One moment, he had been coiled tightly against the cold, praying in earnest to ward it away. But warmth had long since abandoned the lumbering beast's body. It had been cold. Oh, so cold. He had been starving without the aid of his Uncle and pack and miserably lonely without the company of his dearest friend Akira.

What had once been a lithe frame was now hollow, wide rib bones protruding in a gnarled, rhythmic pattern as his skin clung desperately to every sinew and ligament.

A final, shivering breath poured forth from his lips in a shaky rasp.

Until—

Lily. Buckwheat. Pine. And freshwater.


Weary gray eyes fluttered open, blinking against the onslaught of light. His den—no, not a den. A fallen pine, its towering roots splayed high, formed a hollowed-out refuge beneath its broad, needled arms. At its center, Lodgepole slowly scrambled upright, cadaverous shoulders rolling to shake off the haze of slumber.

And then—

The slough! The oxbow! Rolling hills unfurling into jagged peaks, their sharp faces catching the first light of dawn. Green stretched in endless swaths, meadow and woodland interwoven in seamless harmony. Rivers alive with fish that could fill your belly for days.

Home.

Riven. He’d be pissed to know he had wandered astray…

Akira.

Gods, Akira. A smile that could make the coldest winter air alight with warmth. A laugh that chased despair to the farthest reaches. The most fragrant and brilliant flower in a field of lilies. She stood alone, unopposed in her ability to stir something raw within him—an emotion he had only heard whispered in tales of old.

‘Lodgepole… I’m home, my love!’

Her voice? Impossible. Surely this was the afterlife. Unless… unless she, too, had been fated to this heaven? His vision blurred, fragmented at the edges. The thought of Akira dying wrenched a knot in his throat, insatiable and agonizing with every breath. Death had never been a stranger to him. Since birth, he knew he was a wolf too big for a world too small. A heart too large to be confined to the cage of his chest.

But Akira—she was too good for such a fate.

He prayed she was merely a figment, an apparition sent to him from the Other Side.

“Akira?” All he could do was offer a hoarse bark in the direction of the sound.

"I'm here," He croaked again, yet his voice remained determined. His throat had been dry, cracked from dehydration before, and yet he was still plagued even in the afterlife? It was then his gaze shifted to his paws. Lanky, sinewy, knotted... just like before. All at once, exhaustion slammed into him, and the wolf crumbled under the pressure. An awkward, half-hearted sit was all he could muster. His large, rounded head peered helplessly forward, searching for her distinctive bi-colored ginger coat.

He needed to find her, to hell with the consequences.

"Akira!"