The Rose
Finally, exhausted, Gastone collapsed by a small stream, the sound of the running water soothing his frayed nerves.
Maxim lay there, panting, the pain in his chest a dull throb now, a constant reminder of what he had lost. He was alone, truly alone for the first time in his life, and its weight was crushing.
The wolf closed its eyes, its body sinking into the chilly, damp earth. It didn't matter if the night was cold or he was vulnerable there. Nothing mattered anymore. Not without Lucia. Not with the bond shattered and his heart in pieces.
The wolf curled and whimpered in pain for the next two hours until it felt that it had given Gastone enough time to rest.
The wolf rose slowly, its limbs stiff from the coldness and the weight of grief. It took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the forest: damp moss, decaying leaves, and the faint, sharp tang of the nearby stream.