Iris
“Welcome to Whispering Pines!” the cheerful pilot announces as our small private plane touches down on what can barely even be called a runway. It’s more like a cleared strip of land in the middle of nowhere.
My eyes widen as I look out the window and recognize the familiar landscape of rolling hills and dense forest. No f*****g way.
“Arthur…” I start, turning to face him. He’s grinning like a kid in a candy shop.
“Surprise,” he says simply.
I can’t believe it. Whispering Pines—our place. The tiny, quaint town nestled in the wild northern territories—where there are no countries or cities, but rather individual pack lands, just like the old days—that Arthur and I used to escape to.
It’s the place where we fell deeper in love with each passing visit, far from th
