#wolffe mcwolf

Living in relative seclusion had its perks, perks which had inspired Angela to choose it in the first place. Though it was true her drive to work was longer and her grocery excursions had to be well planned, she enjoyed the readily available solitude. Mostly nocturnal at this point, she spent many of her nights off on her back porch with a glass of wine in her hand--perhaps a book as well, when she was mentally capable. With her house nestled in the middle of twenty three acres of land and surrounded by acres upon acres of woods behind, she enjoyed relative peace, kept company by none other than the moon, the stars, and the occasional wildlife brave enough to venture beyond the treeline.

Tonight was one such night that the mental exhaustion of her previous shift kept her from doing much more than staring unfocused into the trees. Her glass had been filled once already, the pleasant white wine dulling the sharp edges of her thoughts. Clad in a breezy silk slip and sheer robe, she was assured of her utter solitude and safety. These woods were benevolent, her protector. They would not harm her.

A pleasant breeze drifted through the trees. It carried a faint chill, enough to remind the Swiss doctor of home rather than cause discomfort. Cricket song and the rare cry of an owl provided a symphony to soothe her worries and ease her mind. Just as her eyes began to drift shut, however, a howl shattered the tranquility--silencing even the crickets. Angela frowned and sat up, clutching her robe shut at the front. She knew the woods behind her house like an old friend, and she had never heard wolves before. A flutter of fear born of instinct older than she was threatened to turn her stomach.