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| Maggie Stiefvater |
It wasn't Christmas without my wolf. It was the one time of year Id always had him, a silent presence lingering at the edge of the woods. So many times, Id stood by the kitchen window, my hands smelling of ginger and nutmeg and pine and one hundred other Christmas smells, and felt his gaze on me. Id look up to see Sam standing at the edge of the woods, golden eyes steady and unblinking.
Not this year.
I stood at the kitchen window, my hands smelling of nothing. No point baking Christmas cookies or trimming a tree this year; in twenty-four hours, Id be gone for two weeks with Rachel. On a white Florida beach, far away from Mercy Falls. Far away from Boundary Wood, and most of all, far away from the empty backyard.
I slowly rinsed out my travel cup, and for the thousandth time this winter, lifted up my gaze to look to the woods.
There was nothing but trees in shades of gray, their snowladen branches etched against a heavy winter sky. The only color was the brilliant flash of a male cardinal, flapping to the bird feeder. He pecked at the empty wooden base before wheeling away, a red spot against a white sky.
I didnt want to go out into the backyard with its unmarked snow, devoid of pawprints, but I didnt want to leave the feeder empty while I was gone, either. Retrieving the bag of birdseed from under the kitchen sink, I pulled on my coat, my hat, my gloves. I went to the back door and slid it open.
The scent of the winter woods hit me hard, reminding me fiercely of every Christmas that had ever mattered.
Even though I knew I was alone, I still shivered.
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