“My sister, Jean, was sixteen. We lived in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, deep in the mountains well away from people. We had a tiny cabin and a little land. We hunted most of our food.It was spring. That's what saved me. I remember Jean and I playing in the yard; I don't remember what exactly. As sisters went, we fought like some, but we loved each other as well. We'd been raised to look out for each other.I remember the first howls. And I remember my dad entering the clearing, in his fu...r. He'd gone out on two feet.Mom and Dad used to tell us stories about the wolves, stories meant to frighten us. They had worked. But they also told us how to run, how to hide, and where we would meet when it was safe. We had signals for everything, including one that meant, "Run, run, run, and don't get caught."That's the signal dad gave us he dashed for our little house. Run, run, run, and don't get caught. Jean and I were in fur seconds later.Yes, Lara. Seconds. You hadn't figured that out yet?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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