2

"Howl!" The sound cut through the air, a mix of desperation and something else. The creature slumped, its howl a haunting lament that echoed in the night. Evelyn turned, drawn back by the sound, her breath catching in her throat. The animal lay there, vulnerable, its form crumpled on the rough ground as if surrendering.

"It's not chasing me?" Her voice held a note of confusion, her head tilting in disbelief. And then, her gaze shifted, locking onto the creature's fur, darkened with blood. Sympathy swelled within her, momentarily overshadowing her fear.

A rush of relief washed over her, and for a brief moment, her panic subsided. The creature's condition meant it couldn't chase her. She stood there, the feeble glow of her flashlight creating a small bubble of light around her. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden change, and her gaze returned to the creature. The initial terror still lingered, but it was mixed with a new feeling – empathy.

This encounter had turned her adventure into something different. The fear and uncertainty had shifted her journey into an entirely new realm. The forest wasn't just a backdrop anymore; it had transformed into a pulsing entity where danger and wonder coexisted, guiding her along a treacherous path.

Panic surged again, coursing through her veins, her body preparing for flight. The creature's howl sliced through the air once more, almost as if it sensed her urge to escape. In response, its eyes flickered open, a glint of need and desperation shimmering within them.

"No," she chided herself, her inner monologue a frenzied plea for sanity. "It's just a wild dog. It might tear you apart. No one will find you out here. You're not even married yet. You can't just die like this!"

The internal battle raged on, the forest seemingly holding its breath, waiting for her decision. A soft exhale, tinged with desperation, broke the silence once more.

Evelyn's resolve wavered, her heartstrings tugged by the creature's cries. It was as if her very soul was being torn apart, caught between the call for help and the instinct to flee. Her feet, primed for escape, seemed to defy her, anchored to the ground despite her frantic will to move.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, almost as if to shake off the haunting reality. But as she opened her eyes again, a reluctant determination took hold. Against her will, she found herself moving toward the source of those cries, her flashlight creating eerie patterns of light on the path.

"Hey there," she whispered, her voice a trembling blend of fear and uncertainty. "I won't hurt you. Just don't hurt me, okay?"

Her footsteps were hesitant, a cautious dance with fate. Her trembling hand adjusted the flashlight's angle, revealing more of the creature's form in the shifting shadows.

A plea formed within her, a fragile thread of hope amidst the engulfing darkness. "Please, let this not be a mistake," she whispered to herself, the words quivering on her lips.

The creature's form slowly emerged from the shadows, and realization hit Evelyn like a lightning bolt. It wasn't a dog; it was a massive presence, something imposing and threatening. Its fur was stained with the forest's secrets, and it lay there, wounded and vulnerable, its eyes a mixture of fear and longing.

"Poor thing," she mumbled, her voice a blend of empathy and sadness. "You're hurt."

Her determination resurfaced, and a soft certainty colored her voice. "Stay here. I'll find help." She pushed herself up, ready to leave, but the animal emitted a low howl – a mournful sound as if it were using the last of its strength. Evelyn paused, her frustration evident. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she muttered under her breath. With a resigned sigh, she picked up the fallen flashlight and located the book she had dropped earlier.

"I know a plant around here that might help your wound," she said, her voice tense with the urgency of the situation. She focused on the illustrations in the book, trying to match the leaves in the pictures with those around her. The tension grew with each unsuccessful identification, and sweat beaded on her forehead. Her heart pounded, as though it wanted to escape its cage. Finally, relief flooded her as she spotted a bush a short distance away. "There," she exhaled, a mix of relief and fatigue in her voice.

With cautious steps, she approached the bush, but the darkness concealed its thorns. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, wincing as her fingers got pricked. Ignoring the discomfort, she gathered a handful of leaves and returned to the wounded animal's side.

"I'm not an expert, but I'll give it a shot," she said, her voice directed at the creature. Leaves were pounded on a rock, forming a makeshift paste. She applied it gently to the wound, the creature's shivers evoking a sense of sympathy.

"The book says this should help with the pain and keep the wound clean," she assured, her gaze meeting the animal's eyes. A realization struck her, and she sighed. "Talking to a dog like it understands. I must be losing it. Nana was right – no way I'll find a man if I keep this up, gosh i am so annoying!" 

She unwound her scarf, using it to secure the leaves in place. "It might not be perfect, but it's something," she muttered, sincerity lacing her words.

"It'll be alright," she whispered, compassion evident in her voice. "My grandma used to say a kiss can fix anything. But don't worry, I won't kiss you. You're a wild dog, after all. I don't want to catch any dog germs." Her words, candid and slightly absurd, hung in the air.

"I'm not sure if this will do much, but I'll ask someone to check on you, okay?" She spoke to the creature as though it could understand. After a final reassuring pat, she reluctantly began to move away, a mix of worry and care weighing heavily on her heart. However, just as she turned, ready to leave, the wolf's eyes, previously squeezed shut in pain, fluttered open. Its gaze locked onto her, an intensity that sent a shiver racing down her spine. A step back was instinctive, her flashlight casting a soft glow on the path,