We head south, away from Flagstaff and down through the deserts of Arizona. It’s so much different from the pine trees and mountain trails of Flagstaff. I see tall stone mountains, brown with bare rock, not covered in a green carpet of trees.
On the back of Nash’s motorcycle, I watch the desert fly by. Tall saguaro cacti dot the landscape, their arms reaching toward the sky. They’re so much shorter than the massive trees on the Flagstaff mountains, but somehow they look just as majestic.
I could make a life in the desert, I think. After all, what better place is there for a lone wolf like me? Most big towns and cities already have an established pack of wolf shifters, but this area is so remote and lonely that I could get by without anyone bothering me.
Leaning against Nash, letting the
