The Wolf Hunters Daughter by Charmeleon

Evelyn

Most people feared the woods.

I craved them.

They said the trees were cursed, that shadows moved where they shouldn't, that monsters with eyes like wildfire and teeth like knives hunted anything foolish enough to cross their path. 

That's what my father told me every night when I was a child, when the wind howled and I clutched my blanket tighter.

But I didn't believe in monsters. Not the kind he described, anyway.

The woods were quiet. Peaceful. Unlike the training yards echoing with gunfire and commands shouted. Unlike our home, where the walls breathed my father's rules and expectations into every room. In the woods, I could breathe, think, could be someone other than Dorian Vale's daughter.

So, I snuck away-again.

Slipping past the main compound wasn't hard. Most of the hunters were busy prepping for some new patrol. My father would be gone until dusk, and even if he weren't, he never checked my room until dinner. My feet knew the path by heart, woven into my bones from years of rebellion done in silence.

As soon as I passed the treeline, something inside me exhaled. The air was crisp and damp, laced with moss and pine. Leaves whispered above brushing against one another like secrets passed through centuries. The deeper I walked, the more the tension in my shoulders unraveled.

This place wasn't just a hiding spot-it was sacred. It belonged to itself. Here, I didn't have to train or obey. I didn't have to measure up to the ghost of the perfect daughter my father imagined. Here, I could simply be Evelyn.

I found my usual spot near a crooked ash tree with bark twisted like ribbons. The clearing was small and tucked away bordered by stones and moss, like a secret room nature had carved out just for me.

I spread out my thin blanket, and settled into the hush and I pulled out the only thing that made sense anymore-books about a girl who became a knight. About courage and kindness in a world that prized brutality. I've read it five times already.  

Still, I opened it again.

As I read, the rest of the world slipped away. Words wrapped around me like a warm cloak, drawing me in, reshaping everything. The birds sang overhead, and now and then, the wind would nudge my hair into my eyes like a teasing friend. I tilted my head to feel the sun on my skin, savoring the brief warmth before autumn swallowed it for good.

The birds sang and now and then the wind nudged my hair into my eyes. I tilted my face to feel the sun on my skin. For a while, there was only the book, the forest, and me.

Time slipped away. I lost myself in the pages until the sky darkened slightly, and the shadows began to lengthen.

That's when I noticed the silence.

Not peaceful silence. Sharp. Heavy. Like a held breath. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. Just... stillness.

A snap echoed through the trees.

I froze. It was subtle but it pulled me back to the present like a slap. I glanced up, heart thudding. 

"Probably just a rabbit," I murmured.

But rabbits didn't step like that.

Carefully, I closed my book, listening. Nothing. But the air had shifted. My neck prickled. Something unseen pressed at the edge of the clearing. I thought I saw movement-a tall, dark flicker-but it vanished.

The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. The air had changed.I stood slowly, book clutched like a shield. "Is someone there?"

No answer.

And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling-like being watched by something older than time itself. I turned, taking one cautious step back toward the trail.

Then another.

A low growl rolled from the underbrush.

Every instinct screamed to run, but my feet refused to move. I could barely breathe.

Then-