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By the time she’d crossed the sleeping town and taken the path through the woods along the coast to the jetty, she was shivering. There was too much mud to carry on by bike, so she left it inside the abandoned boathouse on the way and continued on foot. The wolfdogs ran excitedly around her, undisturbed by the wet weather. She hoped Erwan would be safe, and that all of this would blow over soon so they could return to their lives.
Absorbed in her thoughts with one hand shielding her eyes from the rain, she almost bumped into Snow when he came to an abrupt halt. She blinked drops from her eyes. A stranger stood in the path a short distance ahead. Snow growled, his gums pulling back from his teeth.
The rivulets of water that ran through the man’s short brown hair and down his face didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes were wide and open, the same chestnut color as his hair, and his skin was tanned. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a brown leather jacket, the type with wool in the collar that pilots wore, and his jeans were tugged into brown boots.
Still growling, Snow inched forward. Rain and Cloud flanked her as Thunder took a position at her back.
“Quite a pack of wolves you’ve got there,” the man called to her in English.
She raised her voice to be heard above the rain. “What do you want?”
“Are all locals so friendly?” he asked with a grin. When she didn’t respond, he dropped the smile. “I’m on my way to the village. I was hoping to speak to some people in town about the fires. I’m a journalist from Paris.” He extended a hand, but froze with his arm mid-air when Snow barred his teeth again. “I can show you my business card if you like. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“What’s your name?”
Thunder growled behind her. Rain and Cloud crouched low, ready to attack.
“You should call off your dogs,” he said. “You don’t want the legal problems I’ll cause if they bite.”
She didn’t move. Her dogs wouldn’t attack, not without a word or gesture from her. Normally, she wouldn’t allow them to scare a stranger, but she didn’t trust anyone and the last thing she needed was media exposure.
“I just want to talk to you about the fires,” he said again, glancing between Rain and Cloud. “I’m writing an article. I’ll mention your name. Wouldn’t it be cool to see your name in a national newspaper?”
“I don’t know anything about the fires.”
“It’s awful weather to be out. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Or you could invite me home if you’d feel happier in your own environment. I just want to get more information for my article.”
“I can’t help you, Monsieur. I’m in a hurry. Please move out of the way.”
His eyes tightened, but after a second, he stepped aside.
She hurried up the slope that would take her around the cliff and to the harbor without sparing him another glance. The dogs kept the stranger hostage on the path, only running after her when she was at the top of the hill.
Before they exited the forest, it stopped raining. As if a magic wand had been waved, the mist cleared over the ocean to let the sun through a ring of clouds. A fan of angelic light fell over the flat surface of the sea. She paused to take in the sight. Never before had she seen the rain stop like that and the fog disperse as if it had never covered the sea like a blanket. Maybe it was a good omen. If the rain hadn’t stopped, she would’ve had to wait in the woods or somewhere at the harbor until the sea was clear. This was no small blessing.
At the edge of the forest, she said goodbye to the dogs, biting back fresh tears as she hugged each one. Of all the animals, she felt closest to the dogs. She’d found the pack of puppies in the forest, huddling close to their dead mother. The poor bitch had been shot. The farmers in the area had been complaining about a fox killing their sheep and had been out on a rampage for a month. One of them claimed to have shot a wolf. Turned out he’d shot a husky.
The hunting didn’t stop, not until every wild fox, wolf, and stray dog had been cleared from the forest. Clelia had hidden the puppies in the shed where Erwan kept his nets and fishing gear, and had raised them with a mixture of buckwheat porridge and milk. They were her family as much as Erwan was, and all she had in the world.
She kissed each of them one last time before pointing a finger in the direction of their island. “Home, boys.”
