The forest ranger's office sat at the edge of the trailhead like something that had grown there rather than been built. Low wooden walls weathered to a dull grey, green metal roof patched in places, and a bulletin board out front layered with faded notices about trail safety, fire bans, and the occasional missing pet. A single patrol truck was parked beside the building, mud-splattered and silent. Evelyn kept her grip tight on Jane's arm as they stepped inside. The door creaked on its hinges, and the air wrapped around them, coffee left too long on the warmer, damp paper, and something faintly metallic underneath, like old tools left in the rain.
Officer Jolly Henderson looked up from behind the counter. Late forties, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard that was starting to show threads of grey. His khaki uniform was crisp despite the hour, and the name tag pinned to his chest read J. Henderson in block letters. His expression was the calm, patient kind that came from years of listening to hikers who had twisted ankles, lost their dogs, or convinced themselves they had seen something impossible in the trees.
"Afternoon, ladies," he said, setting down a stack of forms. "What can I do for you?"
Evelyn's throat felt tight, the words sticking before she could push them out. Jane gave her a small nudge with her elbow, the kind that said you've got this. Evelyn cleared her throat and started.
"I was in the woods yesterday nights, looking for moonshade petals, near the old rose thicket, the one that's all overgrown. I found an injured animal. A really big dog, or… something. It was bleeding from thorns. I tried to help, but I think I might have made it worse." She swallowed, the guilt rising again like bile. "I used some leaves I thought were medicinal. Turns out they were Raven Bud."
Jolly's eyebrows rose a fraction. He reached for a fresh notepad and clicked his pen. "Raven Bud. That's not good. Not good at all. Walk me through what happened, step by step if you can."
Evelyn described it as best she could, the sudden appearance of the massive shape in the dark, the way it had lay there in pain and cried out, The wound was deep as if someone had tried to cut it with a sharp knife, How she had panicked and used Raven Bud rather then Monshade Petals because they look alike.
"Dark grey-black fur," she said. "Almost like charcoal in places. And the eyes… they were blue. Really clear blue. Bigger than any dog I've seen, looked more like a wolf, honestly, but it acted tame. It let me get close, even when I was cleaning the wounds. Didn't growl, didn't snap. Just… let me help."
Jolly wrote steadily at first, but his pen slowed midway through her description. He looked up, studying her face for a long moment. The office felt quieter than it should have, the hum of the old fridge in the corner suddenly loud.
"Blue eyes," he repeated, as if testing the words. "You're sure about that? Not grey, not light amber? Most canines around here if we see anything wolf-like at all—have yellow or amber eyes. That's the standard. Blue eyes on an adult animal that size? That's… unusual. Very unusual."
Evelyn nodded, heat creeping into her cheeks. "I'm sure. They were blue. Like husky blue, but brighter. It stuck with me because everything else about it felt off. Too big, too calm."
Jolly leaned back slightly, tapping the pen against the notepad. "Look, these woods aren't wolf country. Never have been, not in my twenty years on the job. We get foxes, plenty of hares, the occasional jackal that wanders down from the hills. Stray dogs dumped by people who can't handle them anymore. Sometimes a big mastiff mix or a livestock guardian that got loose. But a wolf? No packs here. The habitat doesn't support it, and the last confirmed sighting of anything close was decades ago, and even that was probably a misidentified coyote or hybrid."
He paused, letting the words settle. "If it really was wolf-sized with blue eyes and that kind of behavior… well, that paints a different picture. Could be someone's exotic crossbreed that got away. Or just a very large dog with unusual coloring. Either way, Raven Bud on open wounds is serious business. The plant causes blistering, systemic shock, elevated heart rate—can mess with the nervous system in larger animals. Heart arrhythmias aren't uncommon in the case studies I've seen."
Evelyn felt her stomach twist. Jane shifted beside her, arms crossed tight.
"I didn't know," Evelyn said quietly. "It was dark. It was bleeding so much, and I just… reacted."
Jolly's voice stayed even, but there was a note of caution beneath the professionalism. "I believe you were trying to help. Intent matters. But if the animal dies and we find traces of the plant in the system during any necropsy, you could be looking at a citation. Interfering with wildlife without proper training, even with good intentions, can carry a fine—sometimes a few hundred, depending on the outcome and whether it's considered negligence. We've had cases with hikers who fed animals the wrong things or used home remedies that backfired. Doesn't mean it'll happen here, but I have to tell you straight."
The words landed heavier than Evelyn expected. A fine. Negligence. She had only wanted to stop the bleeding, and now the possibility that she might have killed something—and face consequences for it—made the guilt sharper.
Jane cut in, her tone practical but protective. "We didn't go back in to look. Figured we'd only make things worse by trampling around. That's why we came straight here."
"Good call," Jolly said, nodding once. He tore off the top sheet of his notepad and slid it across the counter along with a pen. "Leave your number. I'll send a team out at first light tomorrow. We'll check the area thoroughly—look for any carcass, tracks, blood, signs of distress. If it's still alive and injured, we'll try to locate it or at least confirm what we're dealing with. Raven Bud effects can linger, but some bigger canines have surprising resilience. You did the right thing reporting it instead of going back yourself."
Evelyn wrote her number with fingers that felt unsteady. "If you find anything… can you let me know? I just want to know it's okay. Or… not."
"We don't usually give personal updates on wildlife cases," Jolly said, taking the paper back. "But I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, next time you're in the woods, stick to the marked trails. Some of those plants bite back harder than you expect—and next time, call us before you try playing vet. Better safe than dealing with citations or worse."
They stepped back outside into the late afternoon light. The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the trailhead that seemed to stretch farther than they should. The trees at the edge of the path looked denser somehow, the undergrowth darker. Evelyn kept glancing toward the tree line as they walked back toward the parking lot, half expecting to see a dark shape watching from the shadows—blue eyes catching the light before vanishing.
Jane bumped her shoulder lightly. "See? Professionals are on it. You've done everything you can for now."
Evelyn exhaled, the sting behind her eyes easing a fraction, though the unease lingered. "Yeah. Thanks for coming with me."
They walked in companionable silence, but the questions Jolly had left unspoken hung in the air between them. No wolves here. Blue eyes that didn't belong. An animal that had behaved nothing like a frightened stray. Evelyn rubbed her arms against a chill that had nothing to do with the cooling evening. Whatever she had found in the forest that night, it didn't feel like something that should have been there at all.