There is a wolf-face in the trees. I can see it when I look up and the branches tangle and sway together in the shape of narrowed eyes, bared teeth. Look, I say, but Vida just keeps walking. Maybe she’s heard me, maybe not. She’s usually not one to pass up a chance at something interesting, but then again, she doesn’t like interruptions either. Maybe all interesting things have to be interruptions in order to be really interesting.

Magic print fiction short fiction woods