I should feel better about everything. . .

We are making good progress. Sam is alternately on my back or jogging barefoot. I admire her resilience. With her wounds, I'm amazed she can support her weight at all.

It's something our pursuers won't likely take into account—her athleticism and will to survive through conditions that would discourage a Navy Seal.

The intermittent drizzle has become a steady rain. For tracking, it's a blessing. For everything else, it's treacherous, but it doesn't seem to be slowing Sam down or sending her into another tirade. You're an asshole. Leave me alone...

Even so, we're undoubtedly being hunted from every angle. By now, their map probably has a bunch of x's. They know where we aren't. And they may have found Bryony's remains. It'll add fuel to their fire and update their starting point. And with basic cell-phone technology, they can report their findings and minimize any redundancy.

I should at least appreciate the long-overdue conversation that Sam and I began. If we get caught now, we did clear some of the air. But it's still toxic enough to choke on, and I certainly fell victim to it. I basically said I love you, and it went unnoticed. Or it was purposely ignored. I'm not sure which is worse. It became about Ishmael instead. And Prue. I shouldn't forget that. But it's all connected. And painful for her. Understandably, of course, but it's hard to pinpoint an exact source, or the reason my admission fell so flat.

I can do better. I will do better. When the time is right. And assuming we have the chance.

"Can we take a break?" Sam's voice is competing with a gust of wind and the rush of water. The river is just a stone's throw away and it's bursting with new volume.

I skid to stop in a patch of mud, eager to oblige.

The horizon has a dull glow. Maybe in about a half an hour, I can safely say, we survived the night.

With Sam on my back, I veer into the woods. Beside a copse of evergreens, I drop to my chest, panting like crazy.

Sam steps off me and continues walking, stretching her legs, and working out the kinks. There are quite a few—neck, back, knees, ankles.

With no energy to follow her lead, I watch her move about from my stomach, with a tilt to my head.

"We need to work on our communication like this," she informs me after her turnaround, wagging a finger between me and herself. "And I have a few suggestions. Right paw, yes, left paw, no..."

She expects an answer and her pacing stops. I put her words to memory and tap my right paw for her.

"Good," she replies, resuming her walk forward. "I can work with that for now. Do you have a place where we can lie low for a while?"

That's an easy one. Yes, I tell her with my right paw.

Our first spot is planned. We have to be extremely careful during daylight hours anyway and may as well make the most of this place until nightfall. Our clothing and supplies are already there. After that, we'll have to play it by ear, but we'll have what we need to wing it just about anywhere . . . within reason. We're not prepared for a deep freeze or constant rain, major injuries or any catastrophes, and the food won't last more than a few days, but we should have enough to get our journey off to a good start.

"Are we almost there?" she inquires next.

I don't know if she considers about an hour a yes or a no, so I hesitate and then give her both.

"Okay, I'll consider that a sort of."

Yes, I tap.

Sam has had her arms crossed most of the time, to keep her robe closed. The tie is still wrapped around her scraped elbow. One arm remains at her waist, but at her neck, she tugs at her soggy collar. "Can I assume you have something else for us to wear?"

Yes, I proudly let her know.

"Food?"

Check. I like having what she thinks we need.

"Weapons?" she asks.

She catches me there. Considering who we're dealing with, it's basically a no and that's what I signal.

It's not that I didn't think of this. A gun was the first thing that came to mind, and even that, would barely make a dent. Maybe it would have helped, but I didn't have the time or budget to hunt one down on the black market. I could only afford a knife, and it's really for hunting once we run out of food.

Sam visibly deflates.

And I wish I could say, I'm sorry I let you down.

The tense moment lingers, but she pushes us both past it. "I'd like a few more signals before we get back at it. I think we've established that I should climb on when you drop to your stomach and jump off when you sit down."

Yes. I let her know that I agree.

"Stop and go seem essential, too. Those are more for me when I'm on your back. They can mirror yes and no. I'll pat your shoulders, left for stop and right for go. I think we should also have a danger signal. That way I know to shut up and pay attention. How about you bob your nose up?"

I tap out my yes. It's a good idea. I'm glad she's put some thought into this. And that she wasn't spending all her quiet time dwelling on the past and hating my existence.

"And, finally, to get us started—I'd like to expand in the future—but for now, how about a wellness check. Like I'm okay, you're okay. Can you do that ear-twitch thing on command?"

I show her that I can and get a slight smile out of it. In just that one reaction, the burden of doubt seems to lift a bit. We can do this, and maybe, just maybe, there will be moments we're actually happy.

"I'll do a double pat," she informs me. "On your chest or mine, depending on where we are in relation to each other."

Got it. Yes. And I perform the simple task with gusto, like a house pet hoping for an extra treat.

The lighter moment is cut short by a swish overhead. Sam's expression plummets and gaze lifts.

We both freeze, but Sam's eyes dart to me, seeking guidance. Her trembling hands seem to know the truth already. Danger. I confirm that by bobbing my nose up. Before the witch—I don't know who—has a chance to circle back, I bound to her side and drop down. Get on.

She overshoots my back. Her weight shifts to the left as I launch myself forward, but she corrects it within a few strides and locks her grip once she settles into a workable position.

We're getting better at this routine, and her signals will help tremendously. Still, we can't outrun a broomstick. Even if the witch in question didn't flat-out see us, we've clearly done something to acquire her attention. Her circles are getting tighter.

"I know you're there," she calls out, her voice unmistakable. "This is the end for you."

Ivy. And she doesn't even bother to lie or sugarcoat anything.

It's strange that she doesn't sound particularly close. Maybe she's just saying that. Just to check for a reaction.

Sam and I are too exposed to call her bluff, and we zig-zag backwards, heading further uphill and losing ground. The landscape is more uneven and full of obstacles, but it provides more shelter from her view. Although daybreak is dim and dreary, the darkness is no longer a reliable shroud. The leaves aren't either. Most of them have fallen.

The rain has stopped, but the forest floor is sodden and mucky, and the wind is whipping water droplets off every surface. There is a continuous whir and tap. Still, when we're sloshing through the leaves, trying to gain speed, we're so much louder. We're only quiet when we're still. We can't have it both ways.

When hiding seems to be the better option and an opportunity presents itself, I take it, without a pause for thought. The pace has been too grueling. I can't maintain it anyway.

From a slight distance, it looked like a cave, but it's really a crevice between two boulders, narrow at the top and wider at the base. I'm able to squeeze in between.

There's a broken branch draped over the gap above us. Leaves and pine needles are clogging some of the nooks and crannies. We have some coverage, but if Ivy dismounts and starts walking around anywhere nearby, we'd be spotted almost instantly, from either side—there's not much depth to this chasm. And there's really only one way out—the way we came in. The far end is just a sliver.

Our shelter could just as easily be a trap...

Sam slides off me when I sit down, my lungs heaving, my tongue hanging out. Trying to control the noise just makes the panting worse.

She shifts to my side and leans against the rock, placing her feet between my paws and hind legs. We stay close. There's not much room to wander and our screen is confined to a short space.

Sam pats her chest twice. I let my ear twitch. We're okay. We're just fucked if we were seen anywhere near here. It's the only decent hideout we've come across in a good while.

A few rapid heartbeats later, a black blur whizzes through our limited view of the sky, perpendicular to our passageway.

We wait, completely still, except for our eyeballs. And my nostrils, when I can spare a breath.

Is Ivy on the ground, or did she miss us and move on? It's hard to make that determination. I'm not picking up on her scent, but I'm not sure I'd be able to until I calm down.

Cold, wet, breezy, the earthy smell of decay. More of the same. And more of the same.

After a few more minutes, Sam pats my right shoulder. Go?

I don't answer her right away. If Ivy had any idea where we were, she would have found us already. But that doesn't mean we're free to roam about.

Are we safer where we are? If she missed us once, she could miss us again. Maybe this is a better hiding spot than I thought.

We certainly can't stay here for any extended amount of time. She may call for reinforcements. And we're not that far away from our last known location, assuming she saw us in the first place and wasn't just barking at our shadows. Plus, Sam is shivering. Her lips are blue. Her hair and robe have been damp for hours. The first shelter I picked out will eliminate most of these problems, and I had hoped to be there already.

How much longer can we really hold off?

I give Sam the paw for yes and drop to my stomach. She climbs on, and we're off again, and we take it slow. Our motion may catch Ivy's attention, but hopefully the noise won't.

We eventually spot the river from a clearing at a higher elevation. We can't go down there—it's too exposed—but we'll have to do our best to follow it, from a safe distance.

I'm really looking for a creek that drains into it, at about this location. There should be no way to miss it, even if the Shenandoah is out of our view.

Just when I'm beginning to doubt myself, we finally run into it. We make the turn, follow it uphill, and then skip across it at the first reasonably shallow location. I'd rather not get soaking wet. And to be honest, two legs or four, I'm not the best swimmer. As a human, I never learned. As a wolf, I never really tried. I'm supposed to have certain "instincts," but, raised by a human, some of those are warped or late to arrive or develop.

Sam and I come to a clearing. The clearing.

The dilapidated barn is just across the way.

The grass is overgrown, half a summer season of it, at least. The land has been "for sale" for a long time, it seems. Still, there are no trees or bushes. It's just acres of open meadow that I wish I had more seriously considered.

I also spot someone—no doubt Ivy—pacing the rooftop of a farmhouse across the road. She's talking into her phone, on speaker, and is scrolling while she listens. From here, the conversation is just a distant murmur. I can't even tell who she's talking to. Her gaze is angled toward the river, which is off to the far right. Sam and I are technically behind her and have a few rows of trees, a field, and a dirt road separating us.

We retreat deeper into the woods, unseen, as far as I can tell, and have a slight advantage, knowing where she is. But we can't pull any further ahead, not without our stuff and a safe place to catch up on a few things, like rest, which we've skipped for a whole night. It's essentially my second night in a row, running like crazy.

This barn is truly like no other. Within the radius I was working with, I couldn't do any better.

I really don't want to walk away from it. I'm not even sure we can. We're cold and running on fumes.

Sitting down, Sam slides off me, her eyes glued to the farmhouse roof as well.

"Ivy," she whispers.

I'm not sure if it's a question or just a statement, but I stomp out my yes anyway.

"Could we distract her somehow?"

It's not a bad idea, but we'd need to hash out the details with more than just her list of signals.

Maybe at some point Sam won't jolt when she sees me naked all of a sudden. Her recovery time is improving, and I do my best to make it as inexplicit as possible—staying in a squat—but it still catches her off guard. I'm not sure if it's the little magic I have or just the typical junk that gets to her. Right now, I won't flatter myself. It seems off-putting to her, regardless.

"We need to be on exactly the same page," I tell her, staying in the moment and on task. The rest can wait.

"Do I get any say in this?" Her eyes remain on Ivy.

"I'd like you to go in the barn and me to lead her off course. I'll circle back when I can."

Sam tightens her already crossed arms. Her attempt to control her shiver seems to backfire. "You mean if you can," she chatters, her teeth clicking.

I'd rather not comment on that and proceed with my plan. "On the left side of the barn, there's a loose beam with a bent nail. Can't miss it if you know what you're looking for. It's easy enough to jimmy out and put back in once you're inside. It's no official crawl space or anything. It's probably a structural error."

"Lovely. Sounds really safe."

"That's why it will be safe, assuming it holds, of course. No one will suspect."

She scoffs and then sighs, the resignation setting in quickly and completely. "All right. I'm with you so far."

"Just keep crawling until you run into our stuff. It's a straight shot, fifteen feet or so. You don't even need any light. And it's pretty obvious when someone is walking around on the floorboards above, so, if you don't hear anything, you can change, eat, do what you got to do."

"If you don't come back, then what? How long do I wait? Do I knock on doors? Go to the police?"

"You should really get out of this region before you go to the police. And even then..."

Ishmael and his clan, coven, harem—whatever you want to call it—could get into some serious legal trouble for a whole lot of things, but they never do. We always avoided law enforcement if we could and took any "justice" into our own hands. And they seem to turn a blind eye to any complaints involving us. I don't have names or precincts or anything, or know how deep or far-reaching the corruption goes, but I have no doubt there's some sort of arrangement in place, with currency of some sort changing hands.

"Great." Her frustration seems to prick a few holes in her control. She unfolds one arm and looks down at her wet, dirty sleeve and only briefly does she consider using it to wipe her tears dry. She returns to her former stance with a dewy face and a scowl. "Can you explain to me how I'll ever get away from them? Without you, without the police? Do you really think my parents can handle all this? Would they actually be willing, once they know what...?"

She's done? Been through? Been with? Become? She doesn't finish that thought. Instead, she shudders out a headshake.

I turn my head to stare at her . . . to let her know that I mean what I'm about to say. "We'll figure it all out."

"When you're back," she states dryly and disbelievingly, her focus seemingly in a state of flux.

"Right."

"And do you promise?" She finally meets my gaze and makes a point to lock it there, like she's concerned it will drift and cloud her judgment. "No self-sacrificing hero bullshit? You will do everything in your power to meet me where you explained, as soon as possible?"

"I will. And the next plan will be yours. I promise that, too."

Sam's eyes flick to the barn, and she seems to pull a lot of her emotions back in when she sniffles. "Okay. I'm in. It's as good a plan as any."