A heavy weight in my heart drags my feet through the dusty path home. Now that I said it aloud, tracing my dream’s steps in the forest sounds silly. More like I'm in denial about how much my dating life sucks.

Chasing a fever dream won't change anything. I don't think I'll be going into the forest, after all.

With fluttering bird wings above my head and a sea of swaying, green flora at my sides, I take the long way home across the countryside, lost in my thoughts. It's finally the weekend, but I’ll probably spend it with my scrapbook. My childhood best friend has a third-anniversary date with her wife, whom we met in college. With how much they gush over each other and bicker, I swear they’re simultaneously an old married couple and honeymooners. It’s a treat to see my two favorite people so in love.

Now that I think about it, they’re my best living example of a loving partnership. My shoulders soften – at least I have one shred of proof that what I’m seeking exists. 

Even if I'm now a permanent third wheel. I guess tonight is another lonely pizza Friday.

I take the turn that's supposed to lead to my old, inherited cottage, but I don't find my mossy landmark tree. I freeze, knowing I can’t afford to walk any deeper if I took the wrong turn.

But it’s too late. I'm at the edge of the forest.

Twisting in every direction and scuffing my worn work sneakers even more, my stomach drops at the gargantuan trees shooting into the sky. The path home is nowhere in sight.

Forget losing my way in the forest outskirts, I'm in the forest, with no idea of how long I’ve been walking. I whip out my phone to check the map, but as usual, there's no service beneath the trees.

I whistle out a slow breath as I analyze my surroundings for familiarity. If I knew where I started, this would be no problem, but three rivers slice the land in a confusing zig-zag that messes with my internal compass.

But the riverbanks can’t look identical, right? I trudge deeper into the forest, veering left when I find a trickling stream. I try to sniff the air, dive into my gut senses, and analyze rocks and birds for clues, but my capabilities never came close to my father’s knowledge of the land. He could navigate it in the dark, but I wouldn’t dare. 

No matter how much he knew, Dad still died in this forest. It wasn’t the forest’s fault - at least, I don’t think it was. Someone shot him. A hunter. The cops believe it was a mistake, the hunter’s guilty conscience making him sprint in the other direction, but it never sat right with me. Deep down, I think they killed him on purpose.  

Which is why I can’t stop checking my phone clock: a daunting 5:47PM staring back. Soon, it’ll be pitch black. The dream wasn’t the only thing keeping me from trekking too deep into this forest; what if I’ll be shot here too?

My feet scurry ahead on their own, desperate for some sort of clue. But all I see are trees. More trees. Trees wrapped into other trees. Even baby trees, sprouting their first leaves. 

Until the dribbling streams become mini rivers, whispering hints of my location. I jog after them, their speed increasing with me as they merge into thicker clusters. 

I can hear the river’s gushing roar before I can see it, pulsing between my raging heartbeat. A pebble of hope forms in the back of my mind, betting that this is the river to follow upstream, leading to the old cottage.

But at the river’s edge, I don’t recognize anything. 

The water threatens to swallow me whole as I peer into it. And when I lean a little too far, my sleek, black braid tumbles over my shoulder. Despite watching it happen in the river’s reflection, I yelp in surprise at a snakelike “attacker” coming for my face. 

I’ve had enough adventure for one day. 

Whipping around to run back to where I came from, I stumble over a rock, catching myself just in time with a stampede of frantic steps.

Maybe the forest wants to humble me beyond humbled. Or maybe I’m missing something. 

I drop my head to the sky to gulp desperate air. But it doesn’t help; my stomach plummets at the first sign of indigo creeping over the forest canopy.

Fuck. This is a bigger-than-fuck moment. I don’t want to die out here. What if they blame Jenny for my death, allowing me to chase my stupid, impossible dream into Greenfield Forest? They won’t find my body for days. Or maybe they won’t find it at all - Mom always warned me there are mountain lions and more out here. At least I could feed them for a few days. Vivid images scour my mind of chunks ripped from my flesh when—

I groan, recognizing this pattern as my lungs beg for mercy; I’m encouraging my intrusive thoughts again, worsening my anxiety. Plopping onto the nearest log to soothe my burning legs, I breathe into the rustling canopies that stretch into the clouds. Trees crowd me everywhere I look.

Or maybe they’re protecting me. I settle into this uncertainty, allowing it to be.

Closing my eyes, I meditate for a moment before I keep moving. Within a minute, the chiming leaves in the wind fade into white noise. Retracing to the moment I left Jenny’s office, I deepen my breath with every snapshot I can remember. 

I took the long way home, passing Mrs. Jensen’s farm. Her cows had already scuffled back inside, but the way the sunlight hit their stable warmed my heart.

I can’t be too far from there. Maybe this is the forest behind Mrs. Jensen’s house?

But I don’t understand what drew me here in the first place. I take the long way home more often than not, and I’m not the type of person to space out. I’m in therapy for over-noticing, leading to doubt, leading to more terrifying thoughts than I should have in a lifetime. What the hell lured me off my usual path?

The second I question it, a bubble forms in my core, expanding by the second. But it’s not just a bubble; it’s an urge so deep that my eyes snap open.

Something drew me here.

My heart stutters at this, but then it softens. Relaxing into its truth.

Maybe because this sequence of events is familiar. Strikingly similar to my repetitive, alluring dream. 

No, wait, Aliya. This is seriously about that dream again?

I groan, slapping my forehead as I grip the bark beneath me. 

But I can’t deny it. Something deeper than my heart speaks, urging me forward. Urging me here. 

This is irrational, isn’t it? Oh, God, I’m finally losing it.

But I’m here. In the forest.

Rage stifles the initial peace in my revelation. Like most days, I’m bitter about how much of my life was stolen. Maybe I should follow this urge. End my ridiculous fantasy, once and for all.

But my gut knows more; my soul is calling me. And it’s not letting me avoid it this time. 

I jump off the log, the bubbling urge in my torso expanding so wide that I have to fight to inhale. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. I have to find out why. 

So I sprint in the direction of my heart. Turning a bend around the river as the sunlight disappears, I freeze; a nearby bush rustles enough to warn me it’s not the wind’s doing. 

The animalistic instinct to run battles the urge pinning me in place - my body and heart facing off at equal measures. But forget light rustling, the whole bush quakes from an animal forcing its way through until even the trees framing it shake off leaves. Whatever is about to emerge, it’s enormous.

The bush splays to reveal the animal inside, starting with a black nose wider than my head. The predator's fur blends with the brown and green thicket, more of a warped shadow in the fading daylight.

As I stare, it rises from a crouch, expanding to its full height. I blink a few times, making sure my eyes are functioning. 

I'm staring into the eyes of a wolf.

“Holy f–” My breathy whisper tenses the wolf’s limbs.

But I can’t understand what I’m seeing. This “wolf” towers above any wolf I’ve ever seen - taller than a large horse. And this brown, glowering wolf is not what my soul called me towards.

I want to move. Scream. Run. But I’m frozen.

I'm never listening to my heart again.

The wolf takes a silent, prowling step, and my instincts win. Running will make it chase me, but what choice do I have?

As I sprint for my life, a stockier, darker figure flashes its teeth behind the brown wolf. A black bear of a wolf lunges for the brown wolf's neck, and I don't watch a second more.

I run and run, not stopping no matter how much I need to. I’m so winded that I’m having trouble staying on my feet - tripping and scrambling until my palms bleed.

Pausing at a rock, I cough as I struggle to inhale enough oxygen to soothe my burning limbs. Every breath feels like it’s calling out to them, begging to be noticed, but I can’t stifle it. I grip my aching heart muscles, preparing myself to sprint despite their complaints, when a twig snaps behind me.

Fear locks a scream from escaping my throat. From the corner of my eye, a black figure swoops for me. I swear I see fur.