Book 11: Who He Really Is

Misty

I’m dreaming. I know this is a vision–a glimpse into life happening far, far away. I think I love this power the most. 

I think I’m somewhere on the far northern coast of Crescent Falls, near the border with Celestoria. It’s definitely one of the fog-soaked islands–an obscure, rural pack territory. 

I stand on a hill overlooking a cottage. Yellow, winter grass hugs the little house, smoke rising from its chimney. A young woman with mousy-brown hair steps outside, bundled in a coat, hiking a messenger bag over her shoulder as she turns back to the door and smiles, saying something to the woman standing just out of view within. 

Then, I’m following the young woman as she walks toward the village. She smiles at a few people and wolves she passes. Her eyes are a soft gray–Cole’s eyes. 

This is his sister, Annabel. This is where she lives now. 

I watch as she steps into the yard of a single story stone bu