Liana was still exhausted from their harassment and from the cold and the starvation and the loneliness and the million other things conspiring to drain her essence. She bristled at even the slightest whisper of wind and stayed holed up for all but the briefest escapes. The wolves’ haunting cries and avid panting drilled into her brain so completely that the sounds felt like a part of her. The creatures even appeared in her dreams. Her mother cautioned her to take good care of her pal Pitou so the Bois de Bologne wolves didn’t eat him. The Gypsies cursed the wolves for stealing their fish. Liana’s dream-self just shrugged knowingly and repeated with her mother, “Beware of the wolves. Beware of the wolves.” In Paris, wolves seemed like creatures from a time gone by—like dinosaurs. “Did Mama mean wild dogs?” Liana wondered. Liana softly hummed “On the Bridge of Avignon” and gradually awakened from her dream. Her swollen eyes blinked open, bloodshot and sore.
What do You think about An Island Between Two Shores?
