"If the cold doesn't kill you, the wolves will."
NOT A WEREWOLF STORY
Book 1 of 2.
In which an 18-year-old girl flees to Alaska to escape being accused of murder & to uncover what happened to her uncle. Involves two gentle giants.
Completed. :)
Fea...
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Chapter 14 | THE SOUND OF SILENCE AND HOME SWEET HOME
My eyebrows furrow as I realize he literally just vanished from before me.
"Huh?" I ask lamely.
He must have climbed up a tree.
He's trying to escape me! That's so rude!
Glancing up the nearest climbable tree, my thoughts of him desperately jumping through the trees in an attempt to get away from this clearly vicious teenage girl come to a halt. I see the man standing on a sturdy branch right above me.
My brain's eyebrows furrow, making me utterly confused.
"You're slow," he comments, sounding disinterested.
"Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don't know. Why are you up there?"
He answers simply, "We travel up here for a little while."
I blink.
"What."
"Unless you would rather give up and turn around."
"You're joking."
"Am I?" He asks, cocking his head to the side slightly in a kind of adorable way while raising an eyebrow.
He's totally not kidding. Wow.
I sigh, "How am I supposed to travel by tree with my bag and ax and snow pants?"
"Put the ax in the bag. You'll be fine just wearing the snow pants."
So, I have to struggle to put the snow pants on, now?
I glance down at my overly stuffed duffle bag that literally looks like it's about to burst. "Okay, but the ax? I don't think that it'll even fit in the bag."
"Try."
"No," I stay, stubbornly. "I know it won't fit."
It has how many things in there? I've lost count. It's an incredible bag for staying true after all that I've put it through. Honestly, I'm surprised the zipper hasn't broken yet.
"Then hand me your bag."
I grab my bag and lift it up to him, dying under the weight. However, since he deems me weak, I try my best to not let any sign of struggle reach my face.
"And the ax?" I manage to get out.
He doesn't answer me as he crouches down, left hand holding onto a branch near him, while the right hand grips my heavy bag and pulls it up to his level easily.
His hands look cold. Why isn't he wearing gloves of any sort? Dumb.
Then, he swings the strap around his right shoulder and takes a large step over onto the next tree's sturdy branch.
