Chapter 11

Someone creeping from a hiding place would see a 150-pound wolf with pale blond fur. He started to creep forward, but a sudden crackle stopped him. It was a man squeezed inside a big unused trash bin, sleeping, tugging the remnants of a filth-encrusted blanket between his fingers as if he could stretch it large enough to himself against the cold November night.

He looked up and saw him. His eyes widened. He rubbed his eyes to make sure that what he was seeing was real, he was not dreaming. After a second look, he started to shrink back. Then stopped himself. He murmured something. His voice crooning, the musical, exaggerated tones people use with infants and animals.

Overwhelmed by sleep, he lazily outstretched his hands, palms out to ward the beast off, the physical language contradicting the vocal. Stay back, please. Stay back!

He could make out the man’s words, although he didn’t concentrate well. There was no point.

He looked around, inhaling the scents o