Eric had tried everything.
He'd walked faster, slowed down, doubled back. He'd tossed stones, shouted, waved his arms like a madman, even pointed toward the horizon and said, "Go. Hunt. Do whatever it is ghosts do."
The wolf only blinked, tilted its translucent head, and barked at him as if say yes.
At one point, he tried to trick it — sent it trotting north while he sprinted the other way. For a moment, he thought he'd done it. The forest thinned, sunlight flickered through the branches, and there was only his breath in the air.
Then he stopped to catch it, and then woof, woof answered from behind him.
He didn't turn. Didn't need to. "Of course," he muttered. "Of course you're still here."
The wolf padded beside him again, quiet as mist. No smugness, no reproach. Just there.
By nightfall, Eric gave up pretending. He sat by the fire, watching its faint shape across the flames. "You're not going anywhere, are you?"
The wolf said nothing, but its ears flicked once, almost like a nod.
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. Stay. But don't expect me to talk to you."
The wolf blinked once, lay down, and closed its eyes.
Eric leaned back against a tree, exhausted beyond anger.
The fire crackled low, tossing thin light over moss and bark. Beyond its glow, the forest hummed — insects, wind, the soft murmur of distant water. He half expected the wolf to vanish in that blur of shadow. It didn't. It just breathed, a faint shimmer with every rise and fall of its chest.
Eric stared at it for a long time, eyes heavy. "You're not even real," he said softly. "You're… what? A soul that refused the afterlife?"
The wolf's ear twitched, and for a heartbeat, he could almost believe it understood.
He huffed a quiet laugh — the first sound that wasn't frustration in days. "Figures. Even the dead ignore me."
The wolf opened one eye, glowing faintly in the dark. Then, as if deciding he'd said enough, it went still again.
Eric turned toward the fire, arms crossed. "Fine. Just don't start howling in the middle of the night. "No answer, just the forest breathing around them.
When he finally drifted off, the wolf stirred once, circled the camp in slow, soundless steps, then settled near him — close enough that the edge of its glow brushed against his boots.
By dawn, when Eric woke to a bark cut through the morning air, Eric's drowsiness vanished at the sound of the wolf.
The forest was damp with morning mist; every breath felt like it could turn to frost. The wolf—still there—sat by the ashes of the fire, tail faintly curling in the dirt.
He squinted at it. "You're really not leaving, huh?"
The wolf tilted its head.
"Right. Should've guessed." He stood, kicking at the embers. "You don't even have a name, do you?"
The wolf blinked, slow and blank.
Eric tapped his chin. "You look like… Gray. Yeah, that fits. Gray."
The wolf's ear flicked. Then it sneezed—a puff of spectral dust scattering through the air.
Eric blinked. "Was that a no?"
The wolf huffed once, short and sharp, like laughter made of breath.
"Alright, fine. Not Gray." He started walking, the wolf padding beside him again. "How about Shadow? No? Ghost?"
Another low rumble, almost disapproving.
Eric sighed through a grin he didn't mean to have. "Picky for a dead thing."
The wolf nudged his hand lightly with its nose. Warm, somehow, even through the shimmer.
He looked down at it, then said, quieter, "Gary, then."
The wolf stopped. For a moment, it simply stared up at him, those pale eyes reflecting the sun through the leaves. Then its tail gave one slow wag.
"Gary it is," Eric said, shaking his head. "Could've just said so earlier."
The wolf barked once—soft, amused.
And as they walked on, the forest no longer felt so empty.
Maybe he hadn't realized it yet, but Eric was smiling—actually smiling—while looking at Gary.
After walking for a while, exhaustion caught up to him, and he leaned against a thick tree trunk. It was only then the thought hit him: he'd been traveling beside a .magic beast.
A dead one, sure… but a wolf nonetheless.
So why hadn't he used Gary yet?
But used him for what, exactly? His power? Protection? Or maybe he wasn't ready to see what it gary could do?
"You know," Eric muttered, "for something dead, you sure don't get tired."
Gary blinked, unimpressed.
Eric rubbed his face. "I still don't get you. You're what a ghost, a memory, and you just… follow me around . Don't eat, don't sleep. So what else can you do?"
The wolf tilted its head. No reply, of course. Just those pale, steady eyes.
"Right. Nothing. Great talk." He sighed, glancing around. "Guess if you're sticking around, might as well be useful."
He picked up a stick and pointed it toward the trees. "Fetch."
Gary stared at the stick. Then at him. Then yawned.
Eric groaned. "Perfect. A haunted wolf with attitude."
He dropped the stick and sat again, back against the tree. "So much for getting help from the dead."
For a while, only the forest spoke—wind brushing through leaves, the occasional crack of a branch in the distance. Then, a faint rustle made him open one eye.
Gary had moved—low, alert, gaze fixed somewhere past the trees. The wolf gave a quiet, warning growl, so soft it barely stirred the air.
Eric's hand went to his knife. "What is it?"
A beat passed. Then, just as suddenly, Gary's ears relaxed. He looked back, gave a short huff, and padded closer, sitting by Eric's feet again.
"…so you're not useless," Eric murmured. "You're just picky."
Gary rested his head on his paws, eyes half-lidded.
Eric watched him for a while, then allowed a small, reluctant smile. "Fine. You can stay. But next time, try listening when I give you an order."
Gary's tail thumped once in the dirt—barely a sound, but enough.
Eric shook his head. "Figures. I end up with a ghost wolf that doesn't listen."
Still, as the forest grew quieter again, that faint shimmer of fur beside him didn't feel quite so out of place.