The wolf closest to me, the reddish brown one, turned its head slightly at the sound of my gasp. The wolf’s eyes were dark, nearly black. It gazed at me for a fraction of a second, the deep eyes seeming too intelligent for a wild animal. As it stared at me, I suddenly thought of Jacob—again, with gratitude. At least I’d come here alone, to this fairy-tale meadow filled with dark monsters. At least Jacob wasn’t going to die, too. At least I wouldn’t have his death on my hands.
