It felt a lot safer in my bedroom.
That thought lands fully formed as I move through the trees, paws silent against damp earth, breath controlled and shallow. My room had walls. Doors. Familiar shadows that stayed where they were supposed to. The illusion of control lived there, tucked neatly into corners and routines. Out here, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction, branches weaving together overhead, moonlight breaking through in fractured patterns that shift every time the wind moves. Nothing feels contained. Nothing feels still.
Layla does not slow.
She pulls me all the way toward the border, senses sharpening with every step, awareness flaring outward until it feels like our skin has been peeled back. Every sound feels too loud, every crack of twig or rustle of leaves m
