I turn in front of a large tree and hear a branch snap behind me. I turn quickly and see her. She’s walking on all fours, white fur gleaming as the fog diffuses the moonlight. She instantly recognizes she’s been spotted, but she doesn’t look guilty or scared. She wanted to be seen. At first I think she’s a large dog, domesticated but lost. Then she catches my eyes and as we’re locked, frozen in appreciation of the other’s power, somewhere inside I know those eyes. I’ve seen them every day, if not directly in front of me, burned into my memory. Those eyes have been next to me for every day of my life until suddenly they were only in my memory. This wolf in front of me has my sister’s eyes.