The Black Bear walks with the strength of the land, the Arctic Fox carries the whispers of the wind, and the Lynx sees what lies beneath the snow. Alone, they survive—together, they change the world.”
“L’Ours Noir marche avec la force de la terre, le Renard Arctique porte les murmures du vent, et le Lynx voit ce qui se cache sous la neige. Seuls, ils survivent—ensemble, ils changent le monde.”
Erik lay in bed, staring at the wooden beams overhead, Marc-André’s letter still in his grip, but his mind wasn’t just on his grandfather’s words.
It was on her.
Grace.
Her room was nearly directly below his but she was so quiet he barely heard her, even late at night—no creaking floorboards, no restless shifting. But he felt her. Intensely. As if her presence stretched beyond walls, beyond silence, wrapping around him in ways he didn’t understand—but sure as hell couldn’t ignore.
He hadn’t meant to touch her when he said goodnight after dinner. But the warmth of her shoulder had been too tempting, the pull of her too strong. His fingers had barely brushed her through the soft fabric of her sweater, but she had felt it.
He knew because her back arched just slightly before she masked it.
She wanted him too. She just wasn’t going to admit it.
Sky had warned him weeks ago. Grace isn’t a woman who will indulge in a casual affair, Erik. She’s not someone you win over and ghost when things get complicated.
The words had stung. He wasn’t proud of his past; of the way he had always disappeared when women started expecting more than he was willing to give. But this—she—was different.
She aroused something primal in him—something he couldn’t shake. The desire to have her, yes, but also the need to protect her.
Not that she’d ever admit to needing to be protected.
She was strong and had absolutely no clue how sexy she was without trying to be. But she was also guarded—extremely guarded. He had seen it in the way she carried herself, in the way she spoke—quietly, with certainty, but always measuring her words. There was something beneath the surface, something she worked hard to keep locked away. He had caught a glimpse of it that day in the forest.
“The world is divided into predators and prey,” she had said, her fingers tracing the bark of a pine tree. “At least wild animals are honest. They hunt for survival. People… well, people. Sometimes the predators just leave their prey alive and wounded, just for fun.”
There was no mistaking the words she wasn’t saying, the way she avoided looking at him. She had known predators—not the kind with claws and teeth, but the kind that destroyed people for sport. She had seen them. Been hurt by them.
A slow, simmering anger burned through him at the thought of anyone hurting her. And beneath it, something else—something instinctual.
In that moment, he had wanted to pull her into his arms, to let her know no one would ever hurt her again. But that wouldn’t have been the right thing.
They were alone in the woods. Any move that was too physical would have felt wrong. He understood that. A woman alone with a man she barely knew, miles from anywhere, talking about predators. He had seen the way she had kept her distance, the way she had been hyper-aware of his movements, even as they walked side by side.
She didn’t fear him, exactly. But she was prepared to fight or run.
Yet there had been moments—fleeting, but real—when she allowed herself to relax, when she let the forest work its quiet magic on her. The way her breath caught when she spotted a deer between the trees. The way she trailed her fingertips along the frost-laced edges of a fern. The way she closed her eyes and listened when the wind whispered through the pines.
She felt it. The wildness of this place. The way it lived and breathed.
And that was all he had really wanted her to experience that day.
But now, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he wondered…
Could she love this world the way he did?
Would she enjoy snowmobiling through the backcountry, feeling the rush of cold air against her skin? Would she stand at the edge of a frozen lake, watching a pond hockey game, smiling at the sound of skates carving ice? Would she want to hike deep into the forest, to wake up in a tent under the stars, tangled with him in the quiet hush of dawn?
Or was she just passing through?
Normally, he would be ok with that.
Now, standing at his window, watching the cold, quiet land stretch beneath the moonlight, his thoughts returned to his grandfather’s letter and rebuilding the cabin. He needed to head over there early and make sure that the beams in the shed were well covered. He wasn’t going to work upstairs again until Spring.
Then as relentless as the wind through the pines his thoughts circled back to Grace. Could she truly be the one spoken of in the prophecy? Could a woman from Boston, a city built on harbors and tides, ever find her place in this wild land of silence and sky? Could she be happy here—with him?
The northern lights had changed since she arrived.
Tonight, streaks of blue and gold wove through the usual green, flickering strangely, as if responding to something unseen.
And then—movement.
In the clearing near one of the barns, a Black Bear emerged from the shadows, heavy-footed and watching. There was nothing unusual about seeing a bear but Erik’s breath caught when he saw what lingered near it.
He initially thought it might have been a dog or a young wolf but it’s…..
an Arctic Fox still wearing its summer coat of muted browns and grays.
It should not be here. It did not belong this far south. And yet—there it was, unafraid, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight, as if it had always known its path would lead here.
His pulse kicked up, Elder Maskwa-Napew’s prophecy weaving through his thoughts.
“The Bear walks alone, heavy with old wounds… and from the north, an Arctic Fox appears. She is far from home, but she lingers. And if she stays, the house will wake, the land will remember, and the old story will begin again.”
The fox turned its head, locking eyes with him through the window. A flicker of something passed between them—recognition, maybe… or fate. Then, without a sound, it melted back into the woods.
The bear followed, steady, knowing.
And then—the trees stirred.
Not with the restless sigh of the wind, but with something deeper, older. And for the first time Erik could hear the clearly.
“We will protect you. We will protect you all.”
The words moved through the forest, rustling in the branches, threading through the pines.
Erik let out a slow, measured breath, his jaw tightening, his heart pounding with something he did not yet have words for.
Not yet.
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