it. The wolf had seen pet dogs do that and it always made people smile. Stag tried to see Sherry’s face through the wolf’s eyes. Her face was frozen, eyes almost circular, as she cowered back with one hand clutching at her throat. The wolf could taste her fear in the quick, shallow breaths she panted. He whined and leaned away from Sherry, trying to look harmless.
Throat working convulsively, Sherry reached a shaking hand to the wolf’s head.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, “please, don’t bite me. Can you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying?”
Stag should have told her the wolf didn’t understand words. But he understood actions. Sherry was touching his head with a hand that trembled and her scent screamed fear. The wolf didn’t want her to fear him. He leaned his considerable weight against her and laid his head in her lap. If he’d been a cat, he would have been purring.
***
Sherry looked down at the monster head that took up nearly all of her lap. The wolf was just as big as she remembered from that first day at the plane. His fur was thick and rough under her fingers, but he didn’t move as she hesitantly stroked her hand along his head and neck. His eyes were closed in what looked like canine bliss.
“Did you know that when I first came to America my father had a big, mean German Shepherd mix dog?” she whispered. “I never was very big, and when I was six years old, I was tiny. That dog was twice my size. My brother Antoine sicced him on me the second day I was there. Scared me to death. Antoine laughed and laughed.”
Even now that memory hurt. The tears from earlier bloomed again.
“I don’t know why Antoine was so mean to me. I was practically a baby, and it wasn’t my fault that his dad got my mom pregnant. He was only nine, and my father said boys will be boys, but he never did grow out of his meanness. Probably got it from his mother. She was a real witch.”
The wolf whined, turning his head sideways on her knee to look up at her with eerie pale blue eyes nothing like Stag’s. But he still didn’t move, so Sherry dared to keep petting him. She could feel the leather cord of the small buckskin bag buried in the fur, the one Stag always wore. This really was Stag.
”I guess you’re not so scary. Not like Duke was. Maybe it was the way you jumped at me that day at the plane. I was sitting on the ground, so you looked even bigger than you are. It must have reminded me of all the times Duke lunged at me when I was a little girl. You won’t growl at me or lunge at me, will you?”
Tears dripped off her face when she remembered the helpless child she had been, taken away from what was familiar and put into a place where she didn’t speak the language and no one looked out for her. Not only was she unloved, she was tortured by her half-siblings and terrorized by their dog. Sherry wept for that child now, drowning in the pain of abandonment and isolation that child had felt but couldn’t comprehend.
“Why didn’t they love me?” she wailed into the wolf’s neck. “Why were they so mean to me? What’s wrong with me that no one ever loved me?”
The wolf raised his head to lick at her face.
“Even the dog hated me.” A wild wolf licked her tears, but a family pet had made her childhood a living hell. How many times had she crept past him to get to the bedroom she shared with her sister only to have Chantelle call the dog and tell him to bite Sherry? He never did bite, but the threat alone had petrified the little girl. “I never felt safe unless I was out of that house. Sometimes I wonder how I survived to grow up.”
The wolf blew hot air at her, and suddenly she wasn’t clutching rough gray fur but smooth brown skin. Stag, on his knees, embraced her. Her first reaction was to stiffen and try to push him away.
“Oh, Sherry,” he whispered against her throat. His voice was rough with tears. “I wish I would have been there. I would have protected
Throat working convulsively, Sherry reached a shaking hand to the wolf’s head.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, “please, don’t bite me. Can you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying?”
Stag should have told her the wolf didn’t understand words. But he understood actions. Sherry was touching his head with a hand that trembled and her scent screamed fear. The wolf didn’t want her to fear him. He leaned his considerable weight against her and laid his head in her lap. If he’d been a cat, he would have been purring.
***
Sherry looked down at the monster head that took up nearly all of her lap. The wolf was just as big as she remembered from that first day at the plane. His fur was thick and rough under her fingers, but he didn’t move as she hesitantly stroked her hand along his head and neck. His eyes were closed in what looked like canine bliss.
“Did you know that when I first came to America my father had a big, mean German Shepherd mix dog?” she whispered. “I never was very big, and when I was six years old, I was tiny. That dog was twice my size. My brother Antoine sicced him on me the second day I was there. Scared me to death. Antoine laughed and laughed.”
Even now that memory hurt. The tears from earlier bloomed again.
“I don’t know why Antoine was so mean to me. I was practically a baby, and it wasn’t my fault that his dad got my mom pregnant. He was only nine, and my father said boys will be boys, but he never did grow out of his meanness. Probably got it from his mother. She was a real witch.”
The wolf whined, turning his head sideways on her knee to look up at her with eerie pale blue eyes nothing like Stag’s. But he still didn’t move, so Sherry dared to keep petting him. She could feel the leather cord of the small buckskin bag buried in the fur, the one Stag always wore. This really was Stag.
”I guess you’re not so scary. Not like Duke was. Maybe it was the way you jumped at me that day at the plane. I was sitting on the ground, so you looked even bigger than you are. It must have reminded me of all the times Duke lunged at me when I was a little girl. You won’t growl at me or lunge at me, will you?”
Tears dripped off her face when she remembered the helpless child she had been, taken away from what was familiar and put into a place where she didn’t speak the language and no one looked out for her. Not only was she unloved, she was tortured by her half-siblings and terrorized by their dog. Sherry wept for that child now, drowning in the pain of abandonment and isolation that child had felt but couldn’t comprehend.
“Why didn’t they love me?” she wailed into the wolf’s neck. “Why were they so mean to me? What’s wrong with me that no one ever loved me?”
The wolf raised his head to lick at her face.
“Even the dog hated me.” A wild wolf licked her tears, but a family pet had made her childhood a living hell. How many times had she crept past him to get to the bedroom she shared with her sister only to have Chantelle call the dog and tell him to bite Sherry? He never did bite, but the threat alone had petrified the little girl. “I never felt safe unless I was out of that house. Sometimes I wonder how I survived to grow up.”
The wolf blew hot air at her, and suddenly she wasn’t clutching rough gray fur but smooth brown skin. Stag, on his knees, embraced her. Her first reaction was to stiffen and try to push him away.
“Oh, Sherry,” he whispered against her throat. His voice was rough with tears. “I wish I would have been there. I would have protected
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