardened. Day by day, he carved power back into his bones.
Seventeen days in the wild.
The traps were sharper. His aim more precise. And the wolf... the wolf had stopped hiding.
It didn't walk beside him—but it followed. Close enough to help, far enough to flee. When prey scattered, it would flank them, herding them toward Darius's traps or his bow. He never praised it. Barely looked at it. But he left food.
And the wolf stayed.
Then came the scent.
Thick. Musky. Dangerous.
Boar.
He froze. Deep tracks. Trees gouged by tusks.
Close.
A grunt. Hooves crushing the underbrush.
The wolf saw it too. Muscles tensed. Ready to strike.
"No," Darius whispered sharply. He stepped forward, hand low.
The wolf froze.
"That thing will tear us both apart if we're stupid."
He crouched behind a rock, eyes on the clearing ahead.
"We need a plan."
The boar was massive. Scarred, old, smart. It grazed ahead, tusks flashing like daggers as it rooted through the soil.
Darius exhaled.
"All right," he whispered. "Here's the deal."
He pulled a strip of dried meat from his pouch and tossed it toward the wolf.
"You want to eat, you help."
The wolf sniffed it, then looked at him.
"Circle wide. Stay low. Drive it this way."
He pointed to a narrow choke point between two trees, where roots jutted from the ground like natural traps.
"I'll be waiting."
The wolf hesitated... then vanished into the brush.
Darius moved fast, setting his spear low and steady. He coated the tip with fat and ash—anything to mask the scent. His heartbeat slowed.
A grunt. Branches snapping. Snarling. Hooves pounding.
It was working.
The boar burst from the treeline in a rage—bleeding from one flank, the wolf snapping at its heels. It thundered through the choke point.
Darius lunged.
The spear hit hard. The boar screamed, thrashed. But the terrain trapped it. The wolf leapt, biting deep into its neck, dragging it sideways.
Together, they brought it down.
When the beast finally stopped twitching, Darius dropped to one knee, panting.
He looked at the wolf.
"We're getting good at this."
The wolf didn't respond.
But it didn't run, either.
The Wolf's Eyes
He had seen many humans before. Loud. Clumsy. Reeking of fear or steel.
But this one was different.
Small. Thin. Wounded.
Easy prey.
The first time he saw the boy, he stalked him from the shadows—silent paws gliding between trees. The boy moved slow. Limping. Alone.
Perfect.
Then the wind shifted. The boy stopped. Turned. Eyes scanning.
Not random.
Looking.
Sensing.
The wolf waited.
The boy didn't run. Didn't scream. He reached into his pouch, tore meat with his teeth, and tossed a piece toward the trees.
Toward him.
The wolf didn't move at first.
But hunger won.
He came closer.
Days passed. The boy trained. Fought. Set traps. Moved like no cub he'd ever seen. He bled. He grew.
And food always followed him.
Hares. Birds. Even a boar once—though it escaped.
The wolf's belly stayed full.
Until that day.
The scent hit like fire. Familiar. Hateful.
Him.
The boar.
The killer of his kin. The beast that gored his brother beneath the full moon. The one whose tusks reeked of blood.
The wolf tensed. Breath quickened. Muscles coiled.
Then—
A voice.
Calm. Low.
The boy.
"No," he said.
The wolf growled.
Again: "No."
And something in that voice made him stop.
He circled. He flanked.
Together, they struck.
The boy's spear.
His teeth.
The boar fell.
And with it, a weight he had carried alone.
He stood over the corpse, chest heaving, eyes locked on the boy.
Not prey.
Not threat.
Pack?
The thought stirred something deep in his blood.
What if the boy joined the pack?
From the Ridge Above
The old man watched from between the rocks, cloak pulled tight.
The boy had killed a full-grown boar.
With a wolf.
He rubbed his beard, half in disbelief, half in memory.
"He's still just a child…"
But not any child.
There was power in the way he moved. Discipline in how he set his traps. Silence in how he spoke to the forest.
The hermit narrowed his eyes.
"Where did you come from, boy?"
He had lived by this forest for over twenty years. Seen warriors, hunters, even Spartans pass through.
None of them ever tamed the wild like this.
He looked down at the clearing again.
The boy and the beast shared meat—quiet, almost like brothers.
"Not yet," he muttered. "But soon."
He turned, and vanished into the mist.