Filed to story: The Healer and The Wolf PDF Free
Once the cats were settled and eating dinner, I put some ground burger out to thaw in the sink, then headed outside.
The wolf was sitting in front of my greenhouse, his paws crossed politely.
What the fuck?
I blinked at him, which was probably a stupid thing to do, but it was so surreal to see him sitting so patiently, his amber eyes boring into me.
We stayed like that for several beats until his stomach audibly growled, and he whined.
Was… was he asking for food?
VANESSA
I finally had a day off.
When I woke, happy not to have to schlep my ass all the way to the grocery store, I ardently wished that the wolf was finally gone. He was cool, of course, and I did like looking at him out of my kitchen window as he lounged and slept, which he did a lot. Not that I could blame him. If I had a bear wound in my side, all I’d want to do was rest, too. And all of that taking it easy really seemed to be working, since the wound was nearly closed already. Part of me whispered that it was impossible, but the rest of me was pleased that the food, water, and deadnettle poultice was doing right by him.
Still, I was worried about my plants. When I’d originally helped the beast in the middle of the woods, I hadn’t expected a repeat performance. Who would? That kind of stuff simply didn’t happen in real life.
Yet they did in mine.
Unfortunately, my slow, easy-going morning could only be so leisurely before my cats started to get really insistent about being fed. None of them were starving, but one would think they were by how they wound around my feet-Goober-or yowled like they were dying-Fork. Mudpie was a certified lady, however, and waited patiently at her bowl.
I didn’t know if they sensed I’d had a bad day at work the day before, or if peace had been achieved, but there was no drama with any food bowls. Then I went through my usual pattern of changing and trekking out to my greenhouse.
I wanted to transplant some things out into the garden. If I left them in their small pots any longer, I was afraid my greenhouse would stunt their growth. Soil, peat moss, and seeds weren’t cheap, so I’d rather not waste all the energy I’d put into getting them to this point.
Except the wolf was still there.
I sighed, feeling put out. Perhaps unreasonably so. The animal deserved to be treated with all the respect that went with being an apex predator, but I also wanted back into my haven.
So, maybe I was crazy, but I put my hands on my hips and let out a sharp whistle. “You know, I’m gonna have to start charging you rent if you keep taking up my workspace.”
I didn’t really expect anything to happen. After all, it wasn’t like the wolf had a wallet it could just whip out and hand me a couple hundreds, but he tilted his massive head to the side and slowly stood.
He was definitely looking better but not fully healed. I was acutely aware that I didn’t have enough food to feed him, even with me using all of my chicken of the woods for my own meals and giving the meat to my unexpected visitor.
I should probably just call the rangers. I had no idea why I hadn’t already, since it was the smart thing to do. Especially considering I might have just pissed off the beast by whistling at it.
Instead of attacking me or showing any signs of dominance, the wolf slowly, stiffly, walked out of the greenhouse and settled on the ground beside the back steps. It seemed almost… apologetic?
Huh.
Either I was having the most convincing, long-term dream about making a giant wolf friend, or the animal had some sort of prior experience with humans.
Oh, no. What if he was from a home zoo? I’d read about people who had too much money or too much crazy and kept all sorts of exotic, wild animals in captivity on their property. Unlike a rescue, the animals rarely had the proper care, and if they ever were dumped in the wild, then they didn’t have the survival instincts to survive.
That made so much sense. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? No wonder he’d been so hurt by those bears. Normally, wolves could outrun bears, or they’d have their pack to back them up.
Did that mean he considered me his new owner?
Now, I wasn’t delusional. I knew I couldn’t afford to take on a wolf. Also, it would probably upset the ecosystem of the property. While I was sure the occasional coyote wandered through, that was a whole lot different than a wolf in the 99% percentile of being freaking massive.
Yet I still didn’t call the rangers. I didn’t have a good reason why. I just didn’t. Instead, I cautiously made my way inside and shut the door between me and the beast. Once I was sure it was secure, I watched for a few minutes just to be sure, but the wolf made no move, apparently completely settled.
Another huh.
Feeling a bit more at peace within my haven, I got back to work. It was cathartic, the ritual of gently up-potting peppers and tomatoes. I’d have to wait for when the nights were consistently warm enough to put the latter out. My peppers wouldn’t be ready for at least another month, but that was fine with me. Between a rain barrel and good insulation with hay, I could keep the greenhouse warm enough for the seedlings.
I got so into it that as I was ready to transplant a tray of brassicas outside, I jumped when I saw the wolf still laying there. Holy shit! Had I really forgotten for him, for even a moment?
That was concerning. I shouldn’t be so comfortable around a creature who could eat me quite easily.
So, I started talking to it. I had no clue where that survival instinct came from, but I rolled with it.
“I’m going to move past you and through those trees to plant these,” I said, although I did choose to go the long way around by exiting through the front door. “You could actually eat some of these, although I don’t know if they’d be to your taste. I don’t know a ton about proper wolf diets. I don’t suppose you have any pointers?”
It had to be my imagination, but when the wolf tilted his head to the side, it felt like he was listening. Wait, no. Not just listening.
Understanding.
That was impossible, yet… it made me feel less lonely.
Was that stupid? Probably. But who cared? My cats were largely indoor-only, aside from their reinforced cat-tunnel leading to the greenhouse, so sometimes gardening was a bit solitary. I didn’t mind it too much, but occasionally I found myself longing to share my greenspace with someone. To tell them why it was so exciting to see seeds sprout up, and why I chose to start certain plants early in my greenhouse.
And sure, a wolf couldn’t exactly understand any of those agricultural tidbits, but still, it was nice.
When I was back inside the greenhouse with my empty tray, I heard an odd rumbling coming from outside. Was the wolf growling at me?